Previously published Nov 10, 2020
Before leaving Kathmandu on the bus to Langtang Glacier, Lance and I dropped two valium each. The road was reputed to be extremely treacherous and neither of us wanted to experience the fears.
At Thamel the driver loaded about sixty Nepalese onto the bus along with our guide, Dorge. Our Sherpa porters were on top with the packs. People were leaving the city.
Last night the army had cleared the streets with gunshots. The pre-democracy forces were calling for a change from the monarchy. The generals understood change meant them losing money. A strict curfew is being enforced by the military. Protestors are arrested and shot at without warning.
Lance and I are glad to be leaving the city.
The bus headed north on a paved two-laner and climbed into out of the verdant valley into a narrow steep-sloped chasm. The road was one vehicle wide without any guard rails. Lance was out cold, but I kept looking over the edge. The drop was a cliff and I searched for any bus or car or truck wreckage. I spotted several far below the road. The Nepalese didn’t seem to care about the danger. The Sherpas even less so. Lance remained in a blissful unconsciousness. I joined him.
We finally arrived in Syabru Besi.
Everyone got off the bus.
The porters were tossing down our gear. Dorge directed the effort. One grabbed mine backpack. He threw it to the ground. I heard a clink. I knew it was my A2 Olympus striking the ground hard. I opened the bag and checked the camera.
Broken.
I stuffed it back in the pack, hoping it might mend itself. The valium made delusion easy, as did the altitude.
Lance stumbled from the bus. Drool on his chest. I pointed to the stain.
“Look at your shirt.”
We were twins.
The Valiums had done their work. The New York architect blinked in the high sunlight. Sky scrapping mountains surrounded the small village. Dorge pointed to a restaurant. we were all hungry and the plan was to set out away after lunch. We walked up to a cafe. I couldn’t see inside. Hordes of flies crawled on the glass.
“This place is filthy,” I complained.
“Before filthy. Now only dirty,” answered Dorge.
“Order food. We eat outside.” I shrugged, because from here on in wew would be eating our own food. If we didn’t get sick from this, we never would.
Another bus pulled into the village. Mostly Nepalese, but two more westerners. They were younger than Lance and I and looked in good shape and their equipment seemed to be their own, instead of rented like ours. We were far away from our homes and I ordered a beer. Lance shook his head. He was Jewish and the Tribe don’t have a reputation for drinking like the Irish. We are always home as long as there is beer.
Altitude – 1400 meters
