Je sens une attente insoutenable, la tension est palpable, mais quand va-t-il nous faire rire à nouveau, notre vie n’a plus de sens depuis plus d’un mois ? Ne vous inquiétez pas, laissez vos ongles repousser et votre estomac au repos, Bernardo ne m’a pas encore lâché les baskets. Cela fait d’ailleurs un bon mois que je le trimballe à travers l’Inde. Il ne paye toujours pas l’hôtel bien sûr, mais il me raconte des conneries tout le temps ce qui fait partie de notre deal.
Bref, nous sommes arrivés le 18 Décembre à la frontière Indienne. Bon déjà, appelé ça comme vous voulez, pour moi c’est une vulgaire passoire. D’ailleurs si tu ne te présentes pas de toi-même au guichet, bien caché derrière le stand de légumes, tu passes sans tampon, incognito (comme Bernardo en 90 lorsqu’il a illégalement passé la frontière bolivienne, en pleine jungle avec les Farcs à ses trousses…mais ça, c’est une autre histoire). Puis c’est la guerre, du monde partout, les bus remplis à ras bords, des klaxons interminables suivis de regards excessivement insistants, impossible de se poser. L’inde ne va pas être une partie de plaisir.
Mon premier kiffe, ma première gare. Indice (Inde isse, bravo Bernardo, merci beaucoup) chez vous, à la maison : Les panneaux d’affichage de la gare indiquent le numéro du train, la destination et et et… le retard, je dis oui oui oui oui oui. Au début tu peux penser que c’est la durée du trajet tellement c’est fou (9H, 12H, 4H, …).
Ma première semaine a été une torture morale et physique. D’abord Varanasi et le Gange, fleuve sacré (sacré fleuve plutôt). On rentre directement dans le vif du sujet : Dégueulasse. Impossible de rêvasser en regardant en l’air sans entrer en contact instantané avec une merde de vache ou un chien mouillé, mort depuis le départ des anglais en 47. Et le Gange, mon dieu ! Il y a bien un peu d’eau qui coule, c’est vrai, mais au milieu des déchets, des excréments d’animaux et d’humains, des corps humains en décompositions, … Bref, une poubelle qui roule entre 2 rives immondes. Et bien entendu, les gens s’y baignent, lavent leurs fringues et leurs dents… Tout le monde pue quoi. Il faut fuir à tout prix, direction Delhi (Delhi de fuite, super Bernardo, en grande forme)… Une idée qu’elle est bonne.
On commence par un trajet de train en « Jungle classe », la pire mais également la seule disponible sans réservation. Comment expliquer la « Jungle classe » ? C’est 300 personnes pour 100 places dans le wagon. Les gens sautent dans le train avant l’arrêt et moi, bah je suis le mouvement, suivi de très près par les 18 kilos de mon sac à dos et les 50 personnes entassées derrière (ambiance assez propice aux rapprochements, j’en conviens). A l’intérieur tu dors littéralement debout. En arrivant enfin à destination, avec 3H de retard ce qui est un bon résultat, j’ai la douce impression que la saleté et les odeurs de merdes ont décidés de m’emboiter le pas (Pardon tu disais Bernardo ? « De m’emboita le pet » ! Mais quelle aisance avec la langue française).
Je disais donc, Delhi. C’est parti pour 5 jours d’arnaques en tout genre. Surtaxes d’hôtels inexistantes, ticket de bus 5 à 10 fois plus cher, … et le plus beau, le coup de grâce, la cerise sur le gâteaux, la mouche sur la merde, le fameux coup de la station de train.
-Non non, monsieur, le buleau est felmé aujould’hui, venez je vous emmène à la bonne place
-Que faire Bernardo ? Il a un insigne gouvernemental et c’est sous les yeux délicieux de la police locale, il doit être honnête, à n’en point douter (petit conseil en Inde, toujours douter !)
Là, c’est le drame. 2H30 dans un bureau climatisé, une addition finale de 270€ pour un « Rajasthan tour », et on fini avec un petit sourire de vipère et une poigné de main pour faire redescendre la douleur jusque dans le fond de ton c… (Caleçon Bernardo, reste poli). Du grand Delhire (très bon ça Bernardo) !
Ayant compris qu’à ce rythme, j’allais finir mon tour du monde en Inde comme un con, sans un rond et sous un pont, j’ai décidé d’adopter une technique mise au point par Bernardo.
