Slow News Day

Packing

I've brought a new dry bag with me, partly as it's not been rotted by DEET, partly because it's bigger and partly because it's the one I think I meant to buy in the first place but wasn't watching what I was doing.

I was thinking that by sticking my tent in the original dry bag together with the sleeping bag, Thermarest and waterproof layers I could then fill the new bag with everything that I usually end up taking out of the panniers in endless trips every night from my room to the bike (shoes, laptop, etc. none of which fitted in the original dry bag).

Except I now seemed to have filled everything to bursting: two dry bags and both panniers. How does that work? I should have room free, somewhere.

Headlamp

Guessing that Customs wouldn't be in business until 11 again today I revisited my headlamp switch following my sister's suggestion that I try taking it apart and undoing some of the neglect I have given it. Neglect? Me?

I managed to take the handlebar switching assembly apart (it has the horn, indicators, emergency lights etc.) except for the main-beam/full-beam rocker switch which refused to budge. Bugger. I sprayed WD-40 generously about, put it back together to find that not only had it made no difference to the headlamp but now the full-beam flasher switch would jam on. Grrr! Eventually I got that back working again and was back to square one other than that I was now dripping with sweat and smelling of WD-40.

Customs

I arrived at 10:30 and found that, surprise, they really don't start until 11 every day. I feel sorry for anyone with some real Customs work to do and who has a morning deadline.

My man came in at 11 and sent me off to "my Deputy Commissioner" on the floor below. He was obviously important as he had a nice big office to himself with decent lighting and furniture and properly working air-con. He still had comedy stacks of folders piled all over his desk, mind.

He then asked me some pertinent questions revolving around the problem that a) they had no record of my letter having been sent to them (as predicted) and b) I was therefore applying for the duty-free extension two months after the original six months. I needed some explanation as to why I was doing that. He asked if I'd been to some remote places which might explain it. I noted at that point that the file involving my case had had several sheets of handwritten pages as well as several printouts with sections highlighted added to it. Clearly some people had been doing some work on my case.

The conversation sort of went quiet at that point and I was left pondering whether I'd missed the cue to "Get out!" or was meant to be literally penning some sort of excuse. Eventually, the pause was broken by the original guy coming in and rather helpfully suggesting that I scribble a note on my original letter pleading ignorance about having to get the paperwork completed before six months were up and ask that they look kindly upon my case. It seemed a little weasly but what do I care?

That done we were both ushered out and my man suggested that the paperwork would be done by tomorrow, could I come back then? I said that that wasn't a problem but I must have had a look of some disappointment on my face as he muttered something and headed up the corridor to the PAs office of the boss woman I spoke to last time. I wasn't actually sure what he had said so hung around to ask him whereon he come back and I chased him up the stairs trying to figure out what was going on. He said the Commissioner was in and maybe it could be done in an hour. That sounded good and I was duly found a comfy chair in another office entirely.

I was offered some tea and quickly came to realise that the water cooler in this man's office seemed to be the only water cooler around as there was a steady stream of men (and exclusively men) popping in to drink or top up water bottles.

In the meanwhile a (rare) woman came in and busied herself in the chair opposite the blokey and started to use the computer having spoken to him about something or other. Throughout all of this there is also a steady stream, two or three blokes at a time, coming in with bundles of files to be read, signed, stamped, piled up, archived, all sorts.

It was with some interest, then, I could see that the woman started a Google search for "what happens if a copper wire battery is covered with lime juice." Not quite was I was expecting. She selected a result, and having read it both she and the bloke discussed the result and she then went on on more specific searches ultimately for "does X make a good electrolyte." Hmm, schoolboy chemistry.

So here we have the boss man (of this office) having a lackey woman (whom he might have had a thing for, who knows) do the dirty work of typing in Google queries and having her find suitable answers, ultimately, probably, for his kids' homework. On top of that, where discussion on the Google results was required it was more important than the Customs work being done. The poor saps with heaps of paperwork had to stand around stupidly while GCSE level chemistry was discussed and guesses were hazarded about what other liquids might be good electrolytes.

As I was musing on why Indian bureaucracy might be inefficient a rather attractive and fit fraulein came in and sat down. It's fair to say that her ensemble of leggings and skin-tight vest(?) top (ie. leaving her shoulders largely uncovered) hit the building's grapevine and in no time at all the small office became packed with staffers whom I might suggest had no good reason to be there. I had to point out the sudden increase in activity in the office to her which she did find quite funny but I also imagine she was used to it.

We had a bit of a chin-wag discussing the fun and games of dealing with Customs especially when you might be being economical with the truth regarding the import of a luxury British (well, now German) marque car from Dubai. As you might be doing. Apparently this isn't the first time they've done this and, surprise, surprise, rather a large number of people in the building seemed to recognise her from last time.

