In to the field..and through the hills

This post was written for you all from the field. Sorry it took so long to post it here.

Dear all,

It’s been a long two days, but I’m finally here in Dharan. Dharan, is not my fieldsite, but it’s only about a 2 hour ride by motorbike from here. Dharan is also Dai’s childhood home. Right now, I’m writing from his mother’s front porch. This porch is one of my favorite places in all of Nepal and I feel so incredibly at home in Dharan it’s incredible. I think it’s probably because last year when I was ill I was so well cared for here that I couldn’t help but feel safe and happy here now that I’m visiting while healthy. That said I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that I’m pretty sure Dharan is actually the garden of Eden. There are tall palm trees and flowers of every kind and color. The houses are all beautifully painted in warm oranges and cool greens and blues lending to the paradise effect this place has on me. But I think for me, it’s the butterflies that really make the place. I was telling a friend in a letter the other day that if you were to take a butterfly with snow white wings and paint it anyway you liked you’d find that it was already here in Nepal. And there’s nowhere that seems more true than here in Aamaa’s garden. But spoiled as it may sound, after our long trip to get here this slice of heaven feels well deserved.



So let me tell you a little about the trip out here. We headed out from Dai’s home at 3:30pm yesterday and traveled by taxi to the bus park in Kalanki. Dai’s younger brothers (though both are still Dai (older brother in nepali) to me) had arranged 2 tickets on a night bus for us. The bus was supposed to arrive at 4pm and arrived right on Nepali time at 4:45pm. As we climbed on the bus, I was pleased to find that my brothers had remembered how tall their little American sister was and they had secured me the seat with the most foot room, just behind the driver. Dai and I were also surprised to find that one of Dai’s cousin was also on the same bus (this proved to be a lifesaver later) (Oh, you should see the butterfly that just flew past, it was as big as my hand).

Anyway, the bus left shortly after arriving and for the first 45 min we headed up to the hills without a problem. But 5 min past the first police check point, we hit a jam caused by a broken down truck. We fought with similar jams for the next few hours and when we stopped for our first break I had the distinct feeling we hadn’t gotten very far at all. And it was at the 1st break that I realized how fortunate I was that Dai’s cousin had come with us. Had she not been with us there would have been several bathrooms breaks I would have maneuvered through far less gracefully. Of course, that’s not to imply I didn’t still look like a bungling American but at least I was a bungling American who managed to get the job done.

After our 2nd break (around 10pm) I finally managed to fall asleep. We stopped again several times, but I slept through most of them. At one stop we had to wait for a police escort to take us through a bandit ridden slice of forest and I wanted to stay awake to see the police but I simply couldn’t manage. When we arrived at our destination at 4:45am I still had difficulty rousing myself. When I did finally climb off the bus, I was astounded to find that our destination wasn’t a place at all. Or rather it wasn’t a place in that there was nothing there; no buildings, no houses, just a few buses. I had assumed we would be going to some town or village or something, but it turns out that since the Koshi flood, most of the traveler’s stops are just places that happened to be dry. From there, we had hoped to get a jeep or a microbus, but after waiting for a long time we all piled into the back of a rust red flat bed being pulled by a tiny tractor. So there I was, watching the sunrise over a flooded landscape from the back of a tractor with 15-17 other people and luggage to match. For a few minutes, I was the romantic traveler marveling at this once in a lifetime moment I’d been given, appreciating the pinks peaking out from behind the mountains in the distance and watching the water buffaloes wake up and wander about…but then, I had to pee…..really badly and I realized that my legs hurt and that the people in the truck with me were complaining about how uncomfortable we all were. I never cease to be entertained by these sudden perception shifts I have. Of course, I tried not to let reality rob me completely of my romantic musings, but it was also an important reminder. As travelers, it’s easy for us to romanticize hardships and discomfort when they are short-lived experiences, but we also need to remember that for others this is not a “once”, but a lifetime experience.

After about 30-45 min in the trailer we arrived at another place that was not a place, this time next to a very swollen river. There were several other buses, jeeps, ect and there was an assortment of over crowded boats waiting in the water. Our boat reminded me of the boats you see in cartoons about Egypt. It was long (15ft by 6 ft maybe) and though it was dug out like a canoe, large woven bamboo mats had been placed across the entire top and that’s where all 45 or so of us sat. Here's a picture that's pretty close, though imagine a ton more people. The boat swayed a bit before the diesel engine puffed to life. Dai’s cousin was scared and I have to admit I spent a moment or two planning my escape route should the boat tip, but the water didn’t seem to b e very fast and I haven’t seen any crocodiles so I wasn’t too afraid. (Yeah, ok, I laughed when I wrote that too. How did my life come to a point in which I judge my safety by whether I saw crocodiles?) The oarsman on the other hand looked terrified the entire 20 min crossing and though he was making excellent money, I couldn’t help but wonder how long his poor heart could take this kind of work.

Once across, we again caught a tractor, which took us to another, though significantly smaller, swollen river about 15 min away. This time we crossed by bridge, which was really a football field worth of bamboo mats strung together. Had I any sense, I might have been terrified, but fortunately that’s not often a problem for me here. Instead I was busy being annoyed that we had to pay 10 rupees (less than a quarter) to cross the bridge and trying to figure out which of the men that were collecting money I could mentally accuse of being the bridge troll. (After seeing more of the Koshi aftermath, I’ve rethought this part of the trip. I’d now happily pay significantly more to help all the people who have lost so much)

Once across, we took a bicycle towing a wooden platform (the village version of a rickshaw) up to the nearest bus park. I enjoyed the ride though I felt terrible for the poor man pulling all four of us and our luggage and for only 20 rupees. Dai reminded me I was contributing to the local economy, but I still felt a bit inhuman and I tried to keep myself from worrying over the man’s calorie intake.

At the bus stop, we had tea in a local shop. From the tea shop, Dai and I took another bus to his father’s farm. We visited the farm for a short time, and then we caught another bus to a place called Itahari, from there we caught our last bus of the journey to Dharan. It was afternoon when we reached Dharan, and I was sent straight to bed to nap. After my nap, I found myself here writing to you. I know it was a long post and I’m sorry if you were bored, but it was also a very long journey. Can you believe that I’m going to do it all over again in just a week’s time? Hooray for adventures!

I’m working on a post about my fieldsite now, but it seems as though all of my pictures may have been deleted. I’m going to fight to recover them for a bit, and so I’m going to wait and try to post and put the pics up at the same time. Wish me luck!

All my love!