Pour chaque « Where are you from ? », ma réponse était « From Serbia, I’m student and i’m poor ». Parce qu’il faut comprendre un truc en Inde, Toute personne qui porte un sac à dos (Etranger ou Indien d’ailleurs) est un porte monnaie ambulant. Du coup toute discussion commençant par « Hey mon frère ! » Fini par « Donne-moi du pognon ». Et on y met tout son petit cœur : « Tu es beau », « Tu viens d’où ? », « J’ai plein d’amis là bas », … Du coup la Serbie, c’est pas mal parce que la plupart ne savent même pas où ça se situe. Il y a bien ce couillon à Jodhpur qui m’a demandé de quelle ville exactement et quelle était la monnaie en Serbie… C’est à ce moment là que la Serbie et Belgrade sont entrées officiellement dans la zone euro.
Sinon le Rajasthan n’a rien à envier à Delhi niveau saleté et pauvreté. Même rapport aux touristes, mêmes techniques d’arnaque, et même manie de sans arrêts balancer la tête de gauche à droite pour répondre aux questions.
- ‘Prend une décision mec, c’est oui ou non, mais avec la bouche (Sont chiants ces muets, hein Bernardo). J’y ai aussi goûté les cigarettes locales, les bidis. Pour un fumeur comme moi, c’est assez déconseillé si tu ne veux pas passer toutes la matinée du lendemain à essayer de déterrer les corps du cimetière qui a élu domicile dans le fond de ta gorge.
Puis direction Darjeeling via un trajet de train d’environs 42H… Quand tu arrives à destination, tu réapprends à marcher en fait. Mais ce n’est pas terminé, il faut encore prendre une jeep taxi pour rejoindre Darjeeling, 2H30. Donc en fait la jeep c’est environs 9 places bien serrées et en chemin on se permet le luxe de prendre d’autres passagers.
« Non monsieur c’est pas possible là »
« Mais si regarde » …
« Et je le fou où mon Bernardo moi, sur mes genoux ? »
A ce moment, j’ai compris que Bernardo avait bien mangé en Inde. Parce que oui, en Inde, tu manges terriblement bien et pour pas grand-chose.
Darjeeling ? Je retrouve enfin les sourires du Népal qui m’avaient tant manqués. Des gens, plus ou moins honnêtes, et du putain de thé pardi (Non pas Vanessa Bernardo, c’est très nul). Puis la vue sur le Kanchenjunga tous les jours, à Darjeeling et dans le Sikkim. 30 minutes matin et 30 minutes le soir où j’arrivais à faire fermer sa g…. à Bernardo. Merveilleux, tout simplement. Et finalement, le dernier train direction Calcutta. Ma dernière nuit en couchette, mon dernier réveil en fanfare, littéralement assourdit par les vendeurs de thé qui hurlent « chai chai chai » à 5H du matin dans tous les wagons (Y a-t-il réellement quelqu’un qui apprécie ?). Les dernières odeurs magiques de chai et de lassi mélangées à la merde et aux odeurs de gaz d’échappement. Les dernières négociations de 20 minutes avec des voleurs. Les dernières ballades en villes ponctuées, environs toutes les 50 mètres, par un « Hey my brother !» qui sent très mauvais… Merci à l’Inde et aux Indiens, ne changez pas, vous êtes imparfait. Je reviendrais. C’est aussi ça l’Inde, un pays de contradictions et d’hypocrites qui est donc parfaitement adapté au genre humain.
A bientôt pour de nouvelles aventures
Voici les photos d'Inde
India or in the ass
I feel an unbearable waiting, the tension is palpable, but when will he makes us laugh again, our life has made no sense for the past month? Don’t worry, let your nails growing again and your stomach in peace, Bernardo is still with me. He doesn’t share the price of the hostels but he continues to tell me bullshits. In a certain way, it’s our deal.
Well, we arrived on the 18th of December to the Indian border. First, call it as you like, for me it’s just a colander. Besides, if you don’t go by your own to the office, hidden behind a vegetable stand, you cross it incognito and without stamp (Like Bernardo in the 90ties when he illegally crossed the Bolivian border in the jungle with FARC on his heels ... but that's another story). Then, it’s the war, people everywhere, buses filled to the brim, endless horning followed by insistent regards, impossible to take a rest. The India will not be a cakewalk.
My first pleasure, my first train station. Index, the station screen indicates the train number, destination and … the delay. At first you may think it’s the journey time. It’s so crazy (9H, 12H , 4H, ... ) .
My first week was a moral and physical torture. Firstly, Varanasi and the holy Ganga river. It goes directly to the heart of the matter : Disgusting . Unable to daydream looking up without walking on a cow shit or a wet dog , dead since the departure of English in 1947. And the Ganga , my god ! There is some water flowing, it’s true, but in the middle of the waste, animal and human dung, dead human body... In short, a bin that rolls between two filthy sides. And of course, people take bathe, wash their clothes and their teeth ... Everyone stinks. I have to escape at all costs towards Delhi ... What a great idea.
