Cliff Surfing!! :)

Picture yourself on a bus on a mountain,
With miniature seats and terrible tires
Somebody tells you the bus might tip over,
A bathrooms our only desire

Suman in the bus with Dawa!
Suman in the bus with Dawa!
Suman in the bus with Dawa!

AHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh,,,,,,,...........

SumanonabuswithDawa.mp3

In case the mp3 above didn't work. The song above is meant to be played with Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds by the Beatles. Why do this, you're probably wondering. Have they lost their minds, you're asking yourself. Yes. To a degree, yes we have. And if there is anyone or anything to blame, its the hellish bus rides from kathmandu to Bastanpur and from Taplejung to Baratnagar that consumed nearly 45 hours of our lives. An endless discomfort.  

We met up with Dorchi at the bus stop situated on the side of a relatively busy, smog and dust filled street. We were thirty minutes late but thanks to the nature of Nepali time, which works in hour long increments, we were actually thirty minutes early. While we waited for the bus to fill up with passengers, we conversed with Dawa, Dorchi's brother, who Dorchi organized to be our guide to Phakumba. Sage can probably describe this better than I can, so I let him elaborate later, but I'll say this about Dawa - the man is smart, completely approachable, and because of his build and character, he emanated bodyguard. The kind that you would read in middle school in a clunky Artemis Foul book. Offer the man a snack, he will refuse. But if that man offers you oranges, he'll persuade you to take it. If you need a walking stick, he'll be sure and chop down a tree to make sure you have one. While Dawa was watching our bags from potential pick-pockets Sage and I strolled over to a tiny booth-like hut not twenty feet from the bus. The orange and red of Cheese Balls compelled us to this place where Suman demanded we not pay more than 5 rupees for a bag of chips. I gave the woman thirty rupees and grabbed myself six bags of delicious tiny, air filled cheese balls. Within seconds Sage and I began to devour the cheesy nothingness but then
HONK. HONK. HONK We had to act lively, a bus will leave you on the side of the road if you're not ready to get on when that wonderfully imposing sound blares. A man on top of the bus called for our 4 bags (3 frame packs and 1 very oversized duffle bag with tents and equipment). After strapping them down, and removing any loose and easily removable items, we hopped on the bus and sat in our seats. Sage and I sat in one section and Suman and Dawa (our guide) sat in the other.  Thank you Suman. Not too long after that we were off.
At this point in the bus ride, I was naive. Hell, As we cruised down the busy streets of Kathmandu, I let the dust drift through my large, open window and into my lungs so that I could 'feel the open air and gaze down at life'.  My relative discomfort had yet to be exacerbated by steep cliffs, gangster bus drivers, and a narcoleptic butt. I was mesmerized by the novelty of being transported through rural towns, bustling cities, and flowing hills. But before long, I realized that reality wasn't going to tolerate my romanticism.
Then there came a tingling. Distant first, it grew into a sensation so immense it could be felt far away in the capillaries of my pinky toe. Not a moment before we were swooping around cliffs, did the jostling bus dislodge the integrity of my bladder and the subsequent flood inundate my patience. I had to pee. I had to pee. I had to pee like I never have before. I moved around, tried this position, that position. I had to hold to my junk, I was worried. But this bus careened through the coming night without the slightest indication of stopping. The fear of ruining myself on this densely populated bus while sitting next to Sage set my pupils ablaze as my scattered brain attempted to process a solution. These were my options:
1) Force the bus to stop.
2) Lean out the entrance to the bus and let the stream go with the wind.
3) Cover myself in my jacket, slowly take down my pants, and work a water bottle into a position of relief.

The wannabe gangsters conducting the bus were in no way going to stop this bus while whitey American went off by himself - off to some cliff- to let his pee loose. They have a schedule and these guys will do as they please. So option 1, no way. Option 2, logistically how could I possibly do this without potentially peeing on everybody in the bus and being deemed an incorrigible human being. Thus, I chose the third option. I turned to Sage, informed him of my predicament - And this is how you know a man's a good man and an even better brother, - when I told him he livened up and was trying to work with me through the process. I had to have a strategy, you see. I was erupting. Finally, I pulled down my pants just far enough to well, you know, and then I, well…. BUT I couldn't do it. No matter how hard I tried. Whether it was the notion of indecency my mother inculcated in me or a simple failure in the mechanics of my physical position - I just couldn't. Fearful, I shot back at Suman and asked if there was any way that option 1 was still an option. He was doubtful. He turned to Dawa and asked how long before the next stop - Dawa said thirty minutes. 'FML'. I know this sounds dramatic but let me tell you, I would rather be punched in the face a few times then feel that awful discomfort.  Soon, my leg started to shake uncontrollably, sweat began to pour. Then, before I knew it the bus had stopped - I scrambled around like a freshly decapitated chicken and ran off the bus, past a restaurant, and into the back where I chose the closest stall and peed for what felt like ages. It was beautiful.
Ate some food, hopped back on the bus, and thanked Dawa's perception of time for working in my favor. In terms of discomfort, nothing quite measured up to that but as the night hours rolled by, new sensations corrupted my peace of mind. But after a night of freezing cold from the window that would periodically open on its own, but pain, bus switching due Maoist strikes, and little girls vomiting on Sage, we were ready to get off this eternal ride.
Had it not been for the terraced hills and crystal rivers, insanity would have surely devoured everything instead of a little nibble.