Disclaimer: I got a bit long-winded, so feel free to read this post in bite-sized portions if necessary. But, in my humble opinion, it will be worth your time. Plus there are great pictures to keep you entertained.
We (Amos, myself, Jim & Mavis from MCC Akron, Bal Krishna--one of our MCC partners--& his wife Shanti, our interpreter Sunita, and Petra, from a German INGO) left this morning for Raamechhap district in Eastern Nepal to visit one of MCC's partners for the weekend. I just came along for "fun"...mostly to get out of the noise of Kathmandu.
We were under the impression that it would be a 6-hour drive. So, confident in our rugged 4WD jeep and capable driver, we began our journey. At the first major intersection, the driver asked Bal Krishna if he should go left of right (something even Amos knew). OK, so maybe he is a new driver. But we still have that 4WD!
After emerging from the choking pollution and chaos of Kathmandu, the road grew windier and the buildings fewer; the terraced hills and dales lush and green, rivers rushing below us. We wound up and around the tree-lined hills, reaching a peak of about 6,500 feet, where we stopped for lunch after 4.5 hours on the road. The air was clean and cool (and a bit thin for my altitude-sensitive self). We ate at a rustic hole-in-the-wall (literally) and got back on the long and winding road again.
We made a gradual descent into the valleys, giving way to occasional exhaust-spewing trucks and buses (somehow you can't fully escape them no matter how far into the sticks you go), squeezing around precarious corners. Small waterfalls gushed through the trees and onto the road. A family of monkeys scampered across our path.
We took a snack break about 6.5 hours into the trip. As I munched away on my gargantuan cucumber, happily thinking we'd be there any time now (and calculating how much longer I could go without a toilet), Amos asked Bal Krishna how much longer it would be. When I heard him say, "3 hours...at the most," I immediately had to decide whether to choke on my food or spit it out in shock. Apparently that 6 hour estimate was, um, flexible. (And so was the 3 hour estimate.)
Back to the trusty jeep: we piled in, rather grumpy and wrinkled, sweaty and full-bladdered (I hope I'm not just speaking for myself here.) Here, the pavement ended and the real adventure began. For the next 4 hours (yes, FOUR), we bumped and crashed over a "road" that mostly consisted of skull-sized rocks jutting vertically out of dirt and mud, the occasional stream and/or pond, and ruts so deep I could bury myself in one. At one hopelessly sludgey place, we encouraged our slightly nervous driver to just put it in 4WD and ram through it. This is when we were told that there was no 4WD. Oops. Thankfully, a larger vehicle went ahead and cleared the way for us (and also mentioned that our tire was damaged as he drove by).
Minutes later, we were encouraged to see bright yellow construction vehicles ahead in the distance, a sign that someone was doing
something about this "road"...but it wasn't until they scooped up massive piles of earth and rocks (no doubt undoing work they'd just done), swinging it dangerously close to our windshield, that we could pass by. How kind! Our obstacles from here on out were smaller, but many: hogs, goat herds (and stick-wielding herders), semi-naked children (who also tried to latch onto the back of our jeep), dogs, unafraid birds, roosters, cows, bucking water buffalo, cows, and of course oncoming vehicles on a road barely wide enough for one. It seemed, in fact, better suited for pack animals. I found myself dreaming of a ride on a sure-footed donkey (which we also encountered later on the road), rather than the whiplashing jeep ride (complete with a slam to my thigh with the gearshift every time the driver changed gears). Meanwhile, my bladder capacity was in great danger.
We passed by beautiful, rough houses made of mud, brick, wood and stone, mustachioed with bunches of field corn drying under the eaves. Laboring men, women, and children of all ages struggled past with impossible loads of stone, branches, firewood, bricks. The terraces surrounded us, a world of greenery on every side. Distant village homes dotted the hillsides on precarious ledges. If I forgot myself and my discomfort for long enough, this surreal and ancient landscape captivated and transported me. And seeing women my age sweating through their daily chores sobered me. "Why not me?" I thought. I could've been born here, inheriting this life of labor.
