Pedaling Panther : Calcutta Calling!

Kathmandu – Calcutta

I left my hostel in Kathmandu on Boxing Day.

I did’t actually hit the road until 3pm, which only gave me a couple of daylight hours of cycling, but I was determined to reach Darjeeling, India for New Years Eve. Packing my panniers in the early morning would have proven to be difficult with the rest of the hostel out cold in bed still high as a kite. Kathmandu is full of young hippy wannabees desperately trying to re-create the Kathmandu of the 1970’s. Most spent all day monged out in the hostel and never actually got to see the Himalayan Mountains. I didn’t see any whore out their girlfriends to buy drugs though like the original hardcore used to, they obviously weren’t the real deal. One Californian guy was particularly notable though, who was still in the hostel on my return from Everest Base Camp (and is probably still there now). His teeth were completely black and as he slumbered around in a cabbage like state chain smoking................ I recall him asking a girl, “Where are you from?”, to which she replied “Austria”. His reply, in the biggest stoner voice you could possibly imagine was, “I hear there some beautiful vibes out that way”. What a valid point I thought. Surely a possible candidate for mastermind?

My Map, which has a scale of 1:1 300 000, showed a straight-ish road heading south east from Kathmandu towards a place called Dhalkebar on the East-West Highway. A low lying (just 300 metres above sea level)flat main road which runs right across Nepal, just south of the Himalayan mountain range. However, instead of being a slow straight decent to the south of Nepal as I presumed, this was a brutal twisty steep road which consisted of big descents followed immediately by agonising 4/5 hour climbs. Nearing the East-west highway I spent the night in the town of Sindhuli, where a large music festival was taking place and apparently one of Nepal’s most famous singers was performing and staying in my hotel. Hot showers are something of a novelty in Nepal, though I thought I’d ask the receptionist anyway. The receptionist replied by saying, “maybe hot water tomorrow morning”. Thinking that was highly unlikely at best I braced myself for an ice cold Himalayan mountain water shower that evening........and to be astonishment hot water came out! Miracle!

Feeling both chuffed and clean I then checked out the concert and small fairground attached. I shouldn’t be so mean, but I’m pretty sure this is where Banksy came to get inspiration for his Dissmalland amusement park. My favourite attraction being a 45 degree merry-go-round powered by a huge thumping engine bellowing out black smoke and a wobbly 20 metre black rubber belt to drive it. The next morning I hit the road early and stopped just outside of town for breakfast. As I sat down outside the metal shack and old man joined me at the table. He asked where I was from, and he told me he didn’t believe me when I said England. It turned out he was a former Gurkha, 82 years of age. He laughed when I told him his age was my year of birth. He explained how he served in Richmond and how his 50,000 Rupees pension went a lot further in Nepal than England.

It took a further 2 days to work my way along the east-west highway to the town of Birtamod. It was also a lot more apparent I was getting close to the Indian border as the invasion on personal space began to intensify! On one stop to buy some fruit, buttons were pressed on my Speedo, pannier bag opened and looked inside and rear saddle bad unclipped and inspected. I understand the curiosity, but won’t say the response which I wanted to give! From Birtamod there appeared to be 2 ways of arriving in Darjeeling in time for New Years Eve. Both would involve some serious climbing. One way was to head immediately north back into the Himalayas on the Nepal side and cross the border at Sukhiapokhri – a few miles west of Darjeeling. The other to continue east a few miles and cross into India and climb the Himalayas from the India side. With my visa due to expire that day (30/12/2016) I thought I’d make the most of it and have one last ride in Nepal.

Very flat East - West Highway - Early morning

I set of early on the road which headed due north. Initially flat, the road began to increase in gradient like a squared function on a graph. I guess in poorer countries building roads is expensive so they only make them meander when absolutely necessary. The road finally began to snake up the mountain. I will take back what I said about The Himalayan roads being much easier than the South American Andes, as this thing was brutal. Without blowing my own trumpet too much I would say I’m pretty good riding a bike up hills, but this was something else. With my gear in the lowest cog and me standing out of the seat I could only just turn the pedals over – this continued uphill for 40 miles! I eventually reached a plateau in the mountain surrounded by tea fields. It was incredible scenery. Surprisingly there were several Nepalese tourists, some played loud music and danced or posed for selfies among the tea leaves. Bizarre but interesting! After the plateau the road descended momentarily before a final severe climb towards the border town of Sukhiapokhri (2000m). Along my way many people shouted, “where are you going”?! “India” I replied – which I thought was quite obvious given the road was heading straight for the border. One person said, “Not possible!”, “I have an Indian visa!” I shouted back.

