NEPAL 16 - DUNCHE PART 2 - Farewell Nepal

"The road of life twists and turns, and no two directions are ever the same.  Yet our lessons come from the journey - not the destination."  - Don Williams Jr.

Justin returned a short while later with bad news, “All the buses are full.” He sat down ravenous, and we ate in silence, contemplating our options. 

“Well, we can’t – we WILL NOT – miss our flight.  I want out of here.” I said matter-a-factly.  “Somehow we will get to Kathmandu tomorrow.” He nodded in agreement and continued to devour his food.  I knew I didn’t need to say more.  We both were finished with Nepal and ready to move onto our next adventure.  Thailand had started to become built up in our minds, a magical flawless place.  A place of abundant fruits and vegetables, where sunshine drifted down from the sky and monsoons were a thing of the past, a place where if you brought up leeches people would respond, “What are leeches?”, and where there was a comfortable clean bed waiting for us every night.  The beautiful unblemished picture of Thailand that we had painted in our minds had become a dangerous trap of unrivaled expectations.  But, we didn’t care – we just wanted out of Nepal.

“Are you ready to take the wanted poster out and look for the flute?” Justin tried to sound positive.  It was dark now, and the street was seedy, dirty and we still needed to find a way out of town by the next morning.  “I heard there is a hotel here that can set up private cars to Kathmandu.  It might be expensive but worth looking into.”

“Sure, let’s try it.” I responded with as much hope as I could muster.  On the way to the hotel we took turns showing the wanted picture to the town folks of Dunche.   Upon handing the poster to a few women, they would take one look at it and pass it on to the men, who would then in return shake their head towards us.  “I forgot that the older women can’t read.” I said in a voice etched by both surprise and remembrance. 

“Yeah, the girls are hardly getting to go to school even now, especially if there is a boy in the family.  Remember that article I read to you back in Kathmandu? Most women and girls still believe that if there is a boy in the family, it is more important for them to give up going to school so that he can be educated.”  Justin recalled the article for me.  I could only shake my head at the inequality.

Upon reaching the hotel that offered the possibility of a private care, and after many confusing discussions with the owners, long waits, and a pot of Nepali tea, we finally received an answer.  It would be about $50.00 dollars to get us back to Kathmandu.  It may not sound like a lot, especially compared to missing our flight, but we have a very strict budget for this trip, and a very specific amount of money to last us until Justin and I start teaching in Thailand, and this did not fit in the budget at all.  We sat in silence over our tea and let the news soak in.  On one hand the buses were full, we couldn’t miss our flight, and this was a way to guarantee that we didn’t – on the other hand, spending that kind of money now would jeopardize future meals.  I stared into my mug wishing the answer would form in the froth. 

“I will need an answer soon,” said the owner of the hotel, “I am on the phone with the Kathmandu office.”  Justin and I sat silent and still, the pressure mounting.

“We can’t do it,” Justin looked at me apologetically, “We will just have to force ourselves on a bus in the morning.”  His face was grim, but confident.

“Alright.  We will just make it happen tomorrow then.”  I didn’t like the answer, but it was really the only option.

We had asked everyone in the town if they had seen our flute, and no one was able to give any information that proved helpful.  Defeated, we went back to the hotel to sleep.  My dreams were troubled and I tossed and turned as I saw nightmarish visions of leech infested buses, hotel rooms with leeches crawling up the wall, and me looking for Justin always somewhere else in my dreams.  I could never find him.  The next morning we awoke, groggily squinting into the sunshine, grateful that the rain had stopped. 

“I don’t know if I ever want to come back to Nepal.” I said looking up into Justin’s exhausted face. 

“Me either.” He replied sleepily, “Let’s get an early start, grab some breakfast and head out to the buses.”

Seven o’clock in the morning and the 8 AM bus was already packed.  We stood aimlessly around the buses trying to figure out what in the world was going on.  It was chaos!  People were constantly purchasing ‘the last ticket’, shoving each other into the bus like a can of sardines, and climbing on top to find an open spot on the luggage rack.  The bus was so laden down with people that I thought it would burst. 

“If I have learned anything from riding the buses in Nepal, it’s that there is always one more seat left!”

