Sharp, gritty pieces stung my eyes and potent exhaust fumes choked my lungs. Under any normal circumstances, I would have raised a hand to either catch the sputum which I felt was about to project from my lungs, or to stop the pebble-dashing of my eyeballs. I found however that I was in no position to do any of the above. I glanced over Henry’s shoulder to read the speedometer. The white needle vibrated furiously towards the 50 KMH mark. Half an hour previously I had met this gentle, mild-mannered man who had been introduced to me as the principal of the local primary school where I would spend some time volunteering. Of course, as in many Asian countries, local hospitality extends beyond that which would be normal in the UK, and I suddenly found myself on a tour of the Lalitpur area of Kathmandu – on two wheels! I only hoped that Henry was able to ride a motorcycle as well as he managed the local primary school!
I was informed by my hosts in Kathmandu that getting around the city was a safe affair. I was however, yet to be convinced. Apparently, the traffic will stop if a vehicle or pedestrian is to cross into the path of something else. This was something though, which I did not feel that I necessarily needed to experience first- hand. In defence of those driving in cars, riding in taxis and chugging in tractors around the ring-road, the traffic does tend to move at such a slow pace that the chances of having an accident are slim. This made me feel slightly more at ease, especially as it is seems customary in Nepal not to adopt the wearing of any safety gear at all!
As we rounded a rather sharp corner however, I was forced to discount the above theory, and was reminded of my own mortality, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a crash helmet! I saw it emerge from the roadside, and watched it flallop into the middle of the road. I’m sure that many would tell me that flallop is not a word, but flallop this thing definitely did. The way it moved its gangly legs was definitely testimony to the word flallop! I wondered whether it was time to close my eyes again, but Henry’s lightening reflexes meant that this just was not an option. If I was about to meet my untimely end, I wanted to know the circumstances in which I was about to greet my maker. The motorbike veered to the right hand side of the road and into the path of an on-coming TATA truck. Well. I say into the oncoming path, it was a good distance away, but it felt as though it was much closer!
The flalloping creature was a goat, and according to Henry, its life was worth saving. There is a custom in Nepal whereby if you accidentally run over an animal, be it a goat, a duck, or a chicken, you are obliged to pay the owner a sum of money for their loss. The amount of money to be paid is determined only by the mood of the owner on the day, and I can only assume that if one’s prized goat ended up pasted on the tyres of a motorbike, one probably wouldn’t be best pleased, hence the need to avoid such a catastrophe happening in the first place.
However, I was also aware that the TATA truck was fast approaching! I gripped the handle at the rear of the bike even more tightly, and gritted my teeth. We had indeed managed to avoid hitting the animal, but I wondered why we were still travelling up the opposite side of the road. By now my heart was racing, sweat was trickling from my pores, and I feared that my bowels were beginning to turn.
I heaved a sigh of relief when we returned to the correct side of the road and the brightly coloured oncoming vehicle passed, though not without it first greeting us with putrid exhaust fumes, a dowsing of roadside grit and the customary belt from the horn! A few hundred metres down the road we were met by a huddle of vehicles trying to negotiate what I can only describe as chaos. It would seem that one of the infamous TATA trucks had struck a post carrying the power-lines for the small hill-side village. As the power lines swayed aimlessly above, I wondered whether they were still live, and at the thought of being toasted, huddled into the foetal position (As far as one can when riding on the back of a motorbike, anyway!)
Back in Patan, one very glad to be alive, but nonetheless exhilarated 29 year old swung off the back of the bike, mentally adding one of those Things You Should Do Before You’re 30 to the repertoire of life’s experiences.
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