It begins with a train ride in "Jungle class", the worst but also the only one available without any reservation. How to explain the "Jungle class»? It’s 300 people for 100 seats in the wagon. People jump on the train before it stops and me I follow the movement, closely followed by the 18 kilos of my backpack and 50 people crammed behind (favourable atmosphere to get closer, I agree ) . Inside you literally sleep standing. Finally arriving at destination, 3H delay which is good for Delhi, I feel like dirt and smells of shit have decided to follow me.
So I said, Delhi. Let’s go for 5 days of scams. Nonexistent surtaxes in hotels, bus ticket 5 to 10 times more expensive ... and the most beautiful, the coup de grace, the icing on the cake, the flies on shit, the famous trick of the train station.
- No, no, sir, the office is close today, come I'll take you to the right place
- What can I do Bernardo? He has a government badge and it’s under the eyes of the delightful local police, he must be honest, there’s no doubt (advice: Always doubt in India!).
There is the drama. 2:30 in an air conditioned office, a final addition of €270 for a "Rajasthan tour" finishing with a small viper smile and a hand shake to make the pain going down into the depths of your a ... (Ankle Bernardo, stay polite). The best Deal – hi (Very good Bernardo, you have so much facilities with English language…)
Having understood that at this rate, I would end my world tour in India as a jerk without money and under a bridge, I decided to adopt a new technique developed by Bernardo. For each "Where are you from? " My answer was "From Serbia, I'm student and I'm poor ". Because you have to know one thing about India, Anyone who wears a backpack (Indian or foreigner, doesn’t matter) is a walking wallet. Any discussion started with "Hey brother! " Ends with “Give me 10 rupees ". And they put their heart and soul into it, "You 're beautiful ", " Where are you from ? ", " I have lots of friends there " ... So Serbia is not so bad because most of them don’t even know where it is. Just once, this idiot in Jodhpur who asked me which city and what the currency in Serbia ... Then Serbia and Belgrade officially entered the euro area.
Otherwise Rajasthan has nothing to envy to Delhi dirt and poverty level. Same way to deal with tourists, same scam techniques, and same habit of swinging head from left to right to answer questions.
- Take a decision man, yes or no, but with the mouth (these dumb are boring and, huh Bernardo). I have also tasted the local cigarettes, bidis . For a smoker like me, it's pretty not advised if you don’t want to spend all the next morning trying to burry up the body of the cemetery that settled down deeply in your throat.
Then towards Darjeeling via a 42H train ride... When you arrive at your destination, you actually relearn how to walk. But it is not over, you must also take a shared jeep taxi to Darjeeling, 2:30. So the jeep is around 9 tiny places and on the way we allow ourselves the luxury of bringing other passengers.
"No sir, it is not possible here"
"Yes it is" ...
"And what do I do with Bernardo, on my knees?"
At that moment, I realized that Bernardo had well eaten in India. Because yes, in India, you eat well and very cheap.
Darjeeling? Finally I found Nepali smiles again which I missed. People, more or less honest , and fucking good tea. Then the view of Kanchenjunga all day in Darjeeling and Sikkim. 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening close to the Nirvana. Just wonderful. And finally, the last train to Calcutta. the last night berth , the last rude awakening, literally deafened by tea sellers screaming "chai chai chai" at 5 am(Is there really someone who enjoys ?) . The last magical smell of chai and lassi mixed with shit and the smell of exhaust. The last 20 minutes of negotiations with robbers. The last city ballads punctuated, about every 50 meters, with a "Hey my brother! " that stinks ... Thanks to you India and Indians , do not change , you are imperfect. I will come back. It is also India, a country of contradictions and hypocrites that is perfectly adapted to the human race.
Just want to thanks the people who were really nice and made my Indian trip better. I scpecially think about Sneha and the dream team on the train to Darjeeling.
See you soon for new stories
Here are the photos of India
Well, we arrived on the 18th of December to the Indian border. First, call it as you like, for me it’s just a colander. Besides, if you don’t go by your own to the office, hidden behind a vegetable stand, you cross it incognito and without stamp (Like Bernardo in the 90ties when he illegally crossed the Bolivian border in the jungle with FARC on his heels ... but that's another story). Then, it’s the war, people everywhere, buses filled to the brim, endless horning followed by insistent regards, impossible to take a rest. The India will not be a cakewalk.