“I don’t want to get a seat inside,” I said my eyes wide, and slightly frightened of the thought of being inside the bus, “Can’t we just sit on top?” Justin smiled happily and began to climb on top of the bus.  I followed suit and soon we were moving along through the city.  “Look!” I said pointing toward the front of the hotel, “There’s that group that bought tickets.  I hope they aren’t trying to fit in this bus!” The group looked bewildered at the bus, and tried to show the bus lackey that they had tickets.  He pointed toward the top of the bus, and they all began to scramble up.  “I didn’t think we could fit any more people!” I said while trying to maintain my spot on the edge of the bus.  “Don’t let me fall off!” I grabbed Justin’s arm tightly afraid I would be pushed off at any moment.

The sky was a brilliant blue and the mountains we had waited all month to see stood majestic and mighty in pure white robes.  “The mountains!” I exclaimed as I excitedly pointed them out to Justin, “We can finally see the mountains!”

Justin’s face beamed, “So, that’s why we came here!”

 “If I hadn’t seen that I don’t think I would ever want to come back.” I said in awe. 

“Yeah, I guess we have to come back now.” Justin said with a wry grin. 

The bus ride was slow and felt quite similar to what I imagine it would be like to be on the back of a bull in slow motion.  We crossed large portions of broken road, afraid that at any moment one of the jolts would send us over the cliff.  The ride was filled with screams from our surrounding comrades and Justin and I grinned at each other, enjoying every moment of the ordeal.  An hour and a half later we came to our first landslide.  We were familiar with the routine so we quickly dismounted from our buckin’ bronco and hurried off towards the truck waiting on the other side of the landslide.  We knew if we didn’t hurry we would be left behind again and it that would mean another long walk and the potential of missing our bus.  So we hastened our step.  The trail of people crawling up the muddy landslide resembled ants on the way to their mound.  

“Why are they going all the way up there, when you could cross right here in a tenth of the distance?” I asked Justin astonished by the proceedings. 

“It must be for a reason.” Justin shrugged and his voice suggested that we followed the pack. 

“I’m going this way,” I pointed straight across the landslide.  “It will be quicker and we can pass all these people.” I didn’t give him time to argue, but instead dashed across the landslide holding my breath all the while.  Justin followed, his lumbering legs starting mini landslides with every step.  I smiled triumphantly on the other side, “Come on! We’re almost there!”

We were among the first to reach the truck – similar to the one that lost its breaks and rolled off the cliff a few days before - so we stood in the back with our arms wrapped around one of the bars, and waited for the truck-bed to fill.  It didn’t take long and soon we were on our way rambling over the rocky road, and looking nervously back at the edge of the cliff.  

“I picked this side just in case the truck’s breaks give out, or it starts to roll.  Then we will have a little more of a chance to get out before it goes over the cliff.” Justin informed me of our emergency evacuation plan.  We could have had a much nicer few of the valley below, but the reality of going over the edge was forefront in my mind, besides we had promised Urkin that we would be careful.  Don’t tell him about skipping the line, and running across the landslide!

We had managed to avoid buying a ticket on the first bus because they thought we were among the young group that had purchased the tickets – the one time our white skin was an advantage for us.  And since we knew that they would try and rip us off at the second bus by making us pay again for the journey to 

Kathmandu, we didn’t feel bad for getting a free trip.  The truck had stop and we were currently making our way across another river and toward the last bus.  “Only six more hours and we will be in Kathmandu!” Justin said happily. 

“Six more hours feels like an eternity on these buses.  I don’t want to sit inside, let’s sit on top again.” I replied. 

“But it looks like it might rain.” Justin said while looking up at the ever changing sky.

 “I don’t care if it does, I'm not getting in that bus!  Besides, I don’t want to get bus sick again.” Each time we had ridden on the bu,s the constant rocking back-and-forth, the cramped conditions, other people throwing-up out the windows, and the lack of fresh air nearly brought me to join the masses and project my lunch onto the rock walls outside.

We sat waiting atop the bus listening to a girl argue with the driver, “No, I paid for my ticket already.  It is suppose to be good all the way to Kathmandu!”

I pointed towards the girl, “Isn’t that the girl we ran into in Dunche when we were showing people the wanted sign for our flute?”