Heading back towards the Himalayas and the Nepal-India borer - a road which very quickly became very steep

Sukhiapokri was an incredibly steep border town which is literally on top of a mountain. By the time I arrived I was pretty much exhausted after my 40 mile climb to 2000 metres. As I made my way to the Police at the border crossing there was lots of commotion and I once again heard the words, “not possible!” It was very quickly made apparent that this border crossing was only for Nepalese and Indian citizens and there was no immigration!!! I can’t deny I was properly gutted and pissed off!! So close to Darjeeling yet so far. Even my repeated attempts at bribing the police were followed by a quiet conversation between 2 officers and a definite “No”. It was definitely a no go! I explained how my visa expired today and how I needed to cross. He told me I could turn around now and cross the other border – to which I replied, “Mate!! I’ve been on the road cycling uphill for 40 miles since the early hours of this morning – it’s nearly dark already!” In truth I had no reason to get angry, it was all my fault. If I’d been bothered to buy a guide book and didn’t adopt the approach of trying to wing it my whole life it would have been obvious I couldn’t cross this border! I’m probably the only westerner to have ever been to Sukhiapokria, though with no good reason why.

Nepalese/Indian border town (Sukhiapokria) - illegally taken photo against advice of "no photos" from the border police

"Simple Room!"

I turned around and cycled as far as I could until nightfall. Many people laughed and heckled me as I came back down. I obviously stood out like a saw thumb – In fact it felt like everyone was laughing at me and shouting, “I told you so!” – I felt like a bit of a Muppet. Night time is very cold at 2000 metres and I didn’t fancy a night time decent of the mountains, especially since I’d lost one of my gloves. I eventually came across a small town which had two small hotels, both of which were full. The guy in one hotel told me the place next door had simple rooms. It was a little family owned restaurant (the terms restaurant gives images of grandness – which

it definitely wasn’t!) with a wooden staircase down to a couple of basement rooms. The stairwell continued down further to a room with chickens, an open fire on the floor (which filled the whole building with smoke) and a toilet onto an open sewer. The toilet had a hole in the wall for a window, with the best view from a crapper I’ve ever seen in my life - an incredible sunset onto beautiful Himalayan mountains. Although very simple (see pic) the place was actually quite clean and the family incredibly friendly. The daughter was my personal translator for dinner. I gave her the book I’d just finished reading, which was probably like giving Shakespeare to a 4 year old, but she seemed delighted with it.

Great toilet view

Book Giving

The next morning I descended back downhill to the East – West Highway with mixed emotions and crossed the Indian Border around lunchtime. Despite being a day over my visa limit the immigration officer did not issue me a fine. A stark contrast to the American dressed as Buddha I bumped into at the border when I first entered Nepal, who looked a broken man after being given a proper hard time for overstaying his visa. I guess being British is a good thing in Nepal – either that or they prefer Lycra clad cyclists than yanks dressed like Buddha. From there I headed eastwards and reached the town of Shiliguri, the start of the Himalayan railway, and the left turn for the steep ascent to Darjeeling. As I took that left turn I saw a sign which said “Darjeeling 74km” ( uphill!) and simultaneously a guy with a jeep full of passengers shouted “Darjeeling?!” to me. I only have one rule when I cycle, which is to never ever take a ride - unless someone is shooting a gun at you. I jumped in without hesitation and he threw my bicycle onto the roof. The road was very steep, and almost a mirror image of what I cycled the previous day. We eventually arrived just before nightfall. At 3mph on bicycle I was never going to make it in time.

I’d beasted myself to get to Darjeeling for NYE and had practically cycled there and back already. I also had no intention of spending new years alone in my tent – especially after so many new years spent at fire stations. And a previous Christmas Eve stranded camping in the Amazon jungle in Guiana shitting ourselves we were going to get eaten alive (me and my friend Tim Miller had the fantastic idea we could cycle a 30 year old Purple tandem across the Amazon and It wouldn’t break down).

