Monsoon Tales: the journey is the destination

The sun shown bright and clear over Pokhara on a sticky July afternoon. Seven balmy days of sun erased the seasonal expectations from my mind. If this is monsoon, I thought to myself, then I don’t see what all the fuss is about; sure it’s hot, but where’s the water? As is the way of the universe, the sky seemed to hear my skepticism and decided to respond accordingly. One moment I took shelter from the hot sun by stepping into a shop to poke around, the next I stepped out to an absolutely insane downfall of definitely POURing rain showers. Instantly soaked and barely missing the bus, the situation called for splurging $2 USD for a cab ride across town. After a mere five minutes rainfall storm water overflowed onto the streets forcing the taxi to splash through several flooded intersections. Once home and safely across the water-logged, frog-filled front yard, we took shelter on the porch, sipping Tibetan butter tea and slurping mangoes in the fading evening light.

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The storm continued relentlessly through the night. It felt like falling asleep beneath a waterfall. I uncharacteristically found myself waking in the night to use the facilities more that once…

I proudly caught a 7:30AM bus headed back to my town the next morning – early enough to get me to my office at a reasonable hour, conceptually at least. The bus I found myself on happened to be around thirty years old and in an impressive state of neglect. After living in Nepal for 11 months I’ve seen plenty of beat-up buses. They, understandably, seem to prioritize the basics: keeping the tires full and the engine running. But this bus failed in the next essential function of a bus: keeping its passengers sheltered from the external elements. The corroded ceiling leaked, meaning that even though I had a layer between myself and the storm outside I was still being rained upon. And – the cushioned seat beneath me was soaked. Making the best of the situation, I kept my bag and my person covered with my rain jacket. My triumph was only periodically disrupted by a rogue drip now and again.

Having been stuffed full with Tibetan butter tea that morning by my hosts, I had to pee almost immediately upon sitting down. Luckily for me the driver also felt the need to relieve himself mid-ride and the bus pulled over for a “pisap” break about half way. This was easy enough for the men; they formed a small half-circle behind the bus and relieved themselves with ease. For the one other woman in need of relief and myself, doing so without exposure to our bus and all other oncoming traffic required shimmying down a grassy slope and squatting in the vegetation. Around 20 minutes later I noticed a characteristic stickiness between my toes, indicating that a leech had indeed managed to make a meal of me despite my haste. (Fortunately I found no indication that others had been successful.)

We soon came upon a halted bus headed our direction at a narrow pass. After ten minutes discussion between drivers, determining that the bus had broken beyond immediate repair, the other bus’s occupants transferred their belongings and themselves to our vessel, filling it to capacity. Merrily we continued on – one big, wet bus family united in the simple joy that we were once again moving toward our destinations. At least – we were for another half hour or so. Suddenly our bus began to slow as it passed one, two, five pulled-over buses, numerous jeeps and a couple freight trucks. Clearly this was a foolish act but apparently the bus driver had to see what the hold-up was for himself. A rocky mass of land and water had slumped onto the road in two places within a 100 yard stretch, making the road impassible to all but the heftiest tractors. Instead of letting us out near the landslides, the bus proceeded to back-up at a snail’s pace in order to park behind all the other vehicles – and then the let us off. On foot we marched back passed the vehicles and carefully picked our way across the new creek beds that sprawled over the road. On the other side, a local bus had just arrived to discover the road-block, and it made quick to unload its passengers, reload with us foot-crossers, and turn around back up the hill to Baglung. This bus too quickly became snug, but once again the passengers felt the shared elation of finally moving toward our destinations once again.

By the time I disembarked and sat down at my office, it was 12:30pm. The journey from Pokhara to Baglung that only takes 2 hours by jeep or car had taken an incredible 5 hours that day. I honestly laughed in bewilderment about it, for it had been such an eventful journey that I’d hardly noticed the difference.