In September 2010 I was in Nepal as part of my grand overland adventure (I made it from Cambridge in the UK to the southern tip of India with no planes).
Part of that journey involved getting a bus from Pokhara (where I had been trekking) to Lumbini (the birth place of the Buddha and quite close to the Indian border). The bus journey was awful. I started to feel a little queasy after about the first 10 minutes. And things got a lot worse. I spent about 5 hours vomiting into a zip loc bag (thankfully, I had a zip loc bag, wet wipes, tissues, hand gel in my little bag on my lap). The bus was quite small, the South African guy next to me was not. I felt very sorry for him. I felt much more sorry for myself, but I was not without compassion. It must have been a tourist bus in that it was full of tourists, though it wasn’t a very nice tourist bus (spoiler alert, other, nicer tourist buses may feature later in this post).
We stopped for lunch which was a blessed relief for everyone. I went to the bathroom, washed out the zip loc bag, and tried to enjoy sitting on something not moving while trying to look less green.
A lovely American couple were chatting to me and noticed I looked terrible. I explained I had been vomiting a lot and felt dreadful. She said: “I’m a nurse, I’ve got some anti-nausea medication if you’d like some”. I thanked her very much and said I’d probably be fine after a bit more sitting still. It turned out we were staying in the same hotel at Lumbini so decided to join forces at the bus station and try to get to the hotel together. A very lovely exchange, apart from me focussing about 80% of my entire being on trying to not to throw up.
Lunchtime was over and we had to get back on the bus. I walked over towards it and my body recoiled as I was about to step onto it. The lovely American woman asked if I was sure about the medication, I said: “Actually. Yes! Please!”. She reached into her bag, pulled out a tiny zip-loc bag with some unmarked small pink pills in it. She tipped two of them into the palm of my hand. I thanked her very much, closed my hand tightly and made my way back to my seat. Smiling apologetically at the South African guy.
The bus started up again. The road didn’t get better.
A slight interlude about Nepali roads. They are terrible. No really, terrible. There are lots of mini (and large) earthquakes and lots of landslides (deforestation doesn’t help) and many of the roads flood and wash away during the monsoon. There are potholes and just unmade stretches. There are water streams that just come down over the road from the mountain heading down into the river below. There are piles of mud on the roads that have been washed there by the rainwater. There are half-completed bits of roadworks. Oh and it’s hilly (small understatement here). So even the best bits of road go up and down and wind around the mountains all the time anyway.
A slight interlude about Nepali buses. They are terrible. Cramped, dirty, dusty, bouncy, falling apart.
I looked at the pills in my hand. I looked out the window. I looked at the now cleaner zip loc bag on my lap. I stole a furtive glance at the South African.
Oh.
Standard travel advice states don’t take food or drink from strangers on public transport because it might be drugged and you might find yourself without passport, money, possessions, internal organs, etc. Standard travel advice does not need to state don’t take drugs from strangers because they might be drugs!
I considered the news headlines and cautionary tale that I could become: British Australian backpacker found dead in Nepal after her phone, hard copy of Shantaram, Lonely Planet guide, and kidneys were stolen by two friendly looking American tourists – don’t do drugs, kids!
I thought about the South African and the remaining 4 hours of this bus ride.
I looked out the window.
I thought – this is a pretty amazing place to die, I’ve had a good life so far!
I thought about the two Americans. They seemed nice (but I guess all con artists do, otherwise they wouldn’t be very good con artists). I thought it was more likely they were simply two fellow backpackers who wanted to help a traveller in need. I had a choice, to trust them or not. I decided that I’d prefer to live in a world where I trust people and occasionally get hurt (even fatally) than to live in a world where I assume everyone is trying to kill me and I vomit a lot.
I swallowed the pills.
I started to feel better. I started to feel sleepy. I slept. I woke up. I felt much better. The South African was breathing easier. The world was a happier place.
It turns out, at the front of the bus, the American couple were having a similar conversation: “I know I’m a nurse and these tablets are benedryl, but she doesn’t know I’m a nurse and that these tablets are benedryl, I don’t know what I’d do in her position, I probably wouldn’t take the pills”.
The three of us had a lovely time wandering around Lumbini together the next day, we even had lunch together (well, they had lunch, I nibbled at some plain rice). The story has a happy ending.
But this is a tale of three bus rides and that is only the first. Buckle up, there’s more.
Flash forward to 2025 when I was in Pokhara and a Nepali friend was getting married in Butwal which is quite near to Lumbini. I could have flown, but I’m not a big fan of flights, especially not internal flights in Nepal (though the ones to the mountainous airports are the ones with the very bad safety record). I love buses, despite the lingering trauma! And I now carry travel sickness tablets with me on long road journeys – my experience with these so far is either I haven’t needed them or they work. I think they also make me a little drowsy which is good and bad, sleeping on long bus journeys helps to while away the hours as long as you don’t miss too much of the scenery.
I decided to get the Tourist Bus from Pokhara to Butwal (it really does deserve the capital letters). Air conditioned. Sofa seats. Clean. Spacious. Very comfortable. Very clean. Lovely. We went a slightly different route (I think) from the one I took 15 years ago (spoiler alert, I think the route I took on my return journey is the same one as 15 years ago). I had my travel sickness tablets and had no ill-effects. I napped a bit. I enjoyed drinking in the phenomenal Nepali scenery. I think the journey took about 8 hours. The roads weren’t too bad (except for the bits where we drove through river beds or completely off road by the side of the highway because it was being worked on, etc).
Two days later I had to go back to Pokhara. This time I took a local bus. Less than half the price. No air con, no sofa seating, not so spacious. I love local buses! You can open the windows and smell the air (and the smoke and the flowers, and the other less delightful aromas of daily life). You get to share space with Nepali men, women, children, babies, grandparents, chickens, sacks of rice, flour, etc. It’s less like watching the scenery and more like driving through the scenery. And this time, the route (I think) was what I had done 15 years, but in reverse. The roads were better than last time, the bus was nicer than last time. The travel sickness tablets helped a lot.
Three bus rides between Pokhara and Butwal that were 15 years and a whole world apart.
Leave a Reply