And as day grew into night (and the driver still hadn't turned his lights on, causing much angst in my already troubled heart), we finally, FINALLY pulled into the little village of Mithili, our destination. A nameless (and perhaps the only) hotel welcomed us with its climbing bouganvilla and modest mint green rooms, complete with the unexpected luxuries of a ceiling fan and TV! (Too bad the only channel in English was ESPN...although Amos was pretty excited about this.) We capped off the night with daal bhaat (traditional Nepali meal of lentils, rice, and curried vegetables), and slept like dead (wo)men.
Saturday morning began with crowing roosters, bleating goats, and a laughing yoga session being led on a nearby hill (if you don't know what this is, just use your imagination). In spite of all the headaches, this is unarguably a place of beauty and serenity, where time stands still.
From 7:30-9:30 AM, we attended a special program the school had arranged for the Desain Festival (the Nepali equivalent of Christmas). What a treat! (Insert sarcasm here.) Garlands of flowers were put around our necks and bouquets of flowers put in our hands by some of the young girls (decked out head-to-toe with fancy dresses and stage make up) who performed a variety of dances for us--in between all the monotonous, redundant speeches and introductions. The dances started out as lovely and traditional, but hit a low point when one pre-pubescent girl, dressed in what could have been an ice-skater's costume, busted out some hesitant moves to a Nepali pop song. Oh, how I cringed. This was followed by a speech (given by Jim Olsen, the only one brave enough to offfer a few words on behalf of MCC). It became apparent, however, that our interpreter had disappeared. After a few throat-clearing moments of awkwardness, she returned, a bit frazzled, and did her best to translate "MCC" & "Global Family Program", of which she knew nothing about. (Poor girl, it was also her first time translating.) It was clearly painful for all involved. Meanwhile, a few respected guests--government officials, police officers, etc. avidly read their morning papers while the program dragged on and ON. Trying to wrap it up, the emcee of the program announced "the last item of the program...", followed by "and now, one more item..." and yet another "last dance", which was, of course, followed by another item. We squirmed, sweaty legs sticking to our plastic chairs, dying flowers irritating our necks. Not to be outdone by the girls (and to truly finish out the program), the boys wowed (and possibly frightened?) the crowd with some very spirited barefoot karate kicking...of flourescent tube lights. I worried, but no feet were visibly damaged.
Finally free, I was able to enjoy what I had come here for: silence and relaxation. And I was not disappointed. BUT. I should've bottled it up to use for Sunday, for The Trip Home. Importantly, I was now mentally prepared for this 10-hour journey, which is half the battle. What I
wasn't prepared for was our near carbon monoxide poisoning after a collision with wayward rocks jammed our exhaust pipe up into the bumper, and was feeding us a steady stream of exhaust. Thank God for Nepali's innovations, though: at the next rest stop, our driver knocked it back down as far as he could, and attached a bit of hollow bamboo on the end to ensure that the smoke would blow out, not in. Genius! By this time I had a small migraine brewing and was more than ready for decent food, a toilet and home--all of which would come much later than hoped for.
Our next food stop redefined shady. As I was deciding reluctantly between rice or cold lentils, a farmer burst into the restaurant with a large (and quite stubborn) ram, and let it up the stairs. I chose this moment to walk out in search of ibuprofen.
After lunch, our group mysteriously dispersed. The three Nepalis in our group were nowhere to be found, while us impatient foreigners stood, arms crossed, by the jeep. Amos went off to search for them, and after about half an hour, returned with the rest of our crew, who had decided to take advantage of the cheap local prices and bought giant Chinese woolen blankets (which we then had to find space for in and on top of the jeep). At this point, I admit that my patience was out the window and dashed upon the river rocks far below.
Thank God, nothing else too out of the ordinary (whatever that means) happened the rest of the way home (oh, except a very near head-on collision with a giant bus, and an animated discussion with some Maoists at a checkpoint, who were demanding premium fees from us foreigners).
At long last, Kathmandu welcomed us back with loud, dusty, crazy arms. The city never looked so inviting. It's been a long weekend.
