Volume 3

The World's Best Bus Ride

Part of the fun of life is not knowing when an ordinary or even mundane event may become a fantastic adventure. After 25 days of trekking (KC Volume 2), our arrival in Beni came with a disappointing acceptance that our walk was over and we had to once again face the world of cars, roads and civilization (to the extent it exists in Nepal). It was around 3:00 in the afternoon when we made it to the transportation hub (where the road ends) and faced the prospect of a 4-6 hour journey back to Pokhara on roads that were unlikely to exceed the Nepali standard of questionable and were rumored to be quite rough in parts. We attempted to hire a taxi/Land Rover from one tout who did little to hide the deceit of his methods (he started with "there are no Land Rovers here", despite leaning against one). His first "special" rate for our contingent of five was 2,000 Rupees per person, which he soon halved, but was still more than we had been told to expect or were willing to pay. The last local bus of the day was about to depart, but we decided against a night journey, purchased tickets for the morning bus (70 Rupees or about $1.08), checked into a guesthouse and began drinking some of our savings.

We returned to the bus depot in the morning, found our pre-assigned dilapidated bus and secured our packs on the roof, where Chris decided to stay. Despite a prior positive experience of roof riding (at the beginning of our trek) we decided (for reasons we still can't explain) that we should ride inside. After shuffling seats a few times, we settled on the front seat by the door because my legs would not fit anywhere else. It did not take long to realize that seats by the door mean people standing near/around/against you in a constant struggle for space (and air). I was by the window and just uncomfortable. Carrie was on the isle and reached the point of required action first. At our next stop, one of the "bus boys" (who do everything from collect fares to herding livestock out of the way of the bus) gave us the go ahead and we headed for the roof.

The roof is a fairly sturdy structure (essentially one large luggage rack with a reinforced floor/ceiling) so falling through to the interior was the least of our concerns. Bags (mainly backpacks) covered about 2/3 of the space. Chris was sprawled comfortably in the front and one other couple was in the very back (probably not sure what to make of Chris who by US standards is just a guy with a few pierced parts, but who does not exactly blend into Nepali culture where pierced men are rare, men with pierced noses are non-existent). We quickly settled on some reasonably comfortable bags (thinking "I hope there is nothing fragile in here") and we were off.

The road was unpaved, precarious and beautiful all at the same time. The Kali Gondaki River raged below us (usually just over the edge of an amazingly sheer cliff) and the morning sun was still playing peek-a-boo behind the canyon walls. After reaching the conclusion that even if the bus did tumble over the edge, we were no more or less likely to perish than the passengers inside, we began to enjoy the view and the fresh air. When Carrie commented that Erica and Nobu should join us, my first thought was that Nobu would love it, but Erica (who was gasping at every bounce in the road when we were inside) might not be up for it. When we stopped at the point where the pavement began, Chris called down to them. Erica stuck her hoad out the window, listened to the invitation, then slid the window open wider and climbed up the side. Nobu took the traditional rout (out the door and up the back ladder) and our travel team was re-united.

We had never been on top of a bus on a paved road. Things (low power lines and tree branches) come at you a little faster and the wind is a little cooler, but the road was mainly uphill, so the under-powered and overtaxed bus seldom hit speeds that gave us much concern. After a while, we came to one of many police checkpoints. For some reason we had to exit the roof and re-join the other passengers (whose numbers had grown) while we passed the checkpoint. This led to the personal observation that if my head were severed from my body, I would still not be able to stand erect in this bus. I survived by striking a surf/squat posture until we were again freed to return to our loft. But others began seeing the light (needing the air) and our penthouse population soon grew to about 10. Now we were a rolling rooftop party sharing food (vendors sold fruit, sweets and other goodies at most inhabited stops), water and cigarettes (of questionable legality).

At one point in the ride, the bus boys climbed up to join us (while the bus was still moving) and assumed positions right over the windshield. Soon the view turned from just beautiful to indescribably awesome as we rounded a turn and came into view of the entire Annapurna mountain range that we had been too close to for an all-encompassing view since out trek began. I sat back in the sun and realized that I was enjoying the world’s best bus ride. I could not think of anyplace I would rather be or anything I would rather be doing.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better (or more interesting), we stopped in a small town that did not differ from the others except for the fact that there were half a dozed armed military men standing off to the side. I joked to Chris (who had been using an expired/forged trekking permit for the past 3 days) that they were coming to get him. It seemed more possible when they approached the bus, but we soon realized that they were just waiting for a ride. However, there was no room inside, so they climbed up top and joined us. None of us had the nerve to take a picture, but the image of the roof now full with luggage, people and rifles casually pointed over the side is one that never be forgotten.

One of the conclusions I drew from the trek was that there is no prize for winning the imaginary race of life. The goal certainly isn't to finish (i.e. reach the end) first. Therefore the prizes must be the recognition of special experiences that make our lives worth living. The bus ride was just one such experience, but it was recognized and appreciated.

It feels good to be alive.