I can't even begin to think of a title for this one...

List of accumulated items from our (somewhat) successful trip into Kathmandu is as follows:
- One traditional Nepali-style shirt for Kevin because he is got invited to a wedding =]
- Even more DVDs because they're so darn cheap (including How I Met Your Mother Seasons 1 - 3 [YES!], Across the Universe, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Henry Poole is Here, Martian Child, and some guy flicks for Kevin. At less than $2 a pop, I can't resist...)
- One beeeeeautiful sari that I had fitted last week and picked up today. Gonna wear it to the wedding as well =] Plus two custom kurtas, which are reeeeally preeeeetty. And a pair of matching dress shoes that I got for less than half the price the man was asking. I am a bargaining queen!
- Groceries from Thamel Supermarket.
- A layer of dust, grime, and who knows what else covering all exposed skin, hair, and garments.


Our day began when we headed to Banepa's bus stop. All the buses look alike, so to find out which one is heading to Kathmandu, we listen. There are men at each bus designated to holler the destinations of the buses over and over again and herd people to their appropriate transportation. Kind of hard to understand sometimes though, because they tend to mush all the words together. For instance, "Banepa!" is usually pronounced "Banepabanepabanepabanepa!"

We found our bus and got situated. Kevin was happy because the seats were spaced farther apart, so he actually had leg-room this time. But our good fortune abandoned us soon after when the bus ground to a stop about 20 minutes later and the driver turned to everyone and motioned them out the exit door. At the time, I had thought the bus had broken down. Later, we realized that someone forgot to inform us that there was a riot and a road-block on the main road to Kathmandu today. They just pushed us out and said nothing.

Unknowing to the predicament up ahead, we got out and found another bus. It was also "headed to Kathmandu" as well and the designated shouter quickly ushered us inside. We got to our new seats, but Kevin's knees were now up to his chin. This the the part where I actually like my short legs. They come in handy over here in Nepal =] Thinking this was the final ride into Kathmandu, we settled in. Designated Shouter Guy collected the usual travel fare from everyone without a word. But less than 20 minutes later--AGAIN--our new bus jolted to a stop. The driver turned to everyone and told them to go outside. Kevin and I demanded to be reimbursed for our travel fare, but the man refused to give us any more than 5 stinking rupees apiece. I asked a man outside, who appeared to know a little English, what was going on. He merely looked at me and said "You have to walk now. Walk to Kathmandu."

Seriously? Kathmandu is still about a 45-minute drive away. But we had no choice but to continue up the road a little bit, hoping there was another bus stop. But a couple minutes later, all we found was a barrier across the road, reinforced by people in military uniform. A thick funnel of black smoke was rising up beyond the next hill. A group of drivers and their taxis sat off to the side of the road, waiting for the chance to pounce. One man ran up to us and said, "You cannot get through. There is riot. Main road blocked. I take you to Kathmandu. Very cheap price!" Even after we agreed, he kept assuring us it was a cheap price. When they say that, I assure you, you are getting ripped off. Even Kevin knew this, but was in no mood to bargain and said yes. Even as we climbed into the taxi, he assured us yet again "You get very good price!"
Whatever.

We finally managed to get to our destination in Thamel, a good place for shopping and eating. We took a little time to fill up on Hawaiian pizza and blended mochas at Himalayan Java. Then we set out to buy Kevin's shirt, acquiring our random DVDs in various stores along the way, and then my sari and kurtas in New Road. I almost got my foot ran over by a rickshaw, had various necklaces and bracelets and mini chess-sets practically thrown in my face in order to get noticed. And each violent presentation was followed by "Miss! You like, yes? You want to buy, yes? I give you good price, yes?" I feel like saying "You are exasperating, yes?" but I normally say nothing and keep walking, because any if you give any sort of indication that you are interested (such as eye-contact or slowing down because they are in your way, or even breathing differently for that matter) then they are on you like flies to flypaper, and they are never going away...

