NEPAL 9: A Miserable Melody

“Don’t cry because it’s over.  Smile because it happened.” ~ Dr. Suess

It had been quite the task preparing for and simply finding the Thai Embassy.  We were supposed to get our 60 day visas for Thailand before we left Nepal, and this was the last day we could do it.  Yesterday, we had walked all the way there and it was closed.  Today, when we arrived we discovered it wasn’t the Thai Embassy at all, but an office for the Thai airlines.  Having already wasted two days waiting for the faux embassy to open we were losing time on the trail, and we needed to make a discussion quick. 

“You can get a 30 day tourist visa upon arrival.” The man behind the counter informed us. 

So we cut our losses and decided to pack up and leave the next morning.  We went back to our hotel and sat down for dinner.  The manager, having heard that we were leaving, came over to our table.  

“Do you have your TIMS permit?” he asked. 

“No.” Justin replied. 

“You MUST get one! You could go to jail if you get caught hiking without one.”

He was very concerned for us, and told us to postpone our trip one more day.  Justin and I weighed the options.  If we left in the morning we could still make it to the Himal, but if we didn’t get a card we could go to jail. 

“We will just go and hope for the best.” Justin said confidently. “Worst case scenario they’ll just make us pay for one when we get up there.”

“No, worst case scenario we will go to jail!” I said laughing, but for some reason I still agreed that we should go in the morning.

The first bus towards the Langtang Mountain Range came early, and we were excited to be heading back out.  Despite our first failed attempt, we were managing to keep our expectations low and our spirits high.  Little did we know the damage the earthquake had caused and the adventure that was awaiting us.  Five hours into our nine hour bus ride and we stopped.  The bus lackey yelled something in Nepali throughout the bus, and everyone started piling out.  Justin and I looked at one another confused.  Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere? I stepped out of the bus and looked down the road towards the mass of people walking.  A landslide had taking out an entire section of the road. 

A woman from France must have seen our confused expressions and explained, her voice thickly accented, “You must valk for 'bout an ho'r until you zee de next bus.  You are going to vant to hurry because it is first-come first-serve, and they vill leave you.  I have a private car vaiting for me.” 

We thanked her and hurried off on what was left of the road.  A half a mile down the road and most of the group had stopped and piled into the back of a bright orange truck resembling a low-sided dump truck.  A few unlucky stragglers, including ourselves, looked both envious and somewhat relieved that they weren’t being stuffed like sardines into the back of that truck.  Realizing that we weren’t going to get a ride we marched on leaving the others to wait.

Carefully we crossed the landslide, always looking up towards the top of the mountain just in case any rocks began to fall.  The road cut into the side of the mountain, and snaked in front of us through tiny villages, streams, and more landslides.  The low clouds were heavy with moisture and it began to sprinkle.  As the clouds came to rest on the mountain exhausted from their load, they wrapped around us as though a thick blanket and we could hardly see our hand in front of our face.  We stopped to put the rain covers over our bags, and I carefully covered our flute.

Everywhere we went eyes widened when they saw the flute, and hearts opened when we played it.  We were careful to always keep it in our sight because we knew it was a coveted possession.  Uniquely Native American, it was made by one of the most renowned flute makers in the Americas.  My parents had bought it for their 17th wedding anniversary along with a Native American drum, and it is a cherished item to all in my family.  From the first time Justin visited my parents' house and took the flute down from its place atop a high shelf, he fell in love with the peaceful melodies it played and the deep emotion it evoked in all within earshot.  Maybe it's because we both have Cherokee blood running through our veins, or perhaps it is just our love for all things peaceful and beautiful, but a supernatural bond seemed to have been formed between us and the flute from that day forth.  My parents passed it on to us as a wedding present, and the tradition of a family heirloom began.  We had grand ideas of playing it atop a mountain in the Langtang Mountain range. 

Desperately we tried to keep our expectations minimal to non-existent for this leg of the journey.  It was difficult to do this however, as this was our last attempt to see the Crown of the World, what we came all this way to see. 

