Nepal Bus Diaries

Manaslu Circuit, Day 1: Kathmandu to Sotikhola. The adventure begins in pre-dawn Kathmandu. First, we need to keep our stomachs on the colorful local buses taking us to the trail.

Emile Young / In pre-dawn Kathmandu, we piled onto the local bus heading to Arughat Bazaar, leaving the busy city for winding dust roads and Nepali tunes crooning through the radio tucked into the roof of the bus.

In the cool dust of Kathmandu, crisscrossing prayer flags flutter against the dark 5 AM sky above. I fall in line with the other backpacked figures, dodging the occasional honking car or squeaking bike, as we walk toward the local buses which would take us to the trailheads for our treks. The chill pre-dawn air was pregnant with excitement for new beginnings. Even the backpack containing my life for the next 3 weeks felt light—that was probably the last time I thought that for the rest of the trek.

I met my fellow trekkers outside the agency and we headed to the bus. The plan was a 7 hour ride to Arughat, the official start of our 21-day Manaslu Circuit and Tsum Valley trek. All the unknowns seemed a bit inconsequential in light of how exciting it was to finally be on the road after months of daydreaming: we were 5 internet strangers (including our guide Bikram) who had never met until the day before, I’d never walked for so long or with so much weight, and I’d never been above 4000m. The goals seemed simple enough though: enjoy the experience, figure out the rest along the way.

Emile Young / The blinged-out local bus transporting us to the trailhead. Once the interior was filled to capacity, passengers and bags rode on the roof.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a private keep for an extra $25 each?” Rajesh, the agency owner who had helped me through the planning process, asked us the day before our trek. I’d looked at my trekking buddies. Whether it was budget constraints or a sense of bravado for “doing it like the locals,” we all shook our heads. Except Robbie.

Seven hours into a local bus ride, I agreed with him, but you have to live a little, right?

That first morning, we’d slowly picked our way between speeding motorcyclists across the street to the bus station. Suddenly, our guide Bikram broke into a run. We followed, rounding the corner and skidded into our first wonder in Nepal: the thoroughly blinged out local bus, painted and taped in a blinding clash of colors which somehow resolved itself into a cohesive pulsating energy. I’d thought these blinged out buses and trucks only existed in Japan’s dekotora (“decoration truck”) subculture.

Our bags were thrown on top and we scrambled in. The inside was no less loud. As we swayed off over the uneven dust roads, the driver unlocked a box tucked into the roof of the bus and cranked on the music. The tunes of the latest Nepali hit rattled through the ceiling. Meanwhile, the conductor leaned out of the open door, banging in counterpoint to the music as he rounded up passengers who barely stepped on before the bus drove off again.

Emile Young / A young lady on the way to her village from Kathmandu.

As we left Kathmandu (“Dustmandu,” Bikram joked), the craters in the roads grew. I pulled up my dust mask and scrunched into my (thankfully) cushioned seat. On the ride, we drove through puddles so deep and dirt so bumpy and steep that it was a wonder the bus didn’t get stuck.

In fact, the bus did break down at one point: we pulled over abruptly and after a brief exchange, a man ran from his house and pulled along a welder. A few zaps later, we were on our way again.

Arriving in Arughat, we walked an hour to Sotikhola. Everything not covered was filmed with fine dust.

It’s true what they say, a a piece of Nepal will always be with me.

Inside my lungs!