(An Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Monsoon is well underway--thank God for umbrellas!

In Nepali, the term for the way these ladies are planting rice is an onomatopoeia: chupu chupu.

Completed fields. Successful harvest depends on, among other things, just the right amount of monsoon rain.

Hopefully not too much rain! The view of the road on my way home from the hospital last week.

These semi-circular structures are temporary homes. They provide more reliable shelter from the rains than tents and tarps.

Safe demolition is still needed throughout much of the country. Ironically, this is a steel company's building.

The Boudhanath stupa, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, in January (left) and last week (right). The rebuilding of more than 700 damaged monuments throughout Kathmandu is in progress.

Unchanged Rules of the Road

Post-earthquake activity still dominates the daily scene in Nepal. While we collectively work towards a new normal (rather than a pre-earthquake normal), some key rhythms of Nepali life and culture have come through unscathed. Family and community remain at the center. Rice planting is nearly complete. The annual South Asian monsoon has arrived. And the chaos that is public transportation is alive and well. 

I used to think there were no traffic rules in Nepal, but over time I’ve come to appreciate and be surprised by the reality that rules--maybe just two--really do exist.

1.  The right of way belongs to the most aggressive driver. And apart from fancy INGO relief cars (that’s another blog post altogether), I’ve yet to meet a Nepali driver who’s anything but aggressive. It doesn’t matter if you’re facing oncoming traffic, forcing other vehicles off the road, or need to take over the sidewalk for a few minutes. If you get there first, it’s yours. This might explain why my parents, after visiting Nepal, forbade me to buy a motorcycle and offered to pay for a private driver, should the need arise.

2. Anything can happen. A few months ago I hopped on a public bus along with twelve goats. They seemed less willing than I to get on, but their herder prevailed. I wondered whose responsibility it was to clean up after them, but my stop came before I was able to find out.

Today my taxi driver abruptly stopped the car. “One moment while I buy a donut.” Because this was all in Nepali, I naturally assumed I misunderstood him. Sure enough, however, he turned off the engine, got out of the taxi, walked across the street, and bought a bag of donuts. We were back on the road in no time.

Can you spot my driver? :)

As I now commute two to three hours each day, Mom and Dad's offer for the private driver grows increasingly appealing. Thankfully, so too does the appeal of spending regular time on public transportation. It's what most of my Nepali friends have done since they began school at the age of three. Yes, three. And as so much is different now, it's comforting (in the life-threatening kind of way) to know that some things haven't changed.

This section of my daily commute sunk ~ 4 feet in the earthquake. It doesn't seem to slow anyone down.