“Yeah, it looks as though they are trying to get her to pay again.  Maybe I should go help.”  Justin climbed off the bus and tried to negotiate with the driver.  Another man walked up and it looked like the conversation had taken a very interesting turn.  As I waited I tried to make myself look bigger than I was in order to keep Justin his place.  This wasn’t an easy task as people were beginning to arrive and were piling on top of the bus shoving one another, and trying to get the best spots available.  I looked toward the conversation still taking place, and Justin waved me over.  I shook my head unwilling to give up my place on the bus.  He nodded and waved again while mouthing, “It’s okay!”  I half climbed half jumped down from the bus and ambled my way over to Justin.

“So what do you think about sharing a private car to Kathmandu? It only takes three hours to get there instead of six, and it’s only $5.00 more.”  I thought about it for a minute as $5.00 had become a lot of money to me lately, but then the benefits far outweighed the losses.  We got our bags down from the bus and jumped in the car to Kathmandu.  Before getting in the car Justin realized he had a leech on his hand and began shaking his hand wildly trying to get it off.  “I must have got that when I went in the bushes to pee.” He said bitterly. 

“I guess we have learned our lesson of peeing in the bushes,” I chuckled.  The time passed quickly as the sun shone brightly on the valley.  Eagles soared and played with each other as we wound our way down the mountainside.  Every so often we stopped to let the gentleman in the front out to wretch on the side of the road, and then we hurried off again towards Kathmandu.

We stopped at a check point and Justin got out to change.  “Ugh!” He growled, “More leeches!” He continued to flick them off his shoes, pants, and pulled one from his calf.  “Hey! Where’s my ring?” he exclaimed, doubling is frustration.  We checked all around the inside and outside of the vehicle. 

“It must have flown off back when you were trying to get that leech off your hand,” I sighed.  Justin and I had both lost a lot of weight on our first trek and it looked to be awhile before we were going to gain it back.  

“It’s okay, we will get you a temporary one in Kathmandu.” I said trying to cheer him up.  He sat back down in the car frustrated, and even happier to be leaving for Thailand the next day.

The warm sun eventually lulled Justin off to sleep, and I watched the scenery flash by.  People began to emerge from their huts as though lured out by the beckoning light.  Boys led their flocks toward the glistening rivers to drink, villagers laid out their corn kernels in large woven flat baskets to dry, and the hills rolled on clothed in velvet cloaks of green.  Sheets of color blurred by as villagers hung their saris, bedding and laundry out to dry in the sunshine, and the sun itself seemed to radiate out through their smiles and eyes.  Everyone seemed to agree that the end of the monsoon season was here, and with it they began to once again become alive.  Our surroundings danced as one with joy, this was a Nepal that we had neither seen nor experienced. 

“Everything looks so different in the sunshine.” I whispered to Justin in awe as he began to stir from his sleep.  Nepal had become as though a beautiful bride presenting herself at the start of the aisle; her surroundings captivated as they rose to honor her beauty.  She was taking her first step down the aisle, and right as we are about to leave.  Against all reason, a tear glistening in my eye, and awestruck by her splendor I vowed, ‘I’ll be back for you Nepal.  I will see your magnificence fully.  Until we meet again.  Farewell.’   

Our last night in Kathmandu was filled with tears as the hotel employees had become quite attached to us and us to them.  Justin had written a few of the guys from the day crew a letter and left it with their manager.  The manager cried as he read it, and passed it onto the owner of the hotel who also cried and hugged us.  

“Tonight, you leave as family.” He hugged us again and draped cream silk scarves, meant for adorning monks, royalty, and highly honored guests, around our necks.  We were silenced by their gratitude toward us.  

Moments later the emotionally charged moment still hung in the air as we waved goodbye to the owner from inside our taxi.  The taxi, a small car that didn’t resemble one at all, was so tiny that Justin’s bag was too large and had to ride catawampus on the roof.  The driver took off as we stared out the window, our Nepali family fading away into the darkness.  Our driver continued on honking at other cars, dodging dogs and cows, and a rooster crowed as though to wish us farewell. 

“To the promise land?” Justin said with sadness lingering in his voice. 

“To the promise land.” I confirmed.

It is always bitter-sweet to leave a place behind even if your time there was a bed of roses – thorns and all.  But on to the new adventure of living and working in another country. . . on to Thailand!