Atrophied and awkwardly positioned, my back finally started to adapt to bouncing around in the fetal position across the pew-shaped and slightly padded bus seats which carried my small group 24 hours from Kathmandu to the launching point.
Brittany and I pride ourselves upon conquering some epic road trips, driving up to 27-hour segments before stopping for more than gas or food - cruising over 4,500 miles in a week-long dash around the mid western US -
but this was so painfully different. The drive into western Nepal takes so long not due to distance, but because of Nepal's primitive and scarred infrastructure. A 100 mile journey takes 6-7 hours by bus on the better highways. For 24 hours my bones rattled as I bounced out of my seat and sometimes into the aisle. Forget sleeping or reading a book to pass time; I had so much trouble even manipulating my iPod that I finally said screw it and pretended I was getting a long, non-air conditioned Nepali massage. As is almost always the case, it was worth it.
Our guide estimates that only 10-15 rafts float the Karnali river each year due to the difficulty of logistics. In five years no one will enjoy the untouched civilizations and class IV+ rapids we conquered. Nepal claims position as the 6th poorest country in the world and things like world-class rafting trips don't mean much compared to potential revenues to be earned by large dams spanning and altering steep Himalayan rivers. Nepal won't use the generated electricity to fill in the 8-hour daily power shortages nationwide, rather they will sell the power to India or China.
Currently, the Karnali offers a stunning experience to its occasional visitor. Joining me were girls from New Zealand and Australia, a couple from Holland, a guide-in-training from England, and another male solo-traveler from Holland. We camped each night on its banks, played beach volleyball, chatted about our cultural differences, and each day became more comfortable with the curious locals. Each day we joked, massacred classic songs, and took turns wrestling each other overboard as we made our way down over 100 miles of mountain run-off and melted glacier.
Surrounding us each day were dozens of forest fires whose smoke filtered the view. Unlike the media frenzy and chaotic movement to save homes around California's Lake Tahoe and southern regions, nature took its course gracefully and without retaliation. Each night we'd look upon strips of blazing forest, traveling ever so slowly across the valley as the heat and dry air performed their annual duties. Never did we sleep in areas vulnerable to the risks imposed by the flames, we just glared into the lonely night sky each evening and fell asleep shortly after dusk under the glow of nature's process and a canopy of stars beaming brighter than ever.
The most fascinating and memorable memories of the trip included our interactions with the native residents. We bought meats from them, including fish, a freshly cut venison leg (including fur and hoof), and live chickens whom we appropriately named "Lunch" and "Dinner." We took the local peoples' portraits and watched their minds get blown over seeing themselves on the screen of our tiny devices.
We listened as the elders tried to communicate basic medical needs. And we left them with whatever medical supplies we had to offer: including band-aids, betadine solution, and eye drops for an older woman who works alongside everyone else each day in the dry, dusty air who appeared to have been rubbing her left eye for forty years. For the more serious problems, including a woman in a red dress who had recently been rammed and injured by a bull, I wish I had the training and supplies to do something more significant. This was a culture preserved from modern life. The people were beautiful in so many ways.
Brittany and I pride ourselves upon conquering some epic road trips, driving up to 27-hour segments before stopping for more than gas or food - cruising over 4,500 miles in a week-long dash around the mid western US - but this was so painfully different. The drive into western Nepal takes so long not due to distance, but because of Nepal's primitive and scarred infrastructure. A 100 mile journey takes 6-7 hours by bus on the better highways. For 24 hours my bones rattled as I bounced out of my seat and sometimes into the aisle. Forget sleeping or reading a book to pass time; I had so much trouble even manipulating my iPod that I finally said screw it and pretended I was getting a long, non-air conditioned Nepali massage. As is almost always the case, it was worth it.
Our guide estimates that only 10-15 rafts float the Karnali river each year due to the difficulty of logistics. In five years no one will enjoy the untouched civilizations and class IV+ rapids we conquered. Nepal claims position as the 6th poorest country in the world and things like world-class rafting trips don't mean much compared to potential revenues to be earned by large dams spanning and altering steep Himalayan rivers. Nepal won't use the generated electricity to fill in the 8-hour daily power shortages nationwide, rather they will sell the power to India or China.
Currently, the Karnali offers a stunning experience to its occasional visitor. Joining me were girls from New Zealand and Australia, a couple from Holland, a guide-in-training from England, and another male solo-traveler from Holland. We camped each night on its banks, played beach volleyball, chatted about our cultural differences, and each day became more comfortable with the curious locals. Each day we joked, massacred classic songs, and took turns wrestling each other overboard as we made our way down over 100 miles of mountain run-off and melted glacier.
Surrounding us each day were dozens of forest fires whose smoke filtered the view. Unlike the media frenzy and chaotic movement to save homes around California's Lake Tahoe and southern regions, nature took its course gracefully and without retaliation. Each night we'd look upon strips of blazing forest, traveling ever so slowly across the valley as the heat and dry air performed their annual duties. Never did we sleep in areas vulnerable to the risks imposed by the flames, we just glared into the lonely night sky each evening and fell asleep shortly after dusk under the glow of nature's process and a canopy of stars beaming brighter than ever.
The most fascinating and memorable memories of the trip included our interactions with the native residents. We bought meats from them, including fish, a freshly cut venison leg (including fur and hoof), and live chickens whom we appropriately named "Lunch" and "Dinner." We took the local peoples' portraits and watched their minds get blown over seeing themselves on the screen of our tiny devices.
We listened as the elders tried to communicate basic medical needs. And we left them with whatever medical supplies we had to offer: including band-aids, betadine solution, and eye drops for an older woman who works alongside everyone else each day in the dry, dusty air who appeared to have been rubbing her left eye for forty years. For the more serious problems, including a woman in a red dress who had recently been rammed and injured by a bull, I wish I had the training and supplies to do something more significant. This was a culture preserved from modern life. The people were beautiful in so many ways.
1 comment:
Thank you Joe for sharing this little glimpse of a far corner of our world. Very much appreciated and enjoyed. They do look like some pretty neat people.
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