Joys of travelling

After a totally groovy and beautifully relaxing - as relaxing as it can be while you're writing your MA thesis - month travelling around London's backwaters on a boat, I started missing nomadic life again. Travelling from place to place, discovering and observing the curious behavior of resident natives, meeting people, drawing and listening to new music. Boat life brought on a wave of mixed feelings toward my already uncertain future, but these were cast aside to enjoy the present. I found myself singing again like I haven't since I was a child, and felt like writing again. All because I was on the move once more. I decided the life for me must be the life of a traveler.

Sure the toilet and shower situation was not ideal, but I quickly discovered ways around this. A flicker of doubt stirred when I was confronted by an enormous mound of possessions I had left at a friend's house, but these were resolved by purchasing a cheap transportable suitcase. It was annoying having to transport my life on foot the weekend that London decided it had had enough of summer and opened up the heavens to welcome torrential rains. It also wasn't terribly comfortable sleeping on friend's floors and couches, but wasn't until a the mother of all dilemmas that I finally remembered: I hate travelling. I had missed my flight.

The two hours prior to a flight are the most intensely stressful regardless of whether you make the flight or not. This is particularly the case if you have fallen out of touch with stress of flying. Neverthelless, everything happens for a reason and I have emerged if just a tiny bit wiser.

Things I learned in the process:

• It is VERY important to check your flight details a day in advance.
• You can pay for as many bags as you like on an easyjet flight, but the sum weight of all bags must not go over 20kg (21kg if you're extra simpática).
• If you have excess baggage it is cheaper  to get it shipped rather than paying the airline for the administrative manpower to process said baggage. These admin positions must be the best paid jobs ever. Furthermore, all airports have such shipping areas, you just have to ask for them. 
• Old ladies at check-in desks will say and agree to virtually anything to get over-inquisitive young whippersnappers away from their counters. "Can I get a refund for my unused baggage allowance?" "Of course!" "Can I get it after the flight?" "Most definitely!" Do I have to do this online?" "Yup!" "Is your website the most deceiving, uninformative, useless website ever?" "Uhu!" thanks. Harassed men at ticket sales desks are much more honest.
• The security metal detectors select people at random regardless of the amount of metal or sharp objects they have on them. You might as well wear whatever you want.
• Lady Gaga's first scent smells exactly like Britney's.

Things I already knew:

• Airport food is ridiculously overpriced and bland
• WHSmith books are ridiculously overpriced
• Perfumes are ridiculously overpriced
• Airport travel is the most annoying and stressful activity ever, yet this is the preferred medium of travel?!
• Departure screens are shameless liars.

So the decision I came to after all of these important life lessons? I am going to buy a boat.

Californiaaa 18.04.2011

Sitting at the airport for 8 hours, finishing postcards which won't get sent till the end of the month, watching Glee and chatting to randomly friendly men.

“So where are you from?”

Right in the middle of an episode here, “uh, El Salvador”
“Oh wow, me too!”

Which isn't so surprising in the States since roughly half our population are currently living here. Six hours and a greasy panini later, at the gate still watching Glee another man starts...

“Where are you headed?”

Sigh. “Guatemala”
“Oh, yo tambien. Sos Guatemalteca?”
“No, Salvadoreña”

“Pero vives en Guatemala? Donde?”
“En la ciudad”

“Ah vives con tu esposo?” - This question always makes me laugh, but I should really start lying in response.

“Jaja, no”

“Pues yo vivo en la costa pero de vez en cuando voy a la ciudad, que tal si te doy una llamadita?”-

Eew, how old are you man? “No tengo telefono. Ademas me voy a El Salvador a vivir con mis abuelos.”

“Entonces tales nos vemos alli!”

!!!

Tales from Nepalgunj - Pt. 1

Skip the grimy airport arrival and what looks like blood splattered, water damaged walls and Nepalgunj welcomes you with a flurry of colours and a sensory overload. It is a town on the southwestern border of Nepal and India, in the Terai region, where traditional means of transportation are favoured over motorbikes and SUV's. Buses are garishly coloured horse drawn carriages meant to carry five people at the most but carrying 20 at the least. The streets are crowded and full of recycled life. People buzzing around carrying out their daily activities, rickshaw taxis making business from women running errands, children skipping school, not a single tourist in sight. There is constant movement, and abundance of colour and dust and so many details you don't know where to look. I hide gratefully in the cool confinement of the company car, peering out from the tinted windows.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of the appeal of colonial India. An architectural wonder emerges from the throng of horse carriages, saris and cows wandering the streets in oriented confusion. A flurry of questions ensue "What is that? Is that Nepali or Indian architecture? Is it very common? I've never seen it before. Tell me everything you possibly can about the history and function of this beautiful building". Such exclamations of wonder and awe fall on blissfully smiling yet uncomprehending ears. Madan the mahout smiles in the rear view mirror but remains silent. We're nearly in India now, standing at the border looking out into a mirror expanse of horse drawn carriages, saris and cows.

The hour long diversion to the India border, much appreciated as it is, sets us back by an hour. Surkhet is now a four hour drive away and something which feels like a hangover but could not possibly be a hangover begins to take its toll. The shanty towns we pass along the way are dusty ghost towns, wavering in the heat, the thrill and splendor of Nepalgunj quickly fading into a stupor of heat and nausea. Four hours later exhausted from doing nothing but sit in a car, a passive audience for road repairmen laying down tarmac for a winding but comparatively excellent road, we arrive in Surkhet.