Plans in Nepal are difficult to make and even more difficult to keep. “Nepali Time” means buses, taxis, and pedestrians must proceed at a leisurely pace without attention to any kind of schedule. During monsoon season, this becomes especially dramatic.
Travel here is easy, though, in some ways. As the only pale skinned woman traveler, I am easily found and can never hide in anonymity as I could in a Western city. Everyone will ask where you are going and they will certainly tell you when to get off the bus. Although I was nervous catching the bus from Ilam to Kathmandu, the bus driver himself retrieved me from the café I was waiting in.
Claiming that the roads are rough would be an understatement. Landslides this year have killed hundreds. Although the highway is paved, the countless potholes make comfortable travel impossible. The bus has woken me up too many times with a whack to the head just when I think I am getting used to it. My window is attached in such a way that a 5mm crack opens the bus to wind and rain. I place my rain jacket up as a shield.
Although the ride up to Ilam endless mountains spread across the sky to the east, now the fog obscures any view beyond the road. Maybe it is better that the fog masks the steep cliffs the road falls off into; I am deluded into safety. On these bumpy bus rides, motion sickness is all too common. Travelers will simply stick their heads out the window and vomit to the wind and all that is below the bus. Last ride, I gave some motion sickness pills to a grateful grandmother.
The jeep in front of the bus’s bumber reads “OCEAN GIRL”. The owners have certainly never been within 400 miles of the ocean.
We arrive at ten in the morning, 20 hours after leaving Ilam. I have not slept. This is the third cross-country bus ride I have taken, and all have been longer than expected.