Yes... it shakes, it rattles, it hums. It weaves through traffic and steep hills dangerously close to the edge. It is loud, reeks with the odor of two dozen musty men and a few equally musty women, and is very good at inducing terrifying headaches.
This is the bus system in Nepal. It makes the Greyhound seem like a distant luxury. And yes, it was an awesome experience! Traveling 220 miles took 14 hours; and this was relatively fast, considering the 2 full days it took 8 years ago.
I used to travel this road either with my family or with just my father once or twice every year and have fond memories of gazing at the steep hillsides tamed by terraced rice fields, the thundering Trishuli River and the lush forest that graced the Nepali countryside. Fascinated by travel, I was socialized early on to have a keen grasp on the geography of an area - the landscapes, the rivers, the villages, the people, and so on.
However, as the bus sped through the countless villages and farms, although I got the same rush I got as a child, so much had changed. First, there seemed to be a LOT more people (the population of Nepal has grown by nearly 5 million people in 8 years). Second, the effects of the Maoist insurgency is evident everywhere - the police stations look like warzones, with miles of barbwire guarding entry and camouflaged sandbags with twigs and leaves that conceal military troops who don guns and ammo.
"What the hell??? I thought that there was a ceasefire in place! What are these guys doing armed and ready to fire?" Apparently, the Maoists had wreaked such havoc in the countryside that the military was still maintaining a close watch on things to ensure order. And it wasn't much order at that - the only thing they really protected was themselves and their stations, not the local people, who, as I would find out by inquiring with some of the villagers, had to pay draconian taxes to the Maoists, and many of whose lives were devastated. Still, I remain skeptical of making quick judgments because its difficult to label either side of the conflict - the government and the Maoists - as "good guys."
After a whole day of headaches, and shaking my head in sadness at the situation (while smiling inside at the incredible beauty of my country), I arrived at Urlabari to visit my Aunt. The evening winded down as the beautiful monsoon sunset served as the perfect backdrop for a great conversation with her. Niru Dhungana is the voice of reason in her little community - an independent, self-sufficent woman, a revolutionary, a college professor, a staunch feminist, and the nicest person in the world... Good times.
- The local temple in Urlabari
- A typical police station in rural Nepal. Barricaded by miles of barbwire and fortified walls, it stands in stark contrast to the open, welcoming tea-shop just next door where a villager looks on.Day 2 -
Another 2 hour bus ride (ugh) to Bhadrapur, where the rest of my huge family lives (my dad has 7 brothers and 1 sister, and each of them has 3-5 children, and most of these children have 3-5 children of their own!). Needless to say, it was going to be fun!
Jogging through my memory, I couldn't even remember some of them, let alone their names, and needed some time to figure out the kinship system here. I was pretty proud of myself for using all the proper kinship terms (there are plenty), but was the laughing stock of everyone when I missed one and called my father's sister's son's wife "didi" (older sister - a lot of people are didi's, not just immediate siblings). I should have used "Bhauju." Well, I learned quickly.
- A typical house in the Nepali countryside. This one striked my attention because half the roof is constructed of the usual hay shingles, and the other side of tin. Tin roofs are seen as a sign of bikas, or development. Also note the wood-burning stoves at the front of the house (they brew an amazing cup of tea and the most yummy food!)Day 3 -
More family-visiting, house-hopping, story-telling, story-hearing fun. The highlight of the day was listening to my grandmother recite and sing the Ramayan, an epic Hindu tale much like the Odyssey. She is 86 years old and in great health. Yet, she worries everyone with her pessimistic outlook on life - she thinks she'll die anytime, which I don't think is true. A lot of nice conversations with everyone, nonetheless.
It rained all day. The thick monsoon clouds poured sheets of rain - it was beautiful... like John Coltrane music blazing from the skies. Barefeet, soaked in rain and sliding across the mud, I played football with the younger kids - what fun!
- Football in the rain in Bhadrapur.
- With my hajurama (grandmother).
Day 4 -
Much of the same. Biked all day. Visited the colorful bazaar and the temple. Played more football in the rain. Visited my dad's old high school and college. Many of the vast fields that I ran across as a child were now overrun by new houses and there just weren't as many haystacks to dive into anymore. Talk about social change!
- The Bhadrapur bazaar. Bicycles are clearly the main form of transportation here and it is always busy.Day 5 -
My last day in Bhadrapur. I want to stay for another week! Alas, in all honesty, I haven't done much work at all for my research project and its consuming my thoughts - I can't wait to really get started and get my hands dirty. More fun soaking in the rain as I made one final morning run skirting around the rice fields and dodging errant cows. Enroute back to Kathmandu, I am now accompanied by Niru Auntie and her two children, so we spend the night at her brother's place nearby. Tomorrow night we reach Kathmandu. Tonight we gamble into the wee hours of the morning and get no sleep as we hop in the bus.
- A colorful sunset as the monsoon briefly recedes. Even here, there is much change since I left 8 years ago - many new buildings... the nearby village of Itahari is very urban now - a lot of rapid growth.
Day 6 -
Shit! I'm sick! I don't know if it was all that soaking in the monsoon rain, the yummy local food + water, or the rabid mosquitos that ate me alive the whole week. I really hope it's not the last one; the CDC warned of a risk of malaria in this region of Nepal, but I brushed that off because the immunization involved either taking two pills everyday for sixty (yes, 60!) days, or taking pills that would make one hallucinate with severe nausea - sounds like a familiar experience, but no thanks. Throughout the whole bus ride, I probably expelled a gallon of mucus and twirled the strangest thoughts in a delusional hysteria. Oh well... perhaps this is what all anthropologists and field-workers go through. I just have to brunt it out.
It wasn't all bad, however. The highlight was a traveling bard who hopped in our bus as we entered the windy mountain roads. He sang the sweetest Nepali music ever and played a sarangi, an instrument much like the violin, but with a softer timbre. Clearly an expert at performing, he didn't interrupt the performance when tips poured in, or when the bus swerved and attempted to knock him off balance, or when the poor fellow next to him puked his brains out on the floor. At the next major village, he just got off and took another bus back home. What a life!
I reach Kathmandu late at night and collapse immediately. It has been quite a journey.
[Not malaria] hopeful-ly,
Jeff
- The nomadic minstrel who hopped on the bus to entertain weary travelers. He must have somehow been blessed with immense gastro-intestinal fortitude because the bus sways back and forth and shakes so much that its difficult not to get sick!
- A village concealed within cornfields just outside Kathmandu.
- A confluence in the mighty path of the Trishuli River.
1 comment:
nice documentation man--in photos and writing.
-Brian
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