TANSEN AKA PALPA, Western Nepal

Beggars and their dogsMany of the Kathmandu beggars have dogs. The few curs I've seen up close, sleeping on the same mats and blankets as beggars look no worse off, and usually a lot better than most other dogs, who suffer from mange and worms. I wonder if the beggars beg for the dogs and share, of if the canines are on their own for procuring meals. Not being dependent on a human for food, it may be a purely companionable relationship. I like to think so, because I imagine the future in such a relationship. When I become a demented bag lady, I will have a short-haired rather small dog, one that keeps my feet warm. Seeing the possibilities on Kathmandu's streets makes planning for this eventuality a little more realistic. I know I won't be the only one.

The Road to TansenSapana Panday's father graciously escorted me to the central bus station at 06:30 Sunday morning. He'd already purchased my ticket to Tansen, though it could have been purchased that morning without problems. I feel very pampered to have such attention. It has made movement easy, almost too easy, since I don't have to figure out my own coping strategies. I had seat number 8, a window seat on bus 4806, with "speed control" written across the front bumper. The painting of a trident holding blue Shiva with a cobra wrapped around his neck graced the front of the Tata bus, flanked by pairs of outstretched open-palmed hands offering flowers . The sides were painted with identical village scenes of houses in hills with a shrine. I wrote down the number of the bus's license plates because at crowded bus stations I've sometimes lost my bus due to poor attention to such simple details.

I was both dreading this estimated 10 hour trip and looking forward to the adventure. Where the line of adventure would cross into abject discomfort was unknown, but could have been at any stage in the journey. How much abuse can an already grumbly lumbar spine take? And the toilet facilities? Do they exist? Can one stomach them? Ah! This is always my worry, though in Nepal it is less a problem than in a place like Afghanistan. And if I'm so worried about toilets, what am I doing here? About an hour out of Kathmandu valley, the bus stopped and all the men got out to pee. At the breakfast stop, (greasy chapattis and curry potatoes) there were some not totally disgusting loos and even water to wash hands. And much later in the almost dark, I went with two sari-clad women into some low shrubs at the far side of the road and squatted. I didn't drink all day, fearful of the consequences.

It was not an uncomfortable trip. In fact, the small, up-right seat with no space for knees did wonders for my back. Don't ask how. I sat beside an old Nepali man in a wool coat and Nepali hat. He was quiet, didn't cough or burp too much and considering what could have been, I was grateful for this politely quiet and neutrally fragranced seat mate. He politely refused my offer of a digestive cracker, which may have been because of its appearance, my caste, or his lack of hunger.
The mountains to the north were misty, everything was misty, my pictures taken out of the opened window are blurred or inconsequential and hardly worth saving. How many pictures of harvested terraced rice fields can one justifiably save ?

We traveled south from KTMD, crossing the middle range of mountains in vertiginous curves, following a river, (sorry, I do not know the name) into the terai, the southern strip of flat land, which is more like India than one's storybook idea of Sherpa landscape. In the terai we made good time on the straight road heading west until 40 km E as Butwal, where we came to a stop behind a 300 meter line of backed-up trucks and buses. A multi-ton road building machine had fallen off a truck on a sharp curve and now, on its side, blocked the road. No matter the lever, and no matter the number of Nepalis giving directions, I could see nothing positive coming of this affair for many hours. I tied my fleece around my waist, shouldered my back pack, and grabbing my laptop, set off.

What a wonderful feeling. I'd been so pampered with help from people arranging tickets, ferreting out times, driving me to appointments or picking me up, that I'd forgotten the sense of freedom independent travel can give. In a space of minutes I was made a free agent and in the process felt a new capability. I started walking, crossed under and over the wreck and near the end of the backed-up traffic on the other side found a bus heading west for the town of Butwal. As the bus was taking off, I was offered a seat, shared with a man and three absolutely filthy children at the very front of the bus. What a great seat. As the children pawed me and kicked me with their dirty feet, I reminded myself that if I wanted to stay clean I wouldn't be traveling in Nepal on a public bus. My bags had been left on the rack in the back where I'd been standing before the offer of the seat arose and I was a bit concerned about pickpockets, but tried to release the thought, insisting to myself that people are generally good and helpful. Which of course they are.

The Butwal bus left me at the edge of town and I took a rickshaw to the station to catch a bus to Tansen. I was the last passenger to board the last bus and was on the road again within a few minutes, at 17:00. Wow! What luck. (Strange that a small good fortune quickly following a set back seems so especially sweet).My crowded back seat and the growing dusk didn't allow much appreciation of the canyon we followed north. All my trust in the driver on this exquisitely twisting road was rewarded with arrival in Tansen, possibly at about the same time as my scheduled bus would have arrived had it not been blocked.

I called my contact, the true value of cell phone technology at night in strange towns where one hasn't a clue, and in short time was whisked to Tansen hospital --United Mission Hospital of Tansen--where a room was waiting as well as a slightly cold, but welcome dinner of pizza and cabbage (which wasn't pizza at all, more like cake topped with buffalo meat, but as close as one is likely to get to pizza in western Nepal). I ate with great appreciation. After dinner I walked outside the hospital gates, found a "cold shop" selling beer, bought a 650ml Tuborg and drank what I didn't dare drink all day.