My first pleasure, my first train station. Index, the station screen indicates the train number, destination and … the delay. At first you may think it’s the journey time. It’s so crazy (9H, 12H , 4H, ... ) .
My first week was a moral and physical torture. Firstly, Varanasi and the holy Ganga river. It goes directly to the heart of the matter : Disgusting . Unable to daydream looking up without walking on a cow shit or a wet dog , dead since the departure of English in 1947. And the Ganga , my god ! There is some water flowing, it’s true, but in the middle of the waste, animal and human dung, dead human body... In short, a bin that rolls between two filthy sides. And of course, people take bathe, wash their clothes and their teeth ... Everyone stinks. I have to escape at all costs towards Delhi ... What a great idea.
It begins with a train ride in "Jungle class", the worst but also the only one available without any reservation. How to explain the "Jungle class»? It’s 300 people for 100 seats in the wagon. People jump on the train before it stops and me I follow the movement, closely followed by the 18 kilos of my backpack and 50 people crammed behind (favourable atmosphere to get closer, I agree ) . Inside you literally sleep standing. Finally arriving at destination, 3H delay which is good for Delhi, I feel like dirt and smells of shit have decided to follow me.
So I said, Delhi. Let’s go for 5 days of scams. Nonexistent surtaxes in hotels, bus ticket 5 to 10 times more expensive ... and the most beautiful, the coup de grace, the icing on the cake, the flies on shit, the famous trick of the train station.
- No, no, sir, the office is close today, come I'll take you to the right place
- What can I do Bernardo? He has a government badge and it’s under the eyes of the delightful local police, he must be honest, there’s no doubt (advice: Always doubt in India!).
There is the drama. 2:30 in an air conditioned office, a final addition of €270 for a "Rajasthan tour" finishing with a small viper smile and a hand shake to make the pain going down into the depths of your a ... (Ankle Bernardo, stay polite). The best Deal – hi (Very good Bernardo, you have so much facilities with English language…)
Having understood that at this rate, I would end my world tour in India as a jerk without money and under a bridge, I decided to adopt a new technique developed by Bernardo. For each "Where are you from? " My answer was "From Serbia, I'm student and I'm poor ". Because you have to know one thing about India, Anyone who wears a backpack (Indian or foreigner, doesn’t matter) is a walking wallet. Any discussion started with "Hey brother! " Ends with “Give me 10 rupees ". And they put their heart and soul into it, "You 're beautiful ", " Where are you from ? ", " I have lots of friends there " ... So Serbia is not so bad because most of them don’t even know where it is. Just once, this idiot in Jodhpur who asked me which city and what the currency in Serbia ... Then Serbia and Belgrade officially entered the euro area.
Otherwise Rajasthan has nothing to envy to Delhi dirt and poverty level. Same way to deal with tourists, same scam techniques, and same habit of swinging head from left to right to answer questions.
- Take a decision man, yes or no, but with the mouth (these dumb are boring and, huh Bernardo). I have also tasted the local cigarettes, bidis . For a smoker like me, it's pretty not advised if you don’t want to spend all the next morning trying to burry up the body of the cemetery that settled down deeply in your throat.
Then towards Darjeeling via a 42H train ride... When you arrive at your destination, you actually relearn how to walk. But it is not over, you must also take a shared jeep taxi to Darjeeling, 2:30. So the jeep is around 9 tiny places and on the way we allow ourselves the luxury of bringing other passengers.
"No sir, it is not possible here"
"Yes it is" ...
"And what do I do with Bernardo, on my knees?"
At that moment, I realized that Bernardo had well eaten in India. Because yes, in India, you eat well and very cheap.
Darjeeling? Finally I found Nepali smiles again which I missed. People, more or less honest , and fucking good tea. Then the view of Kanchenjunga all day in Darjeeling and Sikkim. 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening close to the Nirvana. Just wonderful. And finally, the last train to Calcutta. the last night berth , the last rude awakening, literally deafened by tea sellers screaming "chai chai chai" at 5 am(Is there really someone who enjoys ?) . The last magical smell of chai and lassi mixed with shit and the smell of exhaust. The last 20 minutes of negotiations with robbers. The last city ballads punctuated, about every 50 meters, with a "Hey my brother! " that stinks ... Thanks to you India and Indians , do not change , you are imperfect. I will come back. It is also India, a country of contradictions and hypocrites that is perfectly adapted to the human race.
Just want to thanks the people who were really nice and made my Indian trip better. I scpecially think about Sneha and the dream team on the train to Darjeeling.
See you soon for new stories
Here are the photos of India