Before you know it, it was getting on for two o'clock and she toddled off for some lunch at a nearby hotel (a perk of doing a business, er, personal import) leaving me wondering how long the "just an hour" was going to be. As I was thinking about finally getting up and finding my man and inquiring as to progress he found me and said something about my paperwork. I stood up to ask him to repeat that again please and he promptly walked out. He came back in rolling his head and waving his hand in the "it's all good" fashion and said something else I didn't quite catch but it involved the word "tea." "Yes, I'd love a cup of tea." He disappeared again.

My cup of tea turned up and a few minutes later he returned saying it had been signed by the Commissioner and that it would be another few minutes. Indeed a few minutes later he was back again and this time it was "The Commissioner has declined your request." Oh. Oh dear. "So what happens now?" He didn't really answer that but said I could read why, which was something to do with me having imported the bike from several places which weren't Delhi so why was Delhi getting involved? I should get the extension from Attari Road (the Indian side of the Pakistani border crossing) where I'd first imported the bike.

Hmm. This didn't look too promising. I asked if the Commissioner in question was Ms Michaels (whom I had spoken to in January and who had given me the advice on how to wangle the extension in the first place). I asked if it would be OK to speak to her and he said fine, no problem, but don't mention that you're read her message! So I toddled off downstairs and booked myself in with the PA.

A few minutes later I was allowed in and I thanked her for seeing me again. "Have I seen you before?" (Ah, not the start I was hoping for.) She explained her thoughts in that she was quite happy to give me the extension apart from the fact that I'd already had three Customs posts involved (having imported the bike three times into India) and adding Delhi into the mix would only create rank confusion. However, she had asked for a letter to be drafted to the Customs posts concerned saying that she was quite happy for me to have the extension but would rather that they issued it, to keep the paperwork together, or something. She was going to have a copy sent to me at my correspondence address (AK's).

Well, OK, not ideal but not an outright fail either. She was pretty confident (though she did change her wording mid-sentence) that enough people hit this sort of problem when they leave that at Attari Road they would issue the extension on a regular basis.

Noting that I would get a copy I then sought out my man again to see if I could get a copy there and then. He had no idea such a letter was being drafted until, by coincidence, her goafer appeared saying exactly the same thing (well, I presume so, he said something in Hindi which seemed to confirm my story). Unfortunately, my man pointed out, the letter (to be done by the Deputy Commissioner I saw earlier) wouldn't get done today (it was now about 15:30).

Ho hum. So I'm due back tomorrow (he suggested it would be done before 12 -- I suggested I would be back at 11 which he didn't look too pleased by the thought of) to get a letter with which I need to approach the appropriate Commissioner at the next border crossing. So I can imagine that there'll be another one or two or three day run-around the next time I try to leave India. I'm due in China in two and a half weeks so with the best will in the world I'm not going to make it to Kathmandu and frankly the thought of struggling through a small border crossing whose Commissioner of Customs probably isn't used to this sort of malarkey means I suspect Nepal is off the list of countries to be visited.

That's something of a shame but of course it leaves an opportunity for another trip a later time -- people talk about the 219 which runs through the Himalayas on the Chinese side of the Nepalese border... Perhaps when it's a bit cheaper to travel in China (or when I'm fabulously rich by some means that isn't entirely clear to me right now).

Headlamp 2

I popped into a petrol station on the way back and filled up with '97. Well, I'm hoping it was '97, it actually said "speed fast" on the pump and cost more money. I don't recall Indian '97 fuel actually being any better than their cheap stuff (and in the boonies you get no choice) but at Kaulson's he kept showing me the insides of engines they had stripped down and saying, "Look at the state of that! This is why you should use '97 petrol." Of course, I haven't a clue what the inside of an engine should look like and so would nod sagely and look horrified at what I guessed were appropriate times.

Anyway, it's been a while but as I got back on the bike there was a shout of "lights!" as no-one uses their lights except to blind each other at night and most European bikes' lights are "always on" which creates confusion everywhere. There is a sort of running light on my bike which has remained on throughout this headlamp saga though I'm not sure its "beam" extends to the top of the front wheel let alone the ground but like a torch, if you catch it straight on in the reflector, it can look quite bright. So I ignored the shout, as ever.

I then took the Gurgaon turn on the way out of the airport as the Delhi turn takes you way north towards Delhi proper (rather than Mahipalpur where my hotel is) and you end up doubling a long way back on yourself. Eventually I missed my turn (by foolishly switching to the Delhi road and then seeing the sign for Mahipalpur appear on the slip road below me) and found myself on that very section of road way north and now pointing in the wrong direction. Still, a nice loop round the entire airport.

However, as I was musing on my new temperature gauge reporting some 44C (and the sensor by the air intake edging towards 50C) when I was stuck in a jam I realised I could see my headlamp reflected in the back of the car in front. Result!

I suspect that rather than anything I have done this was the result of crashing through a few Delhi potholes and the resultant vibration cleaning the electrical contacts. Still can't complain!