The Travelling man (Arne Runge)
All things considered, there are only two kinds of men in the world - those that stay at home, and those that do not.
Once upon a time, there was a travelling man named Arne, who wanted to go to Thailand. He bought a return flight ticket to Bangkok/Thailand, but on the midway in Karachi/Pakistan, he left the flight and went overland the rest of the way to Bangkok- and that’s what did all the difference.
Pakistan: 140.000.000 new friends
From Karachi he followed the Indus river north, and visited almost all the country. The fascinating Rawalpindi, Gilget at the silk route on the Karakoram Highway in Himalayas, the 1001 night adventure town Peshawar, the beautiful new built capital city Islamabad, and Lahore the cultural capital, and great centre of Mughal architecture, before he continuated to India, the former jewel of the British crown.
All his 140.000.000 new friends helped him a lot along the road, they showed him where to go and where to stay, they gave him food when he was hungry, and water when he was thirsty, they paid his tea when sitting in the cafes, they carried his backpack when he was tired, and kept watching over him when sleeping.
He came as a guest and left as a friend, so it was with pain in his heart and tears in his eyes when he said:
So long Pakistan.
Hindustan: another experience
When the travelling man crossed the border to Hindustan, he walked into a complete different world. He visited Amritsar, Old Delhi, New Delhi, Gorakpur and Sunauli, and everything was upside down. Nobody helped him, on the contrary, everybody tried to cheat him. They gave him wrong information in order to earn on it. When he had a milk-tea in a cafe, they tried to charge him for a coffee. They gave him to little change, when he paid the bills. When he changed Pakistan rupees to Indian rupees, they too gave him to little money, when he asked for the bus-stop, they lied and said there was no busses running only taxis, when he asked for the railway-ticket-office, they lied and said it was closed on Saturdays, and took him to a travel agent with mighty higher prices. When he bought and paid for a kilo of tomatoes they only gave him a pound, when he bought mineral water, the bottle had been opened, and refilled with tap water.But he kept his dignity and smiled, knowing that they would have to cheat all there life, to make a few rupees every day, in order to survive in this poor one-billion-people country, while for him it was - after all only -
-"another experience on the road of life"
Travelling around Nepal and Himalayas, to places where the pavement ends and English becomes sign language, the travelling man suddenly realised that he had come to SHANGRI-LA - which are many small places called beyuls, made to protect refugees from Tibet many, many years ago They are situated in small valleys, surrounded by high mountains, very difficult to reach, as there was no roads in Nepal and Himalayas at the time they were made.
Those small communities was self sufficient, plenty of clear fresh water came down from the high mountains, around them. The beyuls - Shangri-La - was very fertile, and people lived a happy life, protected from there persecutors. According to the legend, people there became very, very old. If you ever saw the movie "Lost horizons" you will understand.
The travelling man did not bring a guide book, neither a map, so by luck he discovered the most marvellous places very few white men came to before him.
In Kathmandu he rested for some days, sitting in small pavement-cafes drinking milk tea, watching people from all areas of the country, coming in to change their handicrafts in wool, metal, skin and paper, made by hand after 1000 years old traditions, to things from the new world - electronics, plastic containers etc. He could not speak with them, but trough the smile, they became friends.
Well, time was running and after all he was just passing through, so he continued to Kakarbitta, and left the country with so many new experiences in the backpack, to tell his grandchildren -
"When the time comes.
Bhutan: the forbidden country
On the way to Bhutan, the travelling man had to pass Hindustan, the West Bengal, and even if he was prepared, of course again they cheated him a few times. Busses don’t have change - for foreigners - He went quick to Siliguri, where he entered "The Bhutan Bus" which took him to Phuentsoling in Bhutan. A beautiful little town, just on the Bhutan side of the Indian-Bhutan border. This town can be visited without being in a group, and without visa. If you want to go further, you need to go on a organised tour, which cost at least 200 Dollar per day. It was Tuesday, and everything, except hotels and restaurants, was closed. In Bhutan Tuesday is the holiday and Sunday is a normal day.
