Highlights of the Himalaya: A Trip to the Village (The Day I Climbed out the Window of a Nepali Bus)

Part 1: A "Two Hour" Trip Takes Ten Hours

There are moments in people's lives that they will always remember--like getting their licence to drive, graduating college, or getting their first apartment. For me, there will always be the day I climbed out the window of a Nepali bus...

It was a special day in Nepal during the heart of Dashain--the largest Nepali festival of the year. My host family woke-up early, put on our most beautiful clothes, and gave one another tika. After eating some delicious food (rice, fresh vegetables, and tea) my host father, host sister, host brother, and I quickly packed our bags to visit our hajuraamaa's (grandmother's) village home. I was told the bus ride would take one to one-and-a-half hours, and then we would need to walk for an additional one to one-and-a-half hours to reach the rural village. Little did we know that we were in for a wild, wild ride.

My family and I arrived at the bus stop around 12:00 in the afternoon. There were many other families waiting for the bus as well. Because the day was a holiday, most of the bus drivers were at home celebrating with their families. There were very few buses operating.

So...we waited at the bus stop for four hours until we finally saw an approaching bus. At this time, there were swarms of families ready to push, shove, and pounce to get an empty seat. One woman tossed her infant about 7ft up through the window of the bus so that she could save herself a seat. My American readers are probably familiar with the story about a woman who got trampled to death at Walmart two years ago on Black Friday. I cringed as I saw small children caught between swarms of shoving adults.

What I am about to describe to you is a claustrophobic's worst nightmare (I am slightly claustrophobic). My host father and brother somehow made it to the front of the crazy crowd and were able to save two seats. My host sister and I were towards the back of the crowd, avoiding the pushing. "Sankalpa, Sarswoti, over here!" my host father called. (*Sarswoti is my Nepali name). My host sister and I stepped onto the jam-packed bus and began forcefully meandering to the back of the bus to our father and brother. I don't know how we made it. "Saugat and I are going to see if we can ride on the top of the bus where they put luggage," my host father said. "You two sit here." By the time we sat down pushing and shoving had settled. There had to be at least 60-70 people on a bus with only 30 seats. The air felt hot, sticky, stale, and unbreathable as choruses of babies cried at the top of their lungs.

First, I felt something hit my leg. Second, I heard a shrill angry scream. And then, I'm pretty sure I saw a clump of hair go flying. Then, a clump of people fell down like dominoes, clearly revealing two women screaming and fighting. One woman's face was bleeding and the other was trapped on the floor nearly crushing the infant she held in her arms with the weight of her body amid the legs of standing people. (Yes, it was the same infant that was thrown through the window). "Oh my God!" I thought. "Someone needs to stop this!" I was genuinely worried that the baby was going to die.
Just at that moment, another bus pulled into the bus stop. Sankalpa and I heard our father shout "Sankalpa, Sarswoti, come quickly!" We were at the back of the bus and there was no way we would be able to pass through the fighting people. Climbing out the window was the only option.

"There is no way I am going to jump 7ft out of this window without breaking a limb" I thought. My plight was not a graceful one. I held onto the ledge and attempted to dangle my legs out the small window. It resulted in me doing the splits with one leg dangling. Of course, crowds of people now swarmed to potentially watch me fall. "Jump, jump, jump!" they shouted in Nepali. I let go of the ledge and fell down the side of the bus doing the splits all the way to the ground. To this day, I thank the heavens that no limbs were broken or damaged.

So, we managed to get good seats on the second bus, but did our good fortune last for long, of course not! After finally leaving the bus stop around 5pm, the driver discovered that they had no gas! Soon, we saw the first bus at the gas station, but buses had no gas and neither did the gas station. I began to wonder if we would ever reach the village.
The people from both buses walked back to the bus stop carrying their bags. When we arrived, a third bus was waiting for us along with the police who talked with the two women who had fought. I was happy to see that the infant had survived the fight. Once again, people pushed and shoved for seats. My father was able to save four seats at the very back of the bus.

So...it was a bumpy and cramped ride on the winding and dirty road. Because there were so many people, the bus made many stops. Around 9pm we reached our stop! It was pitch black outside, but the stars and the moon were crystal clear.
I will never forget how refreshing it was to breathe the clean and crisp evening air after spending four hours on the stuffy bus. The starlight revealed hills and valleys of lush rice paddies, banana trees, and corn fields. I could hear the quiet rush of a nearby stream and see a faint outline of the crystal-white himalaya on the distant horizon.

Although some journeys are difficult and require patience,the thrill of arriving at a beautiful destination can make the most arduous of experiences worthwhile.

Part 2: A Taste of Life in a Rural Nepali Village