Michael Kaufman

“Damn! Our flight back to Kathmandu is delayed for yet another hour. That means yet another opportunity to have masala potatoes, a spicy plate of lentils and a big boy bottle of average tasting imported Danish lager – there’s the optimist in me!”

Alas, that sensation of excitement was not without a feeling of sadness and stupidity. We lived one month train-hopping in India, a month of gallivanting through the mountains of Nepal and the three months city dwelling in Korea while our passports contained visas which allow us entry to the Republic of India. A fun fact: both Emily and I neglected to notice that we are only allowed a SINGLE entrance to India and therefore we will be brushed away the moment we try a second time to enter the country blamed for originating calculus.

No, we never detected this until about a minute before the piney man at the Indian immigration booth in the western Nepalese border town of Nepalgunj ordered we return to the countries capital (Kathmandu/530km) and purchase new visas to India. Minutes later it was the same individual who allowed into Nepal the three, twenty-year-old hippie Australians (along with their supply of horse tranquilizers and marijuana that they so brazenly consumed for the 15 hours bus ride) with not so much as an “Are you bringing any exotic fruits or animals into the country?” – hrmph!

To break it down for you we had already been stamped OUT of Nepal and we were rejected entering India. None of the six different border entry and departure points we experienced in the past three months had a person mention to us the yielding status of our visas. We thus needed to again explain ourselves to the Nepalese immigration control agent and convince him to put rubber and ink to paper for us one more time. If turned down, stupid us, we would be trapped between the two boarders along with all the chicken merchants who are forced to live riverside in five foot boxes and kill/pluck fowl – their penance for being extremely stupid when it comes to understanding transparent information that is staring you in the face multiple times for the past 100 days.

For the next couple hours we worked hard to get a flight to Kathmandu. We needed to fly not because we want to appear as lush cosmopolitans to a town the size of a shoebox, but because time is of the essence and dates are more important to us now than they are to territorial Native American Indians. This all happened on the 18th, the flight bringing us home from Delhi is on the 21st, our Nepal visas expires on the 20th and swimming lessons are on the 16th of next month (just a reminder to myself). Oh and I should mention that in South Asia any mode of transportation other than flying takes longer than the lifespan of most six legged insects.

So that breaks down for you the problem. The solution was very simple for your average oil tycoon but felt a little costly for us. We flew to Kathmandu late on the 18th (148$/each) and got visas and a flight to Delhi on the 19th (310$/each).

It is now the 20th and we have equivalent to 7$ in our pockets (well just one pocket) and we hope to not have to ping any more Canadian banking/credit agencies.

So who’s to blame?

Is it the Korean travel agent, who booked all our flights and knew we would enter India at least twice and was also responsible for getting us our visas? Yes.

Is it the multiple Indian and Nepalese border officials, who would stamp us out and in to their respective countries and not tell us that we can’t get back into India? Yes.

Is it society, who in its vast mysterious ways creates individuals who will do bad things and must be restricted from going to certain places and effectively is responsible for confusing and excessive counter-defenses? Defiantly!

Or? Is it Michael and Emily, who float through life without feeling responsible for their mistakes and who, up until now, rely on the fact that they can beg and charm their way out of embarrassing logistic situations? Perhaps.

It doesn’t matter, right? … wink wink … home on Sunday!