Backpacks and Bra Straps (26 page)

Waving a finger at us in the rear-view mirror, he said, “No, no. Five-teen dollar American. Each.” He suddenly spoke much better English than we’d heard up until this point.

“Unbelievable,” Ammon said, sitting back. “There’s no way this can be right. When you consider that the minimum monthly wage here is about eight thousand rupees, even five hundred would be good income for a fifteen-minute drive. He wants seventy-two hundred rupees. That’s about a hundred and twenty American dollars. That’s like earning a whole month’s wages in fifteen minutes. Does he think we’re movie stars?”

“How’s that even possible?” I asked.

“He’s bloody whacked,” Ammon said, making sure the cabbie heard him. At this point Adrian was steaming and turning purple with rage which made quite an impressive contrast to his European blond hair. Though I hadn’t known them long, I could clearly see they had reached their breaking point.

“I just want to get the hell out of this country,” Sebastian said, the protruding vein in his forehead matching Ammon’s. “No. We made an agreement. Either drive on for five hundred rupees, as we agreed, or take us back.” The guys in our group began yelling and pointing to tell the driver to take us back up the mountain we’d just come down. He’d be stupid to return us to where we’d started at the border and receive no payment rather than to accept the normal fee he’d initially promised us. We were stopped halfway along a ten-kilometre stretch (6 mi) of petrifying switchbacks. He was totally outnumbered, eight to one, and there were no back alleys around to facilitate intimidation on this one direct transit street through no-man’s-land. He had little choice but to proceed, so he hit the gas as he wiped perspiration from his neck with a sopping rag that had probably once been white. I alternated between watching the sweat pouring from his brow in the mirror and the incredible view below. It was utterly magnificent and teeming with all kinds of life, but it was a very long way down, and I was all too aware of the high cliff and of how awkwardly we were piled in the jeep. There’d be little chance of escape if anything were to happen.

“Geez, it looks like he’s about to drive us all off the cliff.” I tried to take a light tone, but there was nothing funny about it. I was dead serious, as evidenced by the involuntary clenching of both my teeth and my butt. He was taking wide turns and swinging us around wildly each time he came uncomfortably close to the edge. Whenever he did, I leaned my weight inward to the safety of the mountain. That wouldn’t make any difference, of course, except to give me something to do. My mind flashed back to the way we’d skidded on the gravel on our way to Osh in Kyrgyzstan with the psychotic drug dealing driver, and I began to pray.
Oh geez, please don’t let this go wrong. Please be with us and bless this car so we get there safely.
After our last near-death mountain experience, I wasn’t too keen to go on yet another death-defying ride.

“So, if we died in no-man’s land, it would kind of be like dying nowhere,” I said. “Do you think people are allowed to be buried in no-man’s land? Or what if we flew off the cliff, and down there is actually Nepal, would we be in Nepal or not? Because we never did officially get stamped in.”

“Well, we weren’t officially in Tibet either, so where have we been this whole time?” Bree asked.

“True. So how many people do you think have actually died in no-man’s-land?”

“Why do you always have to talk so much?” Ammon asked.

“I think she just likes to hear herself talk,” Mom said, for probably the thousandth time so far on this trip alone. But talking helps sometimes when you feel powerless to do anything else.

We finally reached the bottom, where the road met the Friendship Bridge. This was our stop, and we’d all arrived in one piece. Hallelujah! But what awaited us presented yet another challenge. I nearly panicked as what felt like hundreds of people’s hands slapped the windows around us. Their brown faces peered in to look at us as if we were animals in the zoo. I feared they might actually rip us apart, and suddenly