Visa-on-Arrival = Arse-Biscuitry

Short Version:
Visa shenanigans. High foods are odd.

Long Version:
Even the long version is a long story short:
NZers visiting India are eligible for (required to obtain) visa-on-arrival.

It's a pain in the arse

Everything has to be handwritten in quadruplicate by many men, it takes so long that your bags are likely to have been blown up as unattended potential bomb-type items by the time you get through, and it can only be used for one non-transit (ie leaving the airport) entry to India.

In any given year.

So visiting Delhi on the way out of Nepal was a great idea, right up to the point where we decided to skip the flooded Bangkok and go to Delhi on the way TO Nepal as well, unwittingly blowing our one chance at being allowed in to India.

Luckily, there's a potential solution: Obtain a Transit Visa from the Indian Embassy in Kathmandu.

Unluckily, they might decline our application. Or they might not. It will depend on... things.

And the only way to find out? Wait for several hours then give them some nonrefundable moneys then wait some more hours.

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Hours waited, moneys paid, more hours waited... visas acquired.

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Then we spent some more hours looking at art. Especially pictures of dancing skeletons, and a fat blue man with fire facial hair and varying numbers of arms and corpses and severed head adornments.

And then we walked up eight flights of stairs to a rooftop restaurant where everything was served scarily flattened, crumbed, deep-fried and garlic-flavored.

Everything.

Including the pineapple and apple fritters, and the banana.