Christmas Eve - Amazon Rain-forest, Guiana, South America

The road to Darjeeling was also directly off my route to Calcutta (due north when I was heading south) which meant I would have to return again to Shiliguri – I further justified to myself. Yet I still felt like a loser for taking that jeep!
Darjeeling was no let down though. I think its my favourite place In India so far. Built by the British Raj to escape the intense summertime heat in Calcutta, it is a hillside town at 2042 metres with spectacular views. It is also famously responsible for producing the best tea in the world. The British influence is still massively obvious and many of the buildings, although quite ram-shackled, would not look out of place in the British countryside. There is a train track (known as the toy train)which works its way up the mountainside. Some of the gradient is so steep that the train does a 360 degrees loop in a roundabout fashion to decrease the angle. With it being India, the 100+ year old British built trains have not been restored but just “kept going” which for me makes it all the more amazing. Many foreigners would wrongly disagree, but what is also great about Darjeeling is the cuisine left from the British Raj. After eating spices for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a month I went mental. Despite having yet another case of the runs, I’ve lost count of how many times its been, I force fed myself with everything from beans on toast to sausage rolls to something vaguely resembling roast dinner with questionable roast potatoes. Even the cake’s were British – see pic. There was also a zoo and a mountaineering museum containing the original clothes used by Sherpa Tenzing Norgay to climb Everest in 1953.

Glenary's

Cakes!

Darjeeling

The decent back down towards Shilguri was awesome and you could see for miles onto the flat plains of India heading southwards.

Calcutta was signposted as 613 Km. The road south was very flat and although advised by local Indians as being nothing special had some quirky surprises. For the first couple of days skies were overcast which, with it being winter time, meant the temperatures stayed nice and fresh making it much easier to cover ground. Closer to Delhi I think I was close to heat stroke on a couple of occasions and would have to put my head under a water pump or in the big roadside water pits. Along with the cool temperatures the road had been/was being freshly laid (see pic). There were often signs/men to tell you to cross the carriageway where road workers were laying fresh tarmac and tapping little stones into it by hand. I would often ignore this advice, which proved detrimental when my front wheel stopped turning around. I had to pick the tar from my wheel and the inside of my mudguard on top of a highway flyover.

As I approached the city of Malda I passed several bridges that had fallen into rivers and severely crumbled cars and lorries left by the roadside (the driver would clearly have died in most) I was then pleasantly surprised to see a sign for a water pack right off the highway. I had no idea such thing existed in India, and since the sun had broken through the clouds that afternoon decided to check it out. Arriving at the “Aquatic Bengal” water park caused quite a scene among the locals and I immediately had an entourage. I left my bike at the reception and after the routine “selfie” session I found myself led over to the changing area where I was told I must wear the mandatory “aquatic Bengal” swimming costume at a cost of 40 Rupees. A security officer with a big wooden stick then led me to the changing room. He remained there until I was changed and followed me everywhere I went throughout the park – He’s the guy behind me in the photo. Unfortunately the slides, which terminated into green water, were only open in summertime. The wave pool was open though, it had an extremely slippery tiled floor and water which made the River Thames look clean. Even the young Indian lad pictured in the photo advised me I should have a shower afterwards to avoid infection! In despite of all of this, swimming – for the 1^st time in a month - in refreshing cold water after a long day on the dusty highway sweating in the saddle was immense. My trip culminated with a coffee on the house and a photo session with the owner and staff.

"Aquatic Bengal!"

Feeling refreshed I cycled the remaining 15k to Malda where I stayed at the “Swastika Hotel”. The hotel was directly outside the livestock/meat market part of town. I felt most sorry for the 8 trembling goats chained to one another standing in a circle only a mete away from there friends head on a chopping board and body hanging being drained of its blood. The hotel was very basic but did the job. Other than that and a security guard going mental at me for taking a photo of some jewelry it was otherwise uneventful. I left the next morning and did a small detour to visit the, “Ruins of Gour”, the remains of the old capital of West Bengal. I had the place to myself and it was worth the detour from the main road. After crossing a huge river I left the main highway 34 and took the road heading towards ”Shantiniketan”, which a local told me was a must see. As I left highway 34 to turn right the road had been tapped off. I past under it and came to a bridge where 2 brick walls had been built across it to prevent traffic from crossing.