“If we don’t have any expectations for this trek then whatever happens we won’t be disappointed.” I suggested to Justin. 

He eagerly agreed.  Out came the erasers and we wiped clean all the expectations, plans, and schemes.

A few landslides later and a pick-up truck stopped to pick our tiny group up.  For 40 rupees ($0.60 USD) we rode the rest of the way bumping along.  Standing up in the back of the truck was very difficult as the mountain had taken large bites out of the road.  We sat down with large smiles, and grateful legs.  The truck stopped, we jumped out.  The crowd from the truck gathered around the man in charge of taking money, and we joined in.  A small number of steps from the truck and the road became muddy, rocky, and treacherous.  Carefully we crossed a landslide.  Our eyes never left the top of the mountain as large boulders the size of a man’s head came crashing down.  Justin became transfixed, forgetting that I was a step behind him, he halted watching a bolder tumble with bone breaking force from above him, in front of him, and then down the cliff to the abyss below. 

I shoved him, “You’re going to get me killed!” I yelled frantically. 

He awoke from his astonishment and stepped forward just as a rock spun out of control behind me. 

Another hour of walking and we came to a small village where two buses were waiting.  We discovered the first one was private when we were told to get off; we hoped the next would not be the same or we would be sore out of luck.  The next bus was so packed, and we were so tired that as I threw up my bag I thought, ‘I should get my flute.’ But quickly I was rushed inside.  Fifty people packed into the tiny twenty-seater bus, and twenty more found seats on top of the bus.  They had thrown a large tarp over the bags, as it was beginning to rain, so I didn’t worry too much about my bag. 

The bus made a stop in front of an official looking building and we knew at once we were supposed to show our passes.  "The moment of truth." I said raising my eyebrows and nodding my head toward the building. 

Everything went as Justin had expected.  We reluctantly shelled out a pretty penny for the passes, but no more than we would have had to back in Kathmandu.  Our chests sighed a breath of relief in unison and we hopped back on the bus toward Syabru-Bensi.

The bus stopped in Dunche, people unloaded, and my stomach started to wrench in knots.  “Justin. You need to check the bags.  I have a feeling someone stole our flute.” 

He looked at me in alarm, and attempted to get off the bus.  Just then twenty more people tried to pack onto the bus, and it began to pour causing all those atop the bus to pack inside as well.  I looked anxiously at Justin, feeling more violated with each inch that we drove further away from Dunche.  The rain came down with vengeance, and I pleaded with Justin to climb on top of the bus and check – I just had to know. 

He pushed past the man guarding the door and began climbing up the side of the bus while we clambered over the rocky terrain.  I hung my head out the window in anticipation.  The sky broke open.  He looked down.  I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t able to find it.  Instantly the last hope remaining in my mind snapped in two, and the flood gates of my soul was open.  My eyes refused to hold back the tears and I continued to hold my head out the window so that the rest of the bus couldn’t tell that I was crying.  The rain ran down my face and tried to wash away my tears, but my heart was broken and nothing could console me. 

“I knew I should have gotten it when I threw my bag up.” I sobbed to Justin.

“We need to listen to your gut more.” Justin replied.  You could see the heart break, anger, and disbelief stretching across his face.     

Darkness crept over the mountains and it did little to bring us comfort.  We had yet to reach the town that we were aiming for and the nine hour bus ride had already turned into twelve long, grueling hours.   The bus continued winding down perilous roadways stopping occasionally to check the road conditions.  Our next stop was a river crossing.  Half of the side of the road had washed away; you couldn’t see the road as the river ferociously dominated it. 

Two bus lackeys walked on ahead as we waited and watched in anticipation.  Breathless I sat mesmerized by the danger of the situation.  Too heartbroken to grasp the threat of the moment, I sat in the bus and put my life in the driver’s hands.  The decision was made.  The bus driver committed; placing his foot full on the throttle.  It was an all or nothing attempt to cross the road and not be swept away by the river’s current.