Bhutan is a kingdom like Nepal, and the state religion is Buddhism. Therefore they don’t have cigarettes. A good Buddhist don’t smoke. But fortunately they sell Indian cigarettes in the shops, but not on Tuesdays, the holiday. So the travelling man was very lucky, that he bought a carton of cigarettes, when leaving Nepal for his last 70 rupee - one dollar. Bhutan is very different from the surrounding countries, they are wearing Kilts, long socks and leather shoes, they look very Scottish. The young girls with their babies on the back, like the Africans, are extremely beautiful.
The populations are only one million, the people look chinese, and seem very serious. Phuentsoling is situated in a valley, surrounded by green mountains, and a wild river runs through the town. It is a beautiful place, but there are a kind of depression, like in east Europe, before the glasnost and perestrojka. The money are called Ngultrum. They drink tea of a cup with an handle ear, and not of glasses like the surrounding countries. On the wall in hotel Moonlit, where he was staying, there was a big board saying: One nation - one people. Another said: Winners never quit - quitters never win. Bhutan was a very great experience, for the travelling man, even he could only stay in Phuentsoling. And it was a new country - no 67. The travelling man now settled his horse and road east towards Bangladesh.
The road to Bangladesh.
As the "Bhutan bus" only went between Bhutan and Siliguri, the travelling man crossed the border to Hindustan, and from Jaipoan he went via Maynarguri to Changra-banda, the last village before the border to Bangladesh, and whistling the Danish national hymn, he walked the last five kilometres, to the Indian immigration office. The police officer looked, and looked and looked, through his passport, which was over stamped with stamps and visas from more than twenty countries, in a matter of facts there only rested two empty pages, which would probably very soon become a problem. Then he looked very serious at the travelling man, and said: Sir - you have no visa for Bangladesh! The travelling man explained, that he expected to have a transit visa at the Bangladesh immigration office, further down the road. But - Sir he said - that is not possible. You will have to go to Calcutta, to get a visa for Bangladesh. SHIT, said the travelling man, and walked very silent back to Changrabanda without whistling. From there he took the local bus to Siliguri, and a night coach to Calcutta. Of course again he was cheated with the price, and arrived the next days afternoon. The people in the embassy of Bangladesh, was very very friendly and helpful, and he was lucky to get his visa the following day. But Calcutta, the largest city of Hindustan, was so fascinating, that he decided to stay two more days. Then he took the train, together with 30.000 Hindus, to Petrapol via Bangpaon, and walked whistling the last ten kilometres to Benapol, the border town.
YES - everything went ok, but of course the fucking Hindu money changer gave him a far to low rate, knowing that he was not allowed to take Indian money out of India.. SHIT said the travelling man and crossed the border whistling:
Always look at the bright side of life.
Bangladesh - a garden of Eden.
Crossing the river of no mans-land, between Hindustan and Bangladesh, the travelling man simply walked into a garden of Eden. Everything was so green, and so fertile, with hundreds of rivers and lakes, and everybody wanted to welcome him. Welcome to Bangladesh, which is your country, what is your name, your age, your profession, your religion. Are you married, how many children, boys or girls. Can I have your address, your autograph. They paid his tea, his food and even his bus tickets. They gave him cigarettes, cakes, bananas and beautiful gifts. They asked him kindly to visit there houses and families - guided him around and introduced him to all their friends and relatives. Even the police officers, shaked his hand, with their left hand placed on their hearts. Welcome to Bangladesh. Just like Jesus, Elvis Prestley and Michael Jackson, he had always a crowd following him. Sometimes it was almost too much.
He stayed some days in Jessore, then he took the train to Khulna, on a first class ticket, paid by the family, he did the honour to visit for dinner the last evening in Jessore. In Khulna same precedence, Mr. Mander, the tea stall owner in Hadis Park, served tea and food for him tree days, without charging him a single taka, as the money are called here. Then he went to Bacaret, and later on a two days river cruise with "Rocket" an old paddle steamer, build in Manchester in 1928. He had a nice cabin, took in his meals in the 1. class luxury restaurant, spending the time on the front deck, relaxing, watching the animals and birds, they passed along the riverside of the jungle. At last he ended up in Dhaka the capital. Here the people was very, very poor, but their hearts was even bigger than the empire state building in New York. People still wanted his autograph, so he began to write Elvis Prestley on the papers they brought him.