I hate being a white tourist here. I might as well have a bullseye on my forehead. Geez... I've even received a couple "Excuuuuuse me, miss... You smoke hashish, yes?" What the...? Do I look like I smoke hashish? White Girl must have loads of money that that's what she's gonna spend it on: good ol' cannabis indica, which is surprisingly grown in abundance here, but only legal to smoke on one day--Shiva's birthday, I believe--and Shannon told us that everyone parades around Pahsupatinath (the local crematorium) naked and dances to super-loud music and sets off fireworks and well... you get the picture. Sorry that I have now emblazoned your minds with that horrendous sight, but it just shows you how crazy things can get here. It's such a sad situation. For instance, I saw a man (who was obviously not right in the head) walking down the road on our way to Kathmandu today, and he was was wearing about four or five thick coats... That's it. Apparently he thought the numerous coats made up for his complete lack of other garments. I guess he's well known for parading up and down the streets like that, because I have heard about him from other people, and hoping I would never actually see him...

To get on with the story, we decided to head back to the bus stop after our list was complete, hoping that the route back to Banepa was now clear. Someone said it still wasn't open, but that the buses were now taking the long route back. We hired a taxi to get us to the bus stop, who was blocking traffic to talk us into his cab. Cars began to honk with impatience, and a traffic officer started towards us. The driver still insisted on the higher price, but I knew he was stuck. Either he could keep arguing with us and get hounded by the police or accept and get outta there as fast as he could. He chose the latter with a frown. Hee-hee. No more ripping off the white tourists... I'm so good.

Back at the bus stop, we found our bus to "Banepabanepabanepabanepa!" and climbed aboard. Problem was, there were no more seats, so we had to stand with the five other people who were already standing. And Designated Shouter Guy kept pushing us back farther and farther into the bus to make even more room for more passengers. I grabbed the rail on the roof and started thinking about how much my feet already hurt. But a man in the back, my savior, smiled and offered me a seat atop his five-gallon bucket which was resting in the aisle. Why would he pick me? Crazy White Girl standing amidst the crowd. And he picked me. Maybe I like being a white tourist after all. Thanking him, I set myself atop the bucket and held Kevin's giant backpack in my lap. Poor Kevin was about 3 inches taller than the roof of the bus, so he was hunched over, and I think I once heard him mumble something about a temporary bout of scoliosis. Right after, the bus squealed to a sudden halt and my bucket seat and I slid down the aisle about two feet and into the mass of bodies. Everyone watched--Nepali-style-- with that soul-melting stare. Although they had more reason this time. I had squealed on my way down the aisle, just as loud as the bus. More and more people begin to fill up the cabin and when there was obviously no more room, all other passengers start climbing onto the roof.

The bus lurches forward again, helping me slide back to my original place. The bucket tries to tip over with every dip and bump, but I can't really go anywhere. I'm pretty much sandwiched in. Then I feel that something cold and wet is leaking from the lid of my bucket seat and dripping onto my foot. I pray to God that it isn't some kind of insecticide or radioactive slime. And I've attained this chronic coughing since my arrival in Nepal, and I now feel a bad tickle in my throat coming on. But where do I cough? My arms are pinned under Kevin's backpack, so it's either in someone's ear, or the back of someone else's kneecaps. I decide let go in Kevin's backpack. Meanwhile, Kevin is communicating Morse code to the people on the roof with his head. I can see he is now standing butt-to-butt with his neighbor, and turning a violent shade of red. I want to joke that this is his first "friendly" interaction with a Nepali stranger, and later I ask, "Did you get to know him?" He screws up his face in torment. "Too well..."

Later in the trip, the man who had offered me his bucket started up a conversation. When I informed him I was a volunteer in Banepa, he quickly asked, "Scheer Hospital?" I was surprised, because not many people know about Scheer. I said yes and he said his daughter is in Grade 1 at the school and his son Rupak works in the canteen. Quite a coincidence because Kevin and I know are getting to know Rupak pretty well. The man introduced himself as Krishna, and he was a really nice fellow. I just wish I could have been standing a little farther away when we talked, so that I wasn't staring at the gap that was his missing front tooth, or sprayed with spit every time he pronounced the letter "s". But still... Quite a neat coincidence.

Eventually we made it back to Banepa, and a drunken man stood at the bus exit and kept touching Kevin and slurring his speech. I just could only stand back and laugh hysterically. Seriously, the drunk people here are so funny. The Nepali language is quite intriguing, but it's even better when the person speaking it is flat-on-his-face drunk.

And there you have it. Yet another adventure into Kathmandu. Stay tuned for more.