The entire bus breathed again after opening their eyes to find themselves safe on the other side.  The rush of the moment was dulled when the bus stopped only 100 yards further at yet another impassable landslide. 

“We risked our lives to save a few minutes of walking!” I exclaimed.  I looked out the window and whispered to Justin, “I don’t see anything.”

He gazed hopefully out the window, stood, motioned for me to follow, and got off the bus.  Hoisting our bags onto our backs, he grabbed my hand, and we walked into the endless night. 

“Will this day never end?” I sighed under my breath. 

Another river stood in our way; cautiously we placed one foot in front of the other.  “So much for dry shoes tomorrow.” I shrugged at the idea as my heart had been aching so badly it was already starting to grow numb. 

Again, I held my breath as the river roared down the mountain removing any semblance of a road.  Rocks were placed along the edge of the cliff, and I wasn’t sure what the purpose of this was except to aid me in getting to the other side.  Justin went on ahead of me, and I remembered the rope that we had packed for just a moment like this. 

“Oh well," I thought.  "I could die right here, right now.  At least I would have been living when I died.” I justified my death as I concentrated on my foot placement. 

One of the porters for another couple looked behind him, quickly set down his large load, and turned to help us cross.  At least someone would witness our death; if nothing else he could report it.  It is so nice of him to stop and help us.  My mind’s thoughts were fundamental and critical; the world bleak, and unexciting.  My heart refused to beat hard as my life teetered on the edge of mortality.

The road, unrelenting, stretched in front of us, and we looked hopefully towards a light in the distance. 

“I think that’s the Syabru-Bensi.” Justin yearned. 

I looked forward but speech was lost to me.  The mud was up to our ankles and smelled of garbage and frogs.  The rain continued, and my tears had been damned up in behind the rim of my eyes.  I refused to blink, feel or be angry about our situation.  An hour past, the light was far behind us now, and we still hadn’t reached the town.  Our headlamps were of small consequence against the pitch black night.  My long silence had been noted. 

Justin turned to me and with a squeeze of my hand said, “You deserve so much more than this.”  The disappointment in his voice caused him to speak quickly, and stop sharply before his emotions shoved past his reserve.

We found ourselves standing exhausted, saturated down to our bones in the elements, and ravenous.  Attempting to find housing in the first lodge that came into view, we were surprised that we were rejected. 

“No room.” Justin said. 

“Sounds like they don’t fancy foreigners.” I replied astonished. 

There had never been a problem getting a room before, and these all looked dark and vacant.  The guide that had helped us across the river motioned for us to follow him and we were more than happy to let someone else take the reins.

The carpet was marinating in our wet stench as we stood in the middle of our room.  I sunk to the floor, held my knees, and began to cry.  I could no longer hold in my grief.  Justin stood motionless, a blank expression fit his face as though a mask.  Lifelessly he lifted is hand and motioned for me to stand.  I clamored to his side.  His arms were solid and my rock; they held tight and promised to save me from being whisked away into the dark sea of grief. 

His chest heaved.  My body lost all feeling, my mind sharpened and quickened to understand what this meant; I held my breath.  He exhaled and let his tears fall.  His heart was just as broken as mine, and it was nice to not have to carry it all on my own. 

“I feel like my dog just died.” I hoped to offer some form of understanding. 

He nodded and his tears fell washing away my anguish one drop at a time. 

“You have to tell my mom; I just can’t.” The sobs wracked my chest as the thought about having to tell my parents that we so foolishly lost the flute confronted my mind. 

Motionless, we stood grasping onto the reality of each other, bonded by grief, regret, and the memory of beauty.  Beauty not experienced or understood by all, but held true and special in our heart.  The delight of the flute seemed to fill the crevasses of our soul, and at this moment that is just what we needed. 

‘Good-bye our dear friend.  Our only hope is that you will be loved and cherished, and that you will bring joy to the life of the one who has you now.’   Though saddened by the loss of our beloved flute, we smile in remembrance of the happy moments it brought us.