In Dhaka he stayed for one week, and got his visa for Burma. Before leaving the country on an aeroplane, he shaked hands with everybody, and humbled he placed his left hand on his heart and said:
Salam aleikum - and thank you to everybody I met in this marvellous country Bangladesh. Thank you very much for your hospitality, for all the beautiful presents, and for making me Elvis Presley for two weeks. Thank you very very much. - I will never ever forget you.
Rangoon: the golden land
Entering the flight bound for Yangon-Burma, the travelling man again went back to civilisation. The flight was full of business men in costumes, white shirts, tires and a funny little leather briefcase. He had breakfast onboard, and for the first time in a very long time, there was no rice and curry, but toast, butter and jam, and instead of eating with the fingers, they had a knife and a fork. What a difference from daily life in Bangladesh. When they landed in Yangon, four more travelling men appeared from the flight, and those "five men of the road" kept together for the next week. The travelling man went around Burma by bus - train – pickup – truck - boat canoe - horse cart and bicycle- richaws, visiting all the famous places like Rangoon, Mandalay, Inle Lake, Meiktila, Pyin U lwin, Nuaung Kho, Kyuang Kme, Hsipaw, Pagan and Moulmein. He saw thousands of glittering pagodas and wealth of cultures, colourful festi-vals, vast virgin jungles, majestic mountains, crystal clear waters, hot springs, floating islands, and not to forget, he met a most gracious, smiling and hospitable people.
Burma the legendary golden land, is certainly one of the most exotic countries in the world, a land of astounding beauty, and charm, quite unlike any land you will ever know.
Burma does not look poor like India and Bangladesh, contrary, but the people here are Buddhists, and very very moderate. Everybody, even old ladies smoke handmade cigars - cheroots - and so did the travelling man. Its hard to imagine how cheap everything is here, but try to browse this:
For one dollar you can get either 400 handmade cigars, five full bottles of Shan whisky, 3 and a half packets of Marlboro, 7 meals in a street kitchen, or 2 nights in a local guesthouse. The travelling man spent 100 dollars in three weeks, and lived like Mr. Rockefeller.
Western people who rarely smiles at home, went around in horse carts, with big cigars in the mouth, not only smiling, but laughing together with local people, who laugh all the time. Burma is an amazing country. I will have to come back one day.
Bangkok: a box of chocolate
Bangkok is huge, its a metropolis with a lot of skyscrapers, like New York. The streets are full of big expensive cars, and fancy motorcycles. Most people are very, very well dressed, much more elegant than the people in Denmark. There are no homeless "campers" in the streets, like in India and Bangladesh. Nobody seems to be poor, so the price level is of course much higher, than in the former countries, the travelling man visited. But getting to know the city, he explored neighbourhoods like Chinatown and Banglamphu, chaotic areas where the competition between the guesthouses are so high, that it’s possible to bargain good prices. And the street kitchens serve excellent food for little money.
Actually Bangkok’s real name is not Bangkok, which it’s called in English, but a name so long that it figures in "Guinness book of record" as the longest city name in the world. It is:
Krungthepmahanakhonboworattanakosinmahintaraayuthayamalhadilokpopnoopparatrachataniburiromudom racaniwetmahasathanamonpimanavatnsathirsakkathatiyavisnukamprasit.
A very long name isn’t it? - In daily speak the Thai people only call the city for Krung Thep, meaning the city of the angel..
The travelling man could easily spend a month or more, in this huge, great city. But he only got nine days back of his "South Asia Travel" So except for a one day tour, along the death railroad with "Death railway" passing the bridge over River Kwai, he spent the rest of the time in Bangkok with a young "homeless" yellow girl, with slanted eyes, called lemon, teaching her English.
Well - to tell you the thruth, all the thruth, and nothing but the thruth
Bangkok is certainly a box of chocolate.
And a terrific place to end the travel.
The end
And that was the end of the story about the travelling man who always, when options, took the most difficult way, and therefore, by luck or accident, experienced the most amazing things.
And all things considered, this travel have given him so many good experiences, which people, always taking the easy way, have missed.
The only thing he brought back home with him was the memories, and the only thing he left behind was his footprints.
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