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Tuesday’s Bus
Nepal
Text and photos by Dave
Underwood
Wednesday morning was fine
and cool.
The sun emerged from behind the Annapurna mountain-giants
with authority, casting a warm glow over Pokhara. Today we planned to travel to Bhaktapur, near
Kathmandu, to stay with friends before leaving Nepal. It would turn out to be an
eventful journey.
Nepal, a sovereign
Independent Kingdom between Tibet and India, has often been called a land of
contrasts, with a range of transport options to match. We had traveled in buses with holes in the floor, dugout canoes, on elephants, in
rickshaws, and in tiny three-wheeled minibuses that sound like lawnmowers. But
today Nepal would find a new experience for us - a parting gesture, a memento.
Today’s
journey began at the bus-park, where people milled around a collection of stalls
selling delicious coffees, chaiya (sweet milk tea), fresh fruit, and hot
breakfast food. We bought some bananas and oranges and sat with other bus
passengers around an open fire with a cup of chaiya, waiting for our boarding
instructions.
The
newspaper mystery
A group of boys expertly
stowed the bags and by 7:30 we were ready to go. The boys worked deftly, with
the skill of craftsmen. Every square foot of roof space and every possible inch
of vacant seat space were used. I noticed a copy of the
Kathmandu Post near the driver’s seat
and reached to pick it up.
“No, no,” came the
driver’s response. “I am reading. Then my friend is reading.”
The paper was whisked away
from me.
“I wonder what all that
was about,” I said to Karen.
“He probably hasn’t read
it yet. Maybe he’ll let you read it later,” my wife replied.
We rolled out of town to a
clear sky, our driver enthusiastically punishing the gears. He was the picture
of concentration, complete with beanie and bandana facemask as protection from
the dust of the dry season and highway traffic fumes. With curiosity, I noticed
that none of the driver’s friends were interested in reading the paper. It just
lay there on the seat.
In seven hours we would
travel 200 kilometers along the Prithvi Highway from Pokhara to Kathmandu. The
road crosses Nepal's Middle Hills with views of deep valleys and terraced
hillsides, often following major rivers that provide the country with a quarter
of its power through hydroelectricity, and tourists with serious rapids.
Roadside shanty-towns
punctuate the journey, populated by opportunists looking to exploit the passing
trade. Around halfway there is a turn-off to Gorkha. This hillside town with its
incredible palace and temples was home to King Prithvi Narayan Shah in the 18th
century. During a period of 30 years this extraordinary man unified a country
of disjointed principalities without resorting to violence. He created a state
able to resist the colonial armies that had conquered almost every other Asian
country, defending the country with the now legendary Gorkha (Gurkha) soldiers.
Things
get worrying
Three hours into the trip
we passed the Gorka turnoff. By now, conversation had ceased as passengers
slept, read and munched trail-food. Sagging seats were packed with clothes as
relief against the road's imperfections.
From my seat, I watched
Nepal pass by. At the junction town of Mugling, the Marsyangdi and Trisuli
rivers join to form the Narayani, a tributary of the holy Ganges. Another road
turns south toward the fertile plains of the Terai, home to the Royal Chitwan
National Park. We continued east, climbing toward the rim of the Kathmandu
Valley. Then things got worrying.
Road conditions improved
slightly, apparently signaling to the driver a need to travel at speeds far in
excess of what most observers would call “safe”. The contours of the road,
however, did not improve. We climbed rapidly and soared around many blind
corners offering views of steep embankments and deep valleys.
Passengers previously
pre-occupied with sleeping and reading were now alert and pre-occupied with
looking out the window. It was not just our driver we were worried about.
Besides the window views of precipitous gorges and hillsides, we braced for the
onslaught of rapidly approaching trucks and buses coming the other direction. It
appears the game of “chicken” was invented in Nepal.
We passed a truck on its
side, and later, another on its roof. No one seemed concerned. Apparently this
was a common sight along the road.
Outside our window, at the
bottom of a deep canyon, the white-water rapids of the Trisuli River rushed
toward their destiny with the Ganges. Karen and I looked at the rapids and then
at each other: We would both rather be white-water rafting than on this bus!
Then the vehicle stopped.
Who is
this masked man?
We sat dazed, pleased to
have relief from the roller-coaster ride, but curious about why we had stopped.
Someone spotted the driver at the back of the bus. He was jumping excitedly,
waving his arms around and pointing. He was shouting for us to join him.
We filed off the bus,
making our way cautiously toward the masked driver and his friends. The driver
beckoned with his arm, as his friends peered over the edge of the cliff.
“Look,
look,” the driver laughed, pointing again, this time to the bottom of the gorge.
“Tuesday’s bus,” he said.
He laughed louder now,
almost maniacally, and his friends joined him in some bizarre epitaph to the
twisted wreck of yesterday’s bus in the valley hundreds of feet below us.
Yesterday’s bus!
Nobody spoke. Maybe the
driver’s mask wasn’t for protection against the elements. Maybe it was a
disguise. Maybe this guy was a Maoist extremist and he didn’t want to be
identified. Maybe he was just crazy. Whatever he was, he was back in the bus,
and the engine roared to life as he prepared to continue our voyage of
discovery. Strangely, we all quietly boarded the bus and sat down like school
children threatened with detention if we didn’t behave.
The
newspaper mystery solved
Ten minutes later, we
stopped at a roadside restaurant to stretch our legs and break up the trip. We
returned to the bus ahead of the other passengers, and I saw the forbidden paper
lying on the seat. Since no one was around, I picked it up. And there it was, on
the second page.
The story explained that
several people were injured yesterday, some critically, in a serious bus
accident fuelled by “unnecessarily aggressive driving” outside of Mugling on the
main Pokhara-Kathmandu highway.
“Maybe he didn’t want us
reading it and worrying unnecessarily,” I reasoned.
“Maybe he didn’t want us
spoiling his surprise,” said Karen.
We made it to Kathmandu
and to our friends in Bhaktapur. There were no further incidents, and we
recalled our tale around the dinner table, laughing at events that only hours
before had us secretly praying for reprieve.
But Karen and I swallowed
as we realized the terrifying truth: Somewhere in Nepal, there was an abandoned
bus named after every day of the week.
TIPS, TRAPS AND MORE
Tip: Guesthouses are the go.
Experience culture and comfort for less than half the price of a hotel. You’ll
pay between $4 and $30.
Tip: Meet the people and save a
bundle. Explore local markets, then picnic in a medieval square and feast on
Nepal’s soul.
Tip:
Visit from
October to April
to
see the best weather. Things get
sticky during the May to September monsoon
season.
Trap: Walking? Get a decent
topographical map (Schneider’s is
good), and plan your walks
to minimise steep uphill sections.
Trap: Taxis and three-wheeled
“tempos” are plentiful and cheap but bargain hard - BEFORE you get in! Buses?
Well, you’ve read about them!
Trap: Schedule showers for the
afternoon. Solar power is popular and afternoons are your best chance of
success.
More: Check out
www.travel-nepal.com and
www.visitnepal.com. I used Lonely Planet, Rough Guide and Moon books for
planning, and “Culture Shock Nepal” (John Burbank) and “At Home in the
Himalayas” (Christina Noble) were great reads.
Author bio:
Bored with the treadmill of capitalism and a successful
Information Technology career in South Australia, Dave Underwood is looking for
something a little more spiritual these days. Blessed with the "travel
chromosome" and a fierce passion for gritty red wine and grittier blues music,
most of his spare time goes to exploring new destinations and cultures with his
wife and friend of 22 years, writing about it, and peddling the results.