Possibly a protest or that the bridge was due to collapse intimately I’m not sure, either way it meant I had the road to myself for a short while. 99 miles later I arrived at Rampur Hut where I spent the night, leaving a short half day to Shantiniketan. A pleasant enough place with some nice mud built huts, craft stalls and some local tourists. A final 106 mile push the next day enabled me to arrive in Calcutta before nightfall. On route I rejoined the “The Great Trunk Road” – The main highway I initially used to leave Delhi and diverted from at Varanasi to head north into Nepal, which made me realise what a huge but worthy diversion Nepal had been.

I was now an expert in the various road users in India:

· Confident people on bicycles – the ones that chase after you and relentlessly try to chat to you and stop you for a “selfie”. The question pattern being; “What is your name?”,”To which country do you belong?”, “Are you travelling solo?”,” Which hotel are you staying at?”..And most worrying of all, “Which is your room number”? My new tactic is to ask every single one of those questions before they get chance to open there mouths!

· Shy people on bicycles "followers" – The ones that cycle behind you for an hour and pretend there by coincidence going at exactly the same speed as you and don’t notice your there.

· Shy people on bicycles "over takers" – Similar to the "followers" but they go for the overtake. Its very comparable to the Tour de France. They pretend to effortlessly pass you and not notice you... but quickly run out of steam/slow down so you have to pass them again.

· Mopeds and Motorbikes – Beep constantly and often ride along side you either just starring at you or asking question after question. The biggest problem is that nearly knock you off weaving around next to you whilst trying to chat and do one handed selfies. Unlike the cyclists the problem being is you can’t outrun them! The more serious “selfie takers” race past you, pull onto the side of the road, pull a brush out to comb their hair in anticipation of the selfie (whilst keeping one eye in the mirror for your approach) then frantically try to get you to stop.

· Cars, Buses and Trucks – Similar behavior to above although stop less for chats and selfies. The biggest problem with this group is that if they overtake you from the opposite direction they will literally force you off the road and head straight for you hooting their horns (which are often high pitched theme 10 second theme tunes). Every vehicle honks their horns all day every day, regardless of whether any traffic is on the road or not!! I’m still looking for one of those horns used at football games to reach through the car window and sound next to the drivers ear drums!!!

I’m making this all sound very negative.....which it’s not! The Indian people are exceptionally warm, friendly and curious and all of the above makes cycling India quite incredible. I can’t deny that after enduring the same conversation 100 times per day and being exhausted on the bike, I often have to remind myself to be nice and friendly! But, with the exception of the horns, cycling India has been amazing.

I’m currently in Calcutta which I like a lot. It has a dilapidated grandness to it with some incredible buildings from the colonial era. There often in desperate need of repair and have trees growing from them, but that makes them quite charming and authentic. I’m actually going to be stuck here for a week as I’m currently awaiting my visa for Bangladesh. Applying for the visa was a bit of a traumatic experience. There was a cue outside the high commission of Bangladesh for as far as the eye could see. Apparently people had being cuing since 4 am.

Enormous cue at High Commission of Bangladesh

I rocked up at ten past 9 and the bloke outside tells me I should go straight to the front of counter one! A hundred angry Muslim men looked up at me shouting and pointing to the back of the cue. Counter one was apparently for non-Indians and I was allowed to do that...apparently. The shutter for the counter opened a few minutes later and I paid a whopping 100 quid and was told to collect the visa in 10 days. Although the collection slip stated the 16/01/2017 -6 days!? Which I’m hoping will be the case! I have therefore found myself a very cheap hotel (200 Rupees – about 2 pounds 50 per night) which has some extremely interesting characters residing there. One of my favourties is an eccentric 70 year old man I keep bumping into. Born in Calcutta but lived most of his life on the Isle of Mann, he is an avid engineer and historian who converted a hotel into luxury flats to sell and no longer work. He first traveled to India on his motorbike from the UK in the 1960’s..and in his 60’s, left his wife as she no longer wanted to travel on the back of his motorbike through India! Prize for the best hippy so far goes to the plonker in the picture below. Top effort.

Neighboring hippy fruitcake in my hotel - Calcutta

Pictures from the road to Calcutta and the city itself:

Waiting for the train to pass on the way to Calcutta - a man dressed as a sheep?!

(I decided to use the bridge on the right hand side)

Tea Seller - Calcutta - prices vary hugely depending the grade. Apparently some of the tea sold here is the from the same tea estates where leaves are sent to Harrods.