24 Hour Commute

80 kilometers. That’s all we had to travel. Let’s break that number down for a second. That’s just under fifty miles. Fifty miles is just shy of two marathons. The average runner can finish 26.2 miles jogging in five hours. If that pace could be kept, that means it would take less than ten hours to run the distance. Cars prove obviously much more efficient. It takes less than an hour going down a highway driving sixty miles per hour to hit the fiftieth mile mark. Sixty percent of Americans commute OVER fifty miles every day to get to work. Fifty miles is not far…is something I will always regret thinking. Then my team and I got on a Nepali bus.

Hour One:

We boarded our bus right on time at 6am. Excited to finally be on what we understood was the shorter half of our trip, we gratefully accepted the less than sufficient legroom and working windows. We had just gotten off a 12-hour bus ride from Kathmandu up to Beni. The longest stretch, at least by standard of kilometers, had been covered and we were exhausted. Looking through the windows that did allow us a breeze and some vision, we saw our driver and his staff seat themselves down for their cup of morning tea.

Hour Two:

As we found ourselves at the top of the 7oclock hour, we had yet to move from the bus stop. Milk tea being enjoyed and jokes still being passed around we realized our first mistake. Assuming American time is in any way associated or relative to Nepali time was a slip up of amateurs. Living very much to the standards of an idol in this country, Bob Marley, his lifestyle holds very true – no worries and absolutely no rush.

Hour Three:

By 8am we had finally started our journey. “Started” being a gracious term I can use, whereas “progressing” would definitely be more of a stretch. Due to the remote area we would soon be visiting, our trip was broken down to pick up supplies. Imports such as water, feed, building materials, food, and the occasional hitchhiker were piled on to the bus. Few buses traveled up this far north. Drivers, such as ours, could pocket extra money by not only the transport of people, but also by becoming a Fedex service. Buses help to supply villages that cannot afford to travel to higher destination areas for supplies.

Hour Four:

We were moving along at a decent pace; swerving around fallen rocks, muddy patches and the numerous cows. Nepali’s have a rather impressive skill of getting to the end destination at the exact time they first give you. At first this seems like a simple concept, but has actually become more and more spectacular the longer we’ve been here. We have been told before a journey is 11 hours and upon boarding, the driver estimates 19. We made it in 18 hours and 59 minutes. With this knowledge, we held hope that despite the stops, our time on the bus was still trickling away.

Hour Five:

By this point we had learned that our bus was primarily full of Nepali police being re-located to another district. Thankfully, this proved very helpful come the next few hours.

Hour Six:

Pee break. Our van emptied and everyone stood in a line on the side of the road to urinate in unison. Our driving staff took the opportunity to snatch some wild weed from the opposite side to chew on for the rest of the trip. I cringed hoping that wasn’t the same spot a previous van had used for their pee stop.

Hour Seven:

Finally closing out the morning and making it to the top of the 12clock hour, we soon found we still had much adventure in front of us. About halfway through the seventh hour of our trip, the bus driver popped a tire going a bit too fast over landsliden terrain. Our Nepali friends laughed as they assured us, “Driver, he is crazy!” I personally can never deny that statement. His mohawked hair and sleeveless, leather jacket only heightened his ludicrous personality. What at first could be mistaken as a goatee was in fact hair growing more than 6 inches out from a mole on the left side of his face. The greasy, unmaintained group of hairs bounced along with the rhythm of the bus every once in a while getting tucked into his jacket; always to appear again.

Close to an hour and a half later the repair was finished and we moved around the corner again to discover another landslidden area. Traveling in off-season, monsoons form difficult patches of flooded earth to drive over. This is where our van full of police truly played their role. Every couple minutes the van would empty out. The officers pushed from behind only to scatter when the van slid backwards towards them. We would begin to make ground after a lot of pushing and shaking and everyone would sprint to jump back on the bus. Typically a few didn’t make it. However, everything worked out fine as moments later, the bus would get stuck, the stragglers would catch up and the process would be repeated.

Hour Nine:

Cheers erupted when the bus finally made it over the mud lake. Excitement and energy built in the group as we surged several yards forward. Then we stopped. Traffic Jam.

Hour Eleven:

Two hours later around 4pm, we were moving once again. Our pace continued along comfortably and surpriseless the next few hours. Temperatures were starting to drop as we climbed in elevation. We filled our time playing our new favorite game; “Hill or Mountain?” “Nooooo” our new friends laughed when we suggested the absurd idea of a mountain out our window. “Very big hill!”

Hour Thirteen:

As our trip winded down to a close we were again very naïve to believe we wouldn’t go out without a bang. The bus jolted to a stop-in front of us, a river. Not just flooded ground or a trickling brook, but a stream strong enough to take down a person. There was not a long hesitation before we began backing away clearly in pursuit of a new path-or so we thought. The driver revved his engine and flew full speed ahead, directly towards the rushing waters. Our bus, of course being nowhere near 4-wheel drive, was pushed around by the strength of the water. Shrieks escaped from the passengers, and not only from our group. This is the part for all the moms to tune back in. We somehow made it safely to the other side.

Hour Fourteen:

As the sun began to set, around 7pm, we pulled up to our final destination in Jomson. Our driver and his crew were quickly out infront of us and the other passengers in pursuit of plates full of rice and beer. Although I cannot blame them; I would not mind forgetting parts of the journey either. Still trying to decide if the destination was worth the travel, our translators came by to assure we were all okay and happy. Shortly after we had sat down for our evening meal of rice and lentils, the drivers wandered over to mingle with the foreigners. A little too happy by this point, they stressed their respect for us. They told us that they understand how difficult it is to travel in their country and are always impressed by those who opt out of the plane options for a more authentic bus experience.

They kept asking us if we were happy. We were alive, we were under the presence of some of the biggest and most magnificent mountains in the world, we had all the tea we could drink and all the dal bhat we could stomach.That night I learned my favorite new phrase. “Lang Pang.” Whatever we eat we enjoy; whatever we see, we enjoy; wherever we go, we enjoy. Yes. I am very happy.