Our research team relied heavily upon bus transportation during our travels throughout Nepal. From Birgunj to Pokhara, Lumbini to Rolpa and then terminating in Nepalganj, we laughed, loved, and generally experienced the gamut of human emotions while riding in the beloved Nike swoosh bus driven by our three-man crew.

The guy on the left has been nicknamed Georgie Porgie by Jasmine, seeing as he “looks like he would kiss all the girls and make them cry.” The man in the middle wearing the leather jacket was the quiet one, always watching the road and contemplating what life choices got him to the point of chauffeuring fourteen foreigners around seldom-visited districts. I call the third man “the Newcomer” since he joined us after Pokhara. His favorite color is green. Even though I never knew their real names, I must say if it wasn’t for their skill and professionalism you would not be reading this blog post as I would be deceased and therefore have limited access to the internet.

Ah yes, the bus rides. I shant forget the nine-hour bitterly cold ride to Nepalganj. As there was no heat, I was forced to accost my seatmate Sasha for whatever body warmth we could muster. As my stomach settled from my masala chip dinner and my toes began to lose all feeling, I couldn’t help but realize that it was still better than our ride to Rolpa. The town of Livang (Ropa’s district headquarters) sits in part of a valley that can only be accessed by one mountain road. The last 8 kilometers was the most frightening riding experience I’ve ever had. The road had continuous hairpin curves as we came down the mountain. The bus was too big so the leather jacket driver had to do 3-point maneuvers to keep us from going over the steep cliff. At one point he got almost to the edge before backing up and the bus was perched downhill on a steep grade. Our translator Prateek was sitting in the front, but he got up and faced us because he couldn’t handle the view. I recited a Buddhist mantra and nervously handled the prayer beads I bought in Lumbini while several members of our team were in the back possibly crying and/or soiling themselves. The smell of overheated brakes filled our nostrils and we waited. I could only hope our driver was skilled enough to make sure the reverse gear would catch before we plummeted. My stomach was in knots as he put the bus in gear and looked back. His nimble feet gracefully coordinated the transitions between brake, clutch and gas as we retreated from cliff and completed the turn. We were on our merry way. I looked into his large mirror and saw his smile, a grin that said “silly foreigners, Trix are for kids.”  After this bonding moment, I trusted him completely. We had another driver for traveling to Dolakha whose modus operandi, in the words of R.J., was “to barrel down the narrow mountain road as fast as he could, slam on the brakes when another car approached, squeeze past the other vehicle and then return to speeding.” The whole time I bumped up and down in my dusty seat and reminisced about our leather jacket driver who knew how to use his horn and kindly handled the pot-holed roads with care so my tailbone would not become bruised. Yes, I missed our old crew and knew they would be a large part of my Nepal memories. I can still hear Georgie Porgie drumming patterns on the chassis and yelling “kah-toe, kah-toe” to help the bus fit into tight places. The Newcomer would jump out of the moving bus to ask random stranger directions so we could get to our appointments on time. The leather jacket driver had a ponytail that was just too cool for school. Our crew really helped us have an interesting and safe learning experience in Nepal. The long bus rides allowed us to see the country and its peoples up close instead of just flying over patches of brown and green. We could use the time to talk, debrief, sleep, plan, and get to know each other better. I think taking the bus was the right decision but if I had to do it over again I would pack an extra cushion, blindfold and a hot water bottle.