Although I had heard about being marked as a tourist ripe for fake-ticket scams or bicycle-rickshaw rides I didn’t need, no such solicitations materialized. At least, I already knew not to accept any offers of a massage.
There were a couple of shops and “pure vegetarian” restaurants along the short walk from where passengers disembarked the bus from Varanasi. Of course, a cow graced the scenery, hoofing and foraging.
One extra-colorful Tata truck carrying what looked like sacks of potatoes and boasted on its rear end hand-painted advice to drivers: “Blow horn” and “Use dipper at night.”
Huh? The word “dipper” made me think of ice cream — maybe because of Dippin’ Dots, the dehydrated novelty dessert I’ve never actually seen anyone eat — and the Big Dipper constellation. Try as I might, I couldn’t make sense of either in the context of attempting to communicate with a potato truck.
Sunauli felt like it was in the middle of nowhere, but I didn’t mind — even though I was eager to set foot in Nepal and discover what awaits.