Kodari: Captain Haddock's syndrome

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"Life does not wait at the border, is all you need to know ", Al Green singing. In the Nepalese Kodari, the corruption not know how to wait. Seeking to recover for the second time the visa and five dollars for not giving a picture card. Captain Haddock's syndrome is about to unfold.

We had warned Bijay, our Nepali guide, before flying to Lhasa. On our return, if the rains did from theirs, we saw maybe we have to walk across the border between China and Nepal and Mount pull through until you find the car you would send us from Kathmandu. For these ravines that seem cut from a madman with a razor blade down much water in monsoon season and the road is cut off by landslides. I recognize that penetrate through the dense vegetation dragging suitcases is not the best epilogue of a long journey like this, but had to risk. Now, standing next to dozens of tourists in line at the border in Zhangmu, come to head the warnings of Bijay and look at the sky rather than the passport should check immigration agents.
One step from Zhangmu, the last village in China, Kodak is, the first in Nepal (or conversely, as). Both are joined at the hip by the Friendship Bridge, saving an impressive gorge through which plunges, wild and spirited, the river Bhote. I like people of the border, but the border areas in underdeveloped countries often desolate nesting hustler and corrupt officials. In the case of Kodari, an amalgam of huts and shacks sheet at odds with the hillside, the usual sense of helplessness was joined by a dirt that made her shiver to Bethlehem. Alfredo Merino had summarized perfectly in "Everest": "Between rats and piles of garbage that nobody cares to withdraw, this town is one of the places where the sewer of the world ".

No Man's Land

At the bottom of this cesspool we, back on board the rover, twenty minutes after bypass procedures at the border with China. Tenzing warns that we can not go beyond. Between this point and extend the Nepalese customs 500 meters of road to be bridged neutral walk. Our paths are separated from a swarm of young boys who struggle to get our bags. The screaming is deafening. We shook hands and I tip extension cord, splendid at first and has been eroding as the disagreements have occurred, especially Rongbuk, where Tenzing was unconcerned of us coming down from base camp. The farewell is cold. Neither Bethlehem nor I turn the head while we went dragging bags through the mud to the Bridge of Friendship, while fifty kids buzzing around us like flies barruntando the storm. We expect that Alec le Sueur defined as "the infamous Nepalese customs, where agents inspect all documents, all bags, to see what they can confiscate ". I have no body to corrupt customs and walk merely spur morning my revenge against the world.
The liturgy of the forms already filled in the Kathmandu airport is repeated again in the shed that serves as the office of Nepal. I read somewhere you have to be on guard because the main scam is to charge you tocomocho again the 30 dollars when the second entry visa into the country only costs half. Effectively, We claim 30 dollars each. But not only that, also a photograph or five dollars a penalty in the absence. The weary traveler inside the volcano begins to erupt, although the official institutionalized detailing the bleeding does not even suspect. This is what I named Captain Haddock syndrome.

Opportunists in uniform

As if suddenly possessed by the wrath of the beloved curmudgeon Tintin's sidekick, I start to shout and swear in Spanish while gestured vehemently before the incredulous eyes of the Nepalese officials and other tourists. Nowhere are so many puzzled faces as a border. Now, also, there are a few crazy astonished on account of Spanish tourists.

This type is intended to steal, is evident, but it also makes no elegance

I've always been bad I take for asshole, not because one is created smarter than others (if there is truth in what I believe to the letter is that the first, and perhaps unique, sign of intelligence is the recognition of one's ignorance), but because I've never been able to petty profiteers, especially when in uniform or spew any kind of authority. This type is intended to steal, is evident, but it also makes no elegance. One always hopes, at least, some refinement in the looting perpetrated by the government of the day.

There are few places more inappropriate to put a brave customs, no man's land where the authority exercises unceremoniously, especially in democratic countries to shape. I know, but the rickety tourist subjected to plunder not listen to reason and still shouting from the rooftops their reproaches. The immigration officer asked the young man who has come to accompany us to the car that should lead us to Kathmandu what the fuck I'm saying.
-I have no idea. Speak in Spanish- replied with a shrug.
More sedate, I propose the agent to make me his photo and then I pay the five dollars I claim and, if not, I teach writing required to provide a picture. Tired of not understand a word, handed him a yellow card photograph of Ramon, My godson of four years, I always carry in your wallet.
-Am I- digo the rostrum with serious.
-Do you really?
-Yes, a few years ago. ¿The true?
The officer then gives budge and I returned the five dollar penalty and the visa stamped a second time. Captain Haddock has gotten away with it.
At half past eight (two hours and fifteen more in China), with our passports in his pocket, killed waiting in a dingy bar where there is not even cold beer to calm things down and make peace with the world. Before us, an Italian couple who witnessed the scene of the customs we glances without speaking, as fearing another outburst. Half an hour later, We are already way down the road from Kathmandu. Captain Haddock has been in the border, waiting for another occasion to have exhausted the next tourist.

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Comments (1)

  • Hoyense

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    The story of the photo is great, I'm dying of laughter imagining

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