The 15-hour bus ride

Oh, did I say 15 hours? Silly me, I meant 21 hours. Local bus. Lots of stops. Not comfortable, imagine that? Here’s a run-down:

Our vessel of ill repute

Our vessel of ill repute

Hour 0: Bina and I arrive in Surkhet (pronounced Sur-ket) and find a bus (really a large minivan) that will take us to Napalgunj where we can transfer to an overnight bus that will get us all the way back to Pokhara – home base for the Three Sisters Adventure Trekking (the company about which I am writing) and for Bina and me. We are told the trip will take 2.5 hours.

Hour .5: first stop (to pee etc)

Hour 1: second stop (to pee etc)

Hour 2: third stop. Yes, to pee, etc, but this time we stop in a town where we can buy some food. Bina procures us some yummy bean curry and spinach as well as several delectably greasy potato samosas and sugary fried treat. We eat in the van.

Hour 3.25: arrive in Napalgunj. But before letting anyone off of the bus, the driver makes a quick swoop to the local hospital for one of the patients whose fallen ill. He is a grown man and has been moaning and swooning for at least an hour now. He looks as though he is barely conscious, really. But when we arrive at the hospital, it’s closed. Yes, you read that correctly. Closed. Bina said there was some kind of strike here too… We did pass at least a dozen police decked out in riot gear, which seemed odd… Anyway, since the place was shut, we turned back around and made a beeline for the bus depot. I have no idea what happened to the man who was ill. He seemed to have some folks looking after him, so I’m hoping they saw to it that he was cared for.

Hour 4: Bina finds us our bus to Pokhara (what I would have done without her on this journey, I have NO idea…). This time, it’s a veritable bus, big and green, slightly hammered on the sides and containing about 10-12 rows of four seats (two per side). I buy a Pepsi.

Hour 4.25: We settle onto the bus. The seats are not comfortable, though I’ve been assured by the nice gentleman at the ticket booth they will be. The foam cushions quickly give way and render the seat as good as a slab of wood. My chair doesn’t go back far at all, the ones in front of us go back so far my knees are pushed up against them and Bina’s seat reclines to such a degree that the person behind her will have little leg room himself. Think positive thoughts. Bus makes a small circle around Napalgunj rounding up more passengers.

Hour 4. 5: Bus heads out of town. I move one row up, hoping to give Bina and I each our own seats, but soon a man sits next to her and then me. Her companion soon falls asleep basically on top of her – slumped sideways practically in her lap. She’s too polite to say anything. I nudge him awake and ask to switch seats with him. He obliges.

Hour 5-11: Driving. Frequent stops. Pee breaks, picking up and dropping off passengers. At one point three men with very smelly bags of fish get on. All the seats are full so they see fit to settle in the aisle right next to me! The smell is intense and I think this will not be OK for the next 10 hours. When I budge one of the bus workers and point from the smelly fish bag to the roof (hoping he’ll understand that I mean, please please please! ask the men to put their belongings up top) he reassures me – “only 10 minutes.” Felt a little bratty and whiny about my reaction, but, look, I’m human.

Hour 11: Dinner stop. Bina’s been sick a couple of times – very discreetly and only out of my sight when we stop. But she’s not doing well on the long ride. We both order ramen noodles for dinner. No dal bhat, please. I find the elusive chocolate biscuits for which the West Nepalis apparently have no taste! Even Bina wants one!

Hour 12: Total darkness outside, bus comes to a rather sudden halt. Soon enough there is clamoring off and then back onto the bus by passengers – mostly men (most of the passengers are men, but the few women seem less inclined to do the on-off shuffle). Bina is able to explain from what she’s hearing that there is an accident ahead. I get out to investigate. The rows of buses extend beyond where I can see – in front of me and behind. Granted, it is pitch black when all the bus lights are turned off. But in the 20 minutes I am outside, several more buses and trucks pull up and park on the side of the road – the other side – I guess, ours is already full.

Three men are outside our bus having a lively conversation in Nepali. To my great good fortune – being nosy, curious and linguistically deficient – one speaks halting English. He tells me the line of buses is 100 deep (I’m skeptical, but there are a lot of buses). He says two buses have collided up ahead. They are blocking the road. There are dead bodies. Police will come in the morning and decide what to do and maybe open the road.

Since I can’t see the collision, I have no idea if the police have arrived or not, or if, in fact, there are dead bodies or any injuries. But I’ve not heard any sirens or seen flashing lights. Given what we’ve already experienced and witnessed with the swift reactions and successful responses of the Nepali police elsewhere, I’m inclined to believe the man, that they are, as yet, no shows here. (Maybe I’m not being generous, and I do apologize if so, but it was late, and I was really tired.)

Hour 12.5: Feeling totally helpless and frustrated, I return to the bus. Bina has asked to switch seats. It’s a good thing, because her broken-and-therefore-too-far-leaning-back seat is quite effective at inducing sleep. I can’t do anything, in fact, but close my eyes.  Until, that is, the man behind me starts to push on the seat trying to get me to move it up. I try to explain it’s broken, nothing I can do. Bina tries to help too. He seems resigned.

Hour 13.5 or 14 (not sure): Man behind the seat puts his head on my seat and settles into sleep that way. He is breathing on me. I (awkwardly – this is so weird!) touch his face in an attempt to signal – not OK, please remove nostrils from the crown of my head.

Man behind the seat then reaches over the seat and, yes, between my knees to try and pry some mechanism on the seat he seems to believe will fix it and bring my seat forward! I swat his hand indignantly, making very clear he and his hand will be coming nowhere near my personal space – broken seat be damned! There is foul language involved. Again, a little embarrassed and hoping, assuming, no one really understood the English, just the message I was trying to convey. I think tone of voice is fairly effective for that. But I mean, his hand went between my knees! Big sigh. This is getting rough.

Hour 14-17: sleeping. Bus totally black. Bus totally not moving anywhere. But the Hindi pop music that has been blaring on the radio during the rest of the ride is off. So, apart from a spate of loud conversation between a mother and her child, which probably lasted 30 minutes or so (they were apparently nonplussed that most of the rest of us were trying to sleep), I did get some rest.

Hour 17: Bus comes to life. It’s now about 5 am. We are told the road has been cleared.

Hour 17-18.5: Bus turns on, turns off, turns on, turns off, turns on, turns off – you get the point – as it creeps through the logjam of traffic created by the collision. Still never saw any police or heard anything, but that really means nothing. My vantage point was limited.

Hour 18.5: Stop to pee, drink tea, morning break.  Bina and I decide definitively, we hate the bus. Hate it. We are told we have two more hours.

Hour 19-21: Fewer stops, and mostly to let passengers off. Though one short stop serves a somewhat mind-boggling purpose: from what I could tell, the bus pulled over only to allow passengers an opportunity to ogle what was apparently an accident off the side of a cliff. What a strange, and intrusive, procession it seemed. Everyone piled off, looked, piled back on and the bus continued.

Hour 21: Arrival in Pokhara. Too tired to even rejoice. Glad I did this, makes for a good story. Next time, I fly.

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