Motorflow

With all of its chaos, there are several places in Kathmandu with lovely gardens and booming sound systems. The DJs rival any that I’ve heard in San Francisco or Burning Man. You put that combination together with one drop of Kyra and you have me dancing in the gardens under the stars at night with my trusty dutch companion (who is the social queen of Kathmandu, having lived nearby for one year), Silke. I notice two particularly dapper and polished young men with a certain poise and bearing that speaks of creativity and good breeding at the same time. I bring my soda water with me to take a breather from the dance floor and sit beside them under the stars, “Lovely evening in the garden isn’t it.” “Quite,” he says. We chat amiably – perfectly nice gentleman. I later return to the dance floor and meet the other one in the garden while taking a break. We’re standing in an open air courtyard with arched brick side walls and stars as the ceiling. There is moss covered bricks underneath us and tropical foliage spilling all around us. It smells fragrant and invigorating and exotic. I point out that this is a great space, thinking of how nice it would be to perform there. Just then, he says “a perfect stage, indeed.” We speak the same language. Minutes later, when he asks my travel plans and I say I’m somehow going to Ladakh, he says that I am welcome to join the two of them on their motorbikes as they, too, are headed to Ladakh on their way to Kashmir. “Okay,” I say without even thinking about it – just going with my intuition – and he says, “right then, we’re off tomorrow morning” and there it is: I’m heading west through Nepal to India via motorbike!
Alexander Robertson and Edward Fromson – these are my traveling companions. They are both 25 years old and actors – both stage and film – in England. They’re both strikingly handsome – Alex blonde, Edward brunette – both tall – both genteel – both intelligent – both adventurous – both resourceful – and both funny. They are staying in the same guest house as Bob, so I swing by Bob’s in the morning to say goodbye. He loans me a waterproof jacket and pair of pants for the journey, which I promptly don and knock upon the door of the lads’ room to greet them for our day and our journey. The door is unlocked as I knock and open it. There they are, sleeping in bed, just rubbing their eyes to wake up and make sure that they’re seeing correctly. It’s the Californian they met last night wearing full waterproof gear (hood latched around the chin included), standing at the foot of their bed smiling “good morning, are we still on for our journey west?!?” We’re on…Within several hours, the bikes are packed – Alex has my backpack and Edward has me – and off we go. They both travel with next to nothing. There is no problem. Their tanks are nearly full as we head off, for which I am grateful b/c we are, after all, smack in the middle of a petroleum crisis in Nepal. There are blockades and protests nearly every day as a result of the petrol and we’re not sure we can get any gasoline on our journey, but we go anyway. It is chaos leaving Nepal and I wonder if I’ve completely lost my mind and at the same time, I’ve never felt more free or happy or just plain in harmony with the rhythm of life.

I quickly learn that traveling by motorbike is the “best way to experience a country” as Ed says. We drive through fields and mountains with children smiling and waving along the way. We wend around potholes and slow cars and cross bridges with white rapids far below. We stop for lunch at a town that has several roadside stalls selling dahl baht and sweet tea. Our food is brought to our table and both of them proceed to eat Indian style with their right hand. I’m surprised that even while eating with their hands, they maintain the ever so English element of etiquette and decorum. I remember eating this way in Kuala Lumpur with my old boss and friend, Chandra. She says food tastes better when you eat with your hand, so I joined her and indeed eating the food off the banana leaf with my bare hands was sumptuous. Nonetheless, I’m on the brink of adventure overload, so I stick to the spoon. Alex buys all three of us mangos. Our flow together is very fluid, very easy.
They have collectively spent two years plus in India, Tibet and China. Ed learned to ride his bike in India. Both of them have already driven these motorbikes around India. They are both very road savvy in the eastern realm and this is extremely comforting as it takes a special kind of driver to drive in Nepal (and India, I hear) without going mad. They’re as cool as cucumbers. I look at Ed as he’s cruising along with an easy smile on his face and wild blonde hair spiking around his head and I can’t help but think of a young Peter Fonda – handsome and free, riding across the universe. This is a good thing. At every single petrol station along the way, we stop and ask for petrol – the answer is always the same – “no petrol. Try next station 5 kms.” We see the valleys and mountains of Nepal as we glide along the river at high noon in the blazing sun into twilight where everything is silver and sparkling and fresh. The air is so clear that it tastes like thick water when you inhale and you feel nothing less than bliss at being alive and gliding through Nepal on a motorbike – free as the wind – and blessed as can be. We ride along in this fashion until we’re nearly to Pokhara (26 kms).
