Transport in Nepal. Enough said.

It’s time for a whinge about transport, so here goes!

The journey out of Chitwan National Park, and toward my waiting plane at Kathmandu Airport didn’t quite go as smoothly as anticipated! Leaving the extensive Sauraha bus terminal at 9am, I – along with two other English speaking passengers, both Chilean – boarded a local bus with an estimated arrival time in Kathmandu of 3.30pm. For a 180km journey, that seemed ample time! Unfortunately however, this schedule didn’t take into account the fact the local police were going to bash a young boy to death, and the whole district was going to go into meltdown, and protest the only way they knew how – block the one road that joins Chitwan and Pokhara with the rest of Nepal. Of course, if I had known of this disruption prior to the event, I would have canoed or ridden a crocodile downstream, or at least had ample food and water supplies to last me the day… however even with a wonderful travel agent back home, I am I am not all that up to date with the local police brutality schedule. As the road began to get drastically more congested, the vigilante roadblocks more frequent, and the amount of English being spoken on the bus remaining at an all time low, I began to wonder what was going on. Surrounded by some of the world’s most amazing scenery, with towering mountains on all four sides, a cliff face falling dramatically below us, to the pristine river flowing through the valley, the traffic built up to the point where the driver was forced to stop the bus, and the wait began. Of course, without mobile phone or Internet reception, and no traffic coming in the opposite direction, there was no way to find out what was going on up further up the road, and the few words I managed to get out of an English speaking local only managed to tell me we were about 18km back from the front of the traffic jam… 18km!!!

6 hours of this... fun!

An hour after stopping, still crammed on the backseat of the bus between a phlegm-hoiking, spitting, and littering local, and a young French guy (who got the shock of his life earlier in the journey when the bus went over a rather nasty bump, and my 1230 page Lonely Planet guide managed to jump right off my lap, and straight smack-bang into his business region! Sorry!), I decided I was not only starved of fresh air, but also verbal communication, and decided to go for a walk and see what/who I could find. After some brief conversation with other tourists who had found a supermarket truck that was selling food and drinks for cash, literally off the back of the truck, I stumbled upon the only patch of earth not yet covered in discarded rubbish (the Nepalese don’t really believe in waste management!) or human faeces (wouldn’t you at least go behind a bush… not 1m from the side of the road in full public view!!!), and settled in to read my book… for the next four hours! Now six hours after leaving Sauraha, with no water, no food, still no indication we would soon be moving, and unable to read any more of my book without actually beginning to turn into the main character myself, I found a tourist bus and climbed up onto the roof, where I spent a wonderful afternoon with a group of English speaking tourists, playing cards, chatting, and making the most of the unfortunate situation!

The view from the traffic jam!

I have since learnt the protest finished at 5pm, however anyone who has seen the roads in Nepal – which at many points are only wide enough for one vehicle at a time, and are often unsealed, damaged, or in the process of washing down the cliff face – will understand that even once re-opened, the task of moving 18km of traffic jam through a small intersection, meeting no doubt another 18km of traffic jam from both other directions, is no fast task. At 10pm, about 75km from Sauraha, and 14 hours later, we finally made it to the point of the protests, now completely cleared away, and began the slow journey back toward Kathmandu – which is where the next issue of the day became dangerously evident! The driver obviously decided to make up for lost time, weaving and winding through traffic, overtaking on blind corners, and speeding through small towns and villages, which had I not already spent 6 weeks traveling in India and Nepal, may have concerned me. It did however strike me as slightly unusual that he spent so much of the journey with his head sticking out the side window, with his sunglasses on in the pitch black, obviously to keep the bugs away. After about 20 minutes driving on the open road, with a bus full of exhausted passengers, and the driver continuing to drive at full speed with his head outside the bus window, the Chilean woman walked to the front of the bus and asked if the interior lights could be switched off so we could all get some rest. Walking back from the front, she had an absolute look of horror on her face, and went on to explain the driver had to keep the interior lights switched on, as the bus wasn’t actually wired for headlights, and therefore the interior lights were the only form of illumination for the road ahead!!! Obviously driving with his head out the window to reduce the glare and reflection, we were hurtling along one of the most dangerous roads I have ever been on, at times just centimetres from the edge of the cliff, overtaking on blind corners, and traveling at speeds even my Mighty Mazda would struggle with – with no headlights!!! As news of the headlight situation spread through the bus in various languages, you could cut the tension with a knife, as every passenger sat bolt upright on the edge of their seat, expecting each and every corner, every dangerous overtaking manoeuvre, and every bump to send the bus hurtling into the river below. Luckily, just 25 minutes later we stopped for a dinner break (at almost 11pm!) and the driver found someone to rewire the headlights, and we continued our journey with a collective sigh of relief!

