This journey back has been tough—actually, the worst one I have experienced so far.
It started with being stuck for a day, waiting for a bus. First, we were told there wasn’t one, then that there would be another later. It turned into a long day hanging around an unpleasant town—still, I managed to enjoy it.
Finally, as we sat on a bus, we were disturbed by someone shouting after discovering his seat was double-booked.
Since this was the only bus back to Pokhara, the strategy was to sit inside—even if it wasn’t going to leave for much longer—in order not to lose your seat. Locals were screaming; it felt like punches were being thrown in the air.
So we sat, motor running, with two goats on the roof of the bus—only to be met again by shouting and people moving out. Then we received an explanation:
“This bus is not going now, but the next one is!”
Somewhat nervous about losing my precious seat, I hurried to claim three seats—two for my new Western acquaintances. You must be quick in these situations.
So again, we resumed our sitting positions. The bus conductor kept counting people several times, only to confuse himself—it had been a long day managing seats and getting the right number of passengers.
Tickets were being collected. I handed over mine, which was quite ripped. He questioned my destination—I firmly said, “POKHARA.”
Then the bowels needed some relief, so Tom asked to use the loo, only to be told not to leave.
So we waited another half an hour, and then—suddenly—we started to move. We were excited that something was finally happening… until the bus stopped again not more than 20 meters from our original position.
It was dark, and the skylight was amazing. After more than 40 minutes, we were allowed to get off the bus to relieve our now-screaming bowels—there were no toilets anywhere, so the nearest hidden spot on the street had to do.
The moon—a new moon—looked amazing, like the shape of a sliced melon. I suddenly realized the sky’s orientation here was completely different, and I thought, this is the best thing I’ve seen all day!
Sonya, a French girl—one of the acquaintances—started playing with a little Nepali girl. Tom joined in, and I couldn’t resist either. We created a few minutes of fun that broke through the hours of waiting, frustration, and boredom.
We were told we were waiting for other buses—leaving like a convoy offers protection. Eventually, after who knows how long, we were rushed back to our seats.
More buses passed, and we—the only bus to Pokhara—finally became part of the end of this convoy.
We started moving again, and I felt hopeful. Then we turned onto what might become a road in a few months—but for now, it was a dust-filled path full of holes.
The bus began to feel more like a ship in a storm. It was filled with dust, which got into every part of our clothes, eyes, and lungs. We covered ourselves. Is this the Sahara? No—we were still somewhere in Nepal.
I felt fear. The bus tipping over felt real, and my seat by the window now seemed like a death trap.
It took many hours to reach Pokhara. The bus got stuck on the dusty road. I saw another bus tipped over—and the dead body of its driver. That one had been overloaded with bags of goods.
We saw many forest fires and had a midnight breakfast at Mugling before arriving in Pokhara—dirty but happy.
Happy to be in one piece. Happy that this part of the journey was behind us.
No one would have predicted that such a tough journey would offer a gift I’d only come to appreciate much later—the beginning of a friendship that’s led to countless adventures since.
Meeting Sonya on that chaotic day was the start of something unexpected. We’ve met again in different corners of the world, spent hours on the phone—chatting, laughing, and sometimes crying. As I write this, I’ve just learned that she’s published her first book and is now working on Spanish and English translations.
I wanted to offer this piece from my old diary as a memory of our friendship—a reminder that even the hardest roads can lead to something beautiful.