Alex runs out of petrol. Ed knocks on doors in the neighborhood to ask for petrol. One man walks by and offers to let us stay for the night, saying also that there is a petrol station 2kms away. Alex questions whether he should walk down there and I say “sure and I’ll stay here on the side of the road by myself, like the stupid American girl that gets killed first in every bad horror movie.” We laugh and decide that Ed is probably walking there right now if he can’t find any black market petrol in the neighborhood. Another person appears and invites us to his home for the evening. We decline. Suddenly, the first man reappears and stands in the middle of the road to force a bus hurling down the road to stop right in front of us. A brave move. He tells Alex that the petrol station is only 2 kms away. I look at my empty water bottle and gesture to Alex. I say I can take the bus. Alex says “I wouldn’t take that bus” and I see a giant indentation on the side of the bus from an obviously gigantic car crash. Just at that moment, Ed calls out from the distance – he’s found an ex army man who sells us one litre out of his gasoline tank for 150 rupees. About a 50% increase from the petrol stations.
As we transfer the petrol from the army man’s tank to Alex’s bike, the entire family of about 10 is gathered around staring and giggling at us. They obviously find it humorous, perhaps, that we’ve decided to take a road trip in the midst of a fuel shortage. Quite right. Very funny. In fact, it’s the funnest idea ever and running out of petrol turns out to be our ticket to true Nepali hospitality. There is a gaggle of little girls gathered at the neighbor’s next door and they are singing a chorus together across the yard to me. I approach them and they bounce joyously up and down increasing the volume. They sound like the sweetest little chipmunks I’ve ever heard and all I can do is smile. We make it another 19 kms before Alex is again out of fuel. This time, Alex goes knocking while Ed looks at Alex’s bike’s fuel tank to see if there is a leak. I ask what I can do. He suggests I knock on some doors. The houses in this neighborhood are nicer. They all have security gates. I take out one bamboo stick and walk over the barrier to a modest looking home. “Namaste” I say from the dark into the illuminated hallway where a lady resides within. I tell her I’m out of petrol. Out comes a young nepali girl named Jyoti – a nursing student of 20 years old - who understands my English immediately and grabs a plastic container, nods her head, disappears into a side room and promptly returns with a half liter of petrol. She comes out to the bikes with me, as does her mother and her brother. I offer to pay her and she refuses, saying she would instead like my e-mail address and would we please stay for dinner or sleep at their house tonight. I give her my e-mail and decline the invitations of hospitality.
It is late now and dark. Althought it’s been raining every day since I’ve been in Kathmandu, we’ve successfully managed to avoid any rain all day. But now, it’s a little chilly. We’re tired. Alex returns from his search with one liter of petrol. We decide we will gladly accept Joyti and her mother Rama’s invitation. Although it is now 10:00, the family sits us in front of the television and quickly disappears into the kitchen to prepare a delicious nepali meal for us of spicy potatoes, moist rice, delicious dahl and hot sauce with green vegetables. They also give us glasses of purified water. We offer to help. They just want us to be comfortable. The lads sleep on the large bed that has been made for them on the floor and I’m slightly elevated on a couch. The hospitality is genuine and pure and simply sweet. We talk with the son and daughter about what they like to do when they’re not at school. “Nothing,” they say, completely content. Their English is remarkable and they are bright and articulate. There is a calm to them that I wish even half of the American teenagers could emulate. It’s really, really sweet to be their guests. In the morning, I wake up and start to do yoga. I set up an extra mat alongside me and invite Jyoti to join me. I teach her for nearly 30 minutes and she is laughing the whole time. I finish without her after she decides that she’s had enough. She watches, still smiling. I’m smiling, too. Alex wakes up to the sight of me in shoulder stand with legs and body straight up in the air, one knee touching my forehead as I stimulate my third eye chakra. He sits on the mat next to me and I guide him through some exercises to deal with the saddle stretch from riding so long. We om together three times and greet the day. We take a tour through their grounds – barley and corn and vegetables and herbs, goats, chickens, an ox and a bull. The mother takes care of all of the land on her own. The brother helps with the cooking and goes to school. Jyoti is the career girl who works at the hospital. Her graduation photograph is proudly displayed in the living room amid posters of Krishna, Gopala, babies, a mother and baby elephant saying ‘mother’s love’ and other such sweet posters that I loved when I was 9
years old. They feed us a delicious brunch and we’re off again.