It turns out arriving in Kathmandu at 2am has some benefits. The normally grid-locked roads are empty, the traffic lights switched off, and there are no shop keepers on the side of the road to call you their ‘friend’ or ‘g’day mate’ as they try and herd you into their store. However, these benefits aside, it is not a particularly convenient time to arrive when you have accommodation booked with the wonderful Sarita (who I woke up to let me in… and she still managed to smile and offer to cook me dinner!), a late night Jungle Speed tournament booked in with two hilarious Danish guys I met in the Himalayas, and a 6.30am departure for the airport the next morning!

After a home-cooked Sarita breakfast, a whole pot of Chai Masala to myself, and the traditional Sarita farewell of dropping three coins into a vase, as a way of clearing your debts to your host, I grumpily headed to the Airport, ready to put my travel dramas behind me and get on with the rest of my travels. Check-in went relatively smoothly, considering there was only one desk open for an entire aircraft of passengers, and I was soon feeling quite relieved to be sitting in the departure lounge, watching as the screens continued to report my flight would be leaving as scheduled, no delays. It therefore came as quite a surprise when our boarding time came and went, and nothing happened. Assuming there must be a short delay, I sat and read my book as the time passed… 5, 10, 30, 60… 90 minutes… Of course, as time went on, and the screens displayed the successful departure of the plane on-time, I found myself surrounded by a large crowd of angry passengers, venting their frustrations to the security staff at the gate – who clearly had no involvement with what was happening, however as we had already cleared customs and security, were the only people who could be spoken to. It was at this point I once again found myself being singled out because of my height, as the angry group of primarily local passengers seemed to unanimously decide I was the best person to represent them sorting the situation out – as I was the tallest, and therefore the leader! Great. Approaching the security staff (much to the delight of the crowd of passengers staying well back to give me space, yet watching with great anticipation as to my success), I quickly established they had no information on any flight times or delays, and were just guarding the gate. Not wanting to walk away so quickly to disappoint, and eager to stay clear of the direct pressure of leading a group of people, I continued to talk to the two security guards (still just out of earshot of the waiting passengers), launching into a conversation about cricket, my passion for the game, the fact I actually live in Adelaide (this almost made me a celebrity to them!), and comparing notes on our favourite Australian players (this mainly involved me smiling an nodding, however I did appreciate it when one of them said “Shane Warne is a great player… unfortunately not a great looking man!”). Just as I decided I had spent long enough talking to the guards so as not to disappoint my group of followers, by some absolute miracle of the Airline Gods (which I am sure exist in Nepal – every other God does!), the Air India staff arrived at the gate to commence boarding, and I walked back to my people a hero. What a guy!

Just some casual Himalaya sticking out
above the clouds.

Finally departing two hours after schedule, well aware there was no way I would make my connecting flight in Delhi, and glad to be made redundant from my job as leader of the angry pack, I happily sat back and enjoyed the unbelievable scenery as we flew out of Nepal – seeing the snow-capped Himalayas tower over the clouds somehow made myself, and my travel delays seems so insignificant! As expected, I had a lovely extended stay in the Delhi airport terminal, before heading further south to Chennai, home of the famous Indian Royal Enfield motorcycle, the wonderful Anna and Rasmus, and some of the most polluted, disgusting streets I have ever seen!  Doesn’t it sound lovely!