The In Between Lands

November 26th, 2013

After a long break, I finally put some serious mileage on the bike during my ride form Kathmandu to Darjeeling. The 600km or so journey took three afternoons, with moderate time in the saddle each day. In retrospect I wish I had gone more slowly, and had taken more breaks. However, a mounting head-cold both hurried me along, and dampened my spirits. It was hard to muster sufficient motivation to take pause and reflect on the world around me.

More and more I'm coming to appreciate the places which seem unappreciable. In much of the developing world, the small cities which lie between major destinations are, more often than not, predominantly rubble and squalor. They are a nexus of modernity. Creation and destruction are simultaneously on display. Newly affordable motorbikes skirt by ox-carts and cycle-rickshaws on congested thoroughfares. Facades and large additions are added to existing structures in a slapdash manner. Nearby buildings - which don't appear all that old - are already starting to crumble.

To me, these places are demonstrative of the power and of the human spirit. The frenetic energy of a hive suffuses the streets, and people make raw and gritty attempt at progress. There is order in the chaos, too. Food markets go in one place, transportation hubs in another. Agglomerating the more modern stores seems to be the norm. Cell-phone outlets and electronic stores are found near motorbike vendors and so-called department stores, which sell "modern apparel". It looks exactly like Main Street, USA, provided someone detonated an atom bomb nearby. The people are well poised, and certainly kind to strangers. However, the incomprehensible level of inequity in world is plain to see.    

I would estimate that most of the people in such places are not living in severe poverty, defined by the WHO as subsisting on $1.25 or less per day - a terrifying fate that defines the reality of 1,000,000,000 people on this planet. Judging by the level of development - roads, clean water, electricity, education, and several small businesses - as well as the cost of one meal in an eatery (anywhere from 25 cents to $1, depending on the portion) I'm fairly certain that most of the residents in these "in-between-lands" have several dollars a day on which to get by. The difference may sound trifling, even comical, but empirically speaking that small difference enables a considerable increase in well-being and opportunity. Life is still hard, and knowledge of the world at large is breathtakingly constrained, but compared to the unlucky masses of people born into severe poverty, the daily agonies of life are considerably reduced.

Nevertheless, I couldn't help but acknowledge and despair at all the drudgery and ignorance I was witnessing. Looking back, I think the mounting cold was bringing forth my inner cynic. For days I could think of little else besides the endless toil, and a perpetually uncomfortable life I saw. All along the western section of Nepal's Mahindra-Highway, an never-ending stream of people plied the roadside. On bicycles, on foot, stuffed in or on-top of crowded busses, human-beings and their cargo traipsed along the road. Countless other labored in the adjacent fields. I've been witness to scenes like this on countless occasions. I don't know why I couldn't get away from thinking about the mind-boggling drudgery of it all. Perhaps it was cynicism; perhaps it is realism couched in cynical terms.    

However, there were bastions of hope. As always, peoples attitude towards me were the most encouraging. Regardless of circumstance, people are generally kind. I feel like an ass travelling on the bike I have. It's huge; unlike anything most people have ever seen. It's loaded to the hilt with luggage and accessories, which necessarily makes my arrival an ostentatious affair. I enjoy an irony of privilege, I suppose. I don't care about motorcycles at all, yet that's all people see when I come along, and I don't blame them. Rather than despise my excess, most seem to truly delight in the oversized motorcycle. They usually ask several questions about it, which invariably includes questions about what it cost. I'm asked what I paid for it several times a day, if not a dozen. I basically understand why they're curious about how much it cost, and so I'm candid. In Nepal, due to a sky-high import tax on vehicles, many people balk at how cheap the bike was.

"Six Lak's (approximately 6,000 USD)! In Nepal, a bike like this costs much more. The tax! Very high."

Needless to say, that has not been the normal reaction. In most countries, spending $6,000 on a motorcycle is bewildering - end of story. Concepts like value, depreciation, and utility simply don't exist.

Aside from being graciously - even ceremoniously - received, I consistently see cause for hope in the younger generations. With increasingly regularity, I see glimpses of what looks to be an emerging, better informed, set of global values. While I'm wary of cultural relativism, I do think a global set of morals and ethics - that is independent from culture - will become necessary in a globalized world. Unfortunately, moral and ethical values seem inextricably entwined with culture at the moment, but unknotting that issue is a whole other topic.

