We were going to visit a friend called Bidro and his village. A year before, he had built a micro-hydro power station, with funding from a Norwegian organisation. I wanted to look at the micro-hydro project and see it from an engineering point of view, and also try to pick Bidro's brain about getting funding. Also, I hadn't really been into the hills in Nepal, so this was going to be a great chance. To get into the hills required 2 bus rides, 5 hours all together, and a walk of 2 hours I was told. After last years feats in the Himalaya, 2 hours walking would be nothing surely.
We woke up before dawn to catch the bus out of Kathmandu, and after 20 minutes arrived in a small village, where we would catch the next bus from. Sat at the bus stop was a blue bus that looked like it had seen better days. Bidro looked at me, smiled and asked if I was scared yet. My nervous laugh probably gave him the answer he was hoping for. Fortunately Achut, who had also come along for the ride, was looking more scared than me. Bidro had reserved some seats, as the bus was generally quite full, but then with an evil glint in his eye he asked if I wanted to sit on top, as there would be more room there. At this point Achut almost bolted. When he was younger he had fallen of the roof of a bus, which had mentally scarred him for life. I calmly said that I would probably kill myself if I went onto the roof. I knew my limitations - I am clumsy and uncoordinated - and knew at the first bump in the road the bus would hit I would fall of and be crushed by oncoming vehicles. (I am also prone to hyperbole and paranoia.)
We waited in the local tea shop until the time came to climb into the bus. We tried to board. However, the bus was already bulging with the throng of people that were sat and stood there. Fortunately, our seats were still empty. I squeezed through past old men, young mothers and their babies, sacks of grain and rice that were to be delivered en route and goats and managed to gracefully place my rear end on the appointed seat. For a country that is extremely conservative in terms of physical contact between people, buses are an anomaly. People are pressed against complete strangers with all parts of the body with little, if any, embarrassment. I suppose it is the necessity that forces people to make these sacrifices in culture.
The bus driver turned his head to look how full the bus was, seeing if there was any more room he could fit in another paying passenger, and with a final maniacal grin at me, we set off. Within the next half a mile, we had stopped at least 10 times to add more passengers and cargo, including a gas cylinder. Beggaring belief, a lady put her head through the door and spent 2 minutes trying to convince the driver there was enough room to carry her and her newly acquired buffalo inside. For a moment I thought he was going to say yes. Fortunately, good sense prevailed. After another mile, the road became a broken dirt track. The bus pitched from one side to another. My hand gripped the steel bar next to my seat tightly, knuckles white. I had thought about crashing, but tipping over wasn't something that had crossed my mind. I spent the next half an hour trying to estimate how high the centre of gravity was of the bus, and then work out what angle it would need to exceed to tip over. I decided that we should be OK, as we would need over 30 degrees before we started to tip. I looked over at Achut. He looked scared. I pointed out to him my calculation, but that seemed to unnerve him even more. Oh well, I tried.
We reached one of the many landslides that had affected the road and the bus stopped. Achut whispered in my ear "This is where a bus fell down 10 days ago, 11 people died.". I remembered seeing it on the news. There was little left of the bus, let alone the people inside. I looked at the road surface. It was surely more than 30 degrees. Not only that, there were rocks on the uphill side, which would cause the bus to rock further towards the drop. I looked over the edge. I couldn't see the bottom. I saw the driver steeling himself up, the engine revving, eying up the track ahead. Everyone in the bus around me was doing their own personal prayer, many touching their forehead and heart repeatedly in the Hindu fashion. We started to move. A silence descended over the bus. We climbed the pile of rocks, the whole bus shaking, the back of the bus slid with the bald tyres struggling for grip. The bus tipped and tipped and tipped. I closed my eyes, praying that it would stop. And it did. The bus slowly began to right itself and we descended down the pile of rocks. A collective sigh of relief passed through the bus. The man behind me had obviously had a rather spicy curry that morning, as his sigh of relief was more pungent than most.
We reached a corner in the road, there were 2 buses facing the opposite direction. The other drivers informed us that half a mile along the road it was blocked by a truck whose bearing had collapsed. So we had the choice - walk or go back. So we set out walking, not wanting to give up at the first hurdle. The sun was scorching. We walked for 2 and a half hours along the road until we reached the intended bus stop. Here we stopped and ate some lunch, the first real food in the day. I was sweating very badly, and desperately needed some water. We sat in a dark little kitchen, ate and drank before heading out again. And that's where it started.
I knew straight away, I shouldn't have drunk the water in the kitchen. My stomach wasn't strong enough. We still had 2 hours walking left. We were descending quite rapidly towards the Bagmati river, the same that flows through the middle of Kathmandu. We reached a bridge, on the side we were standing on was Lalitpur district, the same I lived in, and the other side was Makwanpur, where Bidro's village - Tinga - was. Achut offered to carry the bag. My pride kicked in, I could carry this, no problem. However, as we started to climb up the slope on the other side of the river, I realised I couldn't. In fact, I could barely carry myself up the slope. To climb 100m vertically I had to stop 4 or 5 times, climbing for 3 minutes, resting for 2 and so on. What was even more galling, Bidro's father, a wiry man of at least 60 years, climbed up the slope with a bag of at least the same weight as mine with minimal effort. We reached the top. I almost collapsed. All I could do was sit down and try and slow my breathing and heart, both of which were in overdrive.
After 10 minutes, my body had returned to a reasonable level and so we walked on. At first, most of the walking was along a flat path cut into the hill. But then we started to descend again. This wasn't so much of a problem, but I knew after going down, we would have to go up as well. Bidro's dad kept with me, pointing out their village which we could see in the distance, encouraging me along. When the uphills came, I struggled, needing to rest on numerous occasions. By this point I had relinquished the bag, and my pride, to Achut.
As we rounded the last headland before the hill that Bidro's village was on we hit another problem. The way was blocked by a landslide. We were going to have to cross the river in a less convenient place. We found some rocks that could provide a passage across the river, and Bidro, his dad and Achut made their way with dexterity across. Me, as I pointed out before, being clumsy and uncoordinated managed to slip on the rocks and step into the river before grabbing the nearest tree to support myself. Unfortunately for me, the tree was covered in inch long thorns. Pain pulsed through my hand as I reached the other side and slowly began to pull out those thorns that decided to stay in my palm.
There was no path from here. Bidro's father knew where he wanted to go, and so made his way to an irrigation channel. I had had enough of slipping on stones, so I walked through the channel. Something struck me at the back of my mind about leeches, but I didn't care any more. I just wanted to lie down and die. My stomach was talking more than a teenage girl with her friends, my heart was soon to explode out of my chest and my lungs just couldn't get enough oxygen in to satisfy my need. Bidro's dad saw this, and started to make his own path up the slope. Every two or three paces I had to stop. We finally reached a recognisable path through the terraced fields. 5 minutes I was told from here. However, I still could only walk for one minute at a time. We ducked under a 2 inch poly-pipe, Bidro proudly smiled at me "my micro-hydro pipe" he said. We reached a huge tree and I knew we were there. Just above the tree were 2 houses, where Bidro's family lived. I went into the guest room, took off my t-shirt and collapsed on the bed.
I was deaf to everyone. I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing and heart. I had never been that tired before. And the thought hit me - I was going to have to do it all again to go home.
Part 2 will come soon...
SAM
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