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