We make it to the stunning lakeside town of Pokhara. It is another beautiful sunny day and the lake is so calm and clear and quiet (no horns), that I feel completely relaxed even though I’m still gliding along on the back of a motorcycle. It’s all fluid now. We check into two rooms. The hotel is charming and called “the Hamlet” which the lads love for obvious reasons. Ed specializes in Shakespearean theater, btw. Our balconies abut eachother and we relax overlooking the lake for an hour reading and writing and painting. We continue in the flow and decide to venture into town. I direct us to a side dirt path and we end up in front of the glistening lake with boats to our right. Alex and Ed say they’d hire one without a driver. I asked a man sitting on a bench if we could rent it. Yes. The gents rowed to the other side of the lake as I sat at the other end of the boat trailing my hands in the cold, clear water, feeling once again as lucky as ever. They head for a beautiful stupa atop a large mountain. We get off and wordlessly begin climbing through the forest to the stupa. By the time we make it to the top, we are drenched in sweat and breathing only relatively heavily. This is the World Peace Pagoda – a place specially selected by Buddha as a place where people from anywhere in the world could easily come and meditate on peace because it was nothing less than inspiring to look out any direction of the 360 degree views of the stupa. The stupa has four altars to Buddha in gold. I circle it three times and wai and om each of the buddhas each time. I turn around and admire the view, watch birds sailing through the air, hear the wind billowing from on high in the Himalayas. It’s not clear enough to see the Himalayas, but their presence is felt everywhere and in everything. It is peaceful. It’s getting late and the path up was mostly moss covered stones – not good to walk down in the dark. I’m also mindful of the travel advisory saying this is a regular grounds for thieves, particularly at night. Although they are aware of impending darkness, the lads order a cuppa' (of tea) on top of this beautiful place (and some candy bars, I admit) and it’s so hot that we have to wait even more precious minutes to drink them. We’re told by the security guard as he leaves that we have 15 minutes to nightfall. It took us about 1.5 hours to climb up. Just like we miraculously made it to Pokhara despite the fuel shortage and just like we’ve had two full days of travel without rain despite the monsoon season, we miraculously make it back down the mountain with only a tiny bit of darkness. The lads paddled the boat out about half way home and noticed that the whole of the mountain that we'd just climbed was covered in showers. Showers that were quicky approaching us.
I think to myself that I’ve just seen us go over a fence wire, but don’t say anything b/c I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me in the dark. Actually, we ended up being trapped in a fish farm (at this time it was dark and visibility was poor) and had to paddle back from the direction we came for five minutes. As soon as we righted the boat around the fish farm, the storm overtook us and it POURED on us! I stared singing songs as they paddled on either side of the boat-it seems like the right thing to do somehow. We got to shore 10 minutes later, secured the boat, met two young nepali students and all went together to dry off and warm up with another cup of tea under a tin roofed restaurant. I went to the bathroom and had to wade through a puddle to get there. I met my first leach! On my left foot as I discovered upon inspecting my feet at the restaurant again. As I’m making some sort of reviled sound over and over again, Alex is telling me to burn it off and leaning toward me with a lighter. I can’t help it, I flick it off of me and writhe with horror. A splot of blood drips to the ground. Alex gently suggests later that it’s best not to make a scene b/c then everyone else at the table becomes paranoid and checks themselves non-stop for leaches. “A bit of a conversation stopper, really…”
We walk back home without a torch and no streetlights. My shoes are open toed. I can’t get over the disgusting feeling and every time I walk in a pothole/puddle, I utter the same visceral sound. The guys just laugh. It’s funny. I’m the only one of the three of us who kept landing in puddles all the way home. We go to dinner and it’s lovely. We’re in warm dry clothes with closed-toed shoes. I like it this way. Today is again sunny, my shoes are still closed-toes and my feet are sweating, but I’m not ready for exposure again – even when it’s dry and I can see...not yet, anyway.
We’re still waiting for the mechanic to return to town so that the bikes can get tuned up and we can see to Alex’s bike’s tank. I painted with watercolors on my balcony this morning and brought hot tea to the lad with which I warmed their feet to get them up and moving this a.m. I feel light, creative and peaceful. We’ll soon continue on to western Nepal and start camping. They set up a tarp on the top of the bottom between two motorbikes. This is really roughing it. I’ll need to buy a sleeping bag. I wonder if they have not “hair nets” but “leach nets” to protect my head and face while sleeping on the ground. Alex pointed out that leaches can jump and I can’t quite get the image out of my head. I guess I’ll have to become more leach savvy. I am surrounded on either side by good chaps that know how to camp, speak hindi, live with little money and maximum enjoyment of life, know how to haggle and charm any kind of person we’ve come across and know how to live in the eastern fashion and meditate. Did I mention that they’re chivalrous and gracious to me as well? They both have sisters and said they missed female energy and how nice it is to have me with them. What more can I ask for? Life and the universe continue to flow: an unbroken wholeness in flowing movement, indeed.