At any rate, during my first night on the road in an wholly forgettable city, I sat down for dinner at a shanty-style eatery. I was joined by the usual cadre of the curious. Two precocious teens on my right ran the standard questions by me - "which country you from?", "are you married?", "how many people in your family?", and so on. A sloppy drunk sat down to my left, and aggressively vied for attention. He repeated an incoherent stream of guttural noises, but always ending in an emphatic and happy cry of "Democracy!". After which he'd smile, and we'd enthusiastically shake hands, presumably to celebrate democracy.

The host offered to remove the drunk, with a bit of reluctance in his eyes. I appreciated the offer, but told him not to bother. Everywhere that lacks a long standing drinking culture, the decision of whether or not to drink has a binary outcome. You either drink like an alcoholic, or else you're a teetotaler. Eventually the drunk calmed down. He gained enough composure to sit quietly, and respectfully drool on himself. I was able to direct my attention to the inquisitive teens.

We talked about the elections which had just taken place. The Democratic party had won in a landslide, gaining a majority of seats in the Nepali congress, all while reducing the former Communist supermajority to a minority party. The fourteen year-old seemed keen on the implications of this election. It was his hope that democratic management would increase the rate of development in every district.

"With development comes education, and with education comes freedom." He said.

Unfortunately, that's not a direct quote. What he said was far more eloquent and profound. Whatever he said truly rung my bell, and I wish I had written it down.

"Wow, and you think democracy can bring individual freedom to Nepal?" I asked, still flabbergasted.

"I hope so." He replied.

"Uh, Democracy!" Jabbered the drunk.

The following day I set out for the border town of Mechinagar. Following a full night of sustained attacks from mosquitoes and allergens, I was running on almost no sleep. A sore throat and other symptoms of an impending cold began to appear. I stopped for lunch in a random town; the motorcycle drawing in the usual crowd. I placed an order for food, and soon after I sat down a woman began to chat me up.

Given the context, I was quite taken aback. She looked vaguely modern, opting to wear practical, western-style attire which made her look frumpish. She was not old by any means, but certainly past the typical marrying age. Although coy, I wasn't under any impression that she was being flirtatious. Such an idea is patently absurd given the culture. The fact that she initiated conversation with me was astounding enough - a first, in fact. Compared to the men, who are bold and questioning - almost invasive - the women are completely standoffish towards initiating interactions with western men, especially in the more provincial regions. 

I got the mind that she was simply curious and unafraid. Her English was a bit broken, but I gathered that she had a degree in agriculture, and did some work for a company that sold mushrooms. She had two sons, but noted:

"We are also trying the women who work thing." She said, vaguely proud.

I asked her about the elections, and she seemed very pleased with the outcome.

"I'm also on a committee. Part of the community. We try to... ugh, my English... We try to help. Development."  She finally said, losing neither composure, nor an unassuming nature.

After that, she took off. It was a short exchange, the most profound aspects of which were revealed only in the subtleties.

As I pressed onward, the cold began to wear on me. I did what I could to keep the calorie and water intake high, which seemed to work. I decided to spend the night in Mechinagar, as opposed to passing through customs, and pressing onward to Darjeeling. I got going late the following day, and with a head full of decongestants made my way into the mountains around Darjeeling just before nightfall.

It was far colder than I expected, and the sun set a full hour earlier than it had in Kathmandu. I was worn out when I arrived, and slipped into the first decent hotel I could find. They offered me a great rate, and so I took the room. For $15 a night, it's not a world-class hotel, but everything is new, and nice-looking. The room is spacious, the shower is hot, the room-service is prompt and cheap, and the bed is large and relatively dust free. When I arrived I was cold to the bone, and feeling lousy. All I wanted was a great place to warm up, grab a good meal, and recoup for a few days.

All the way from Kathmandu to Darjeeling my subconscious was subtly pushing thoughts into my awareness. Everywhere I looked I kept thinking "My God, this all looks so... uncomfortable!"

Cynical. Realist. Ought. Is. Guilt. Fate. Pessimist. Optimist.

I do not yet know what to make of what I've seen in my life. For the time being, I'm simply grateful to be able to pick and choose where to lay my head for the night.

I'm currently parked inside the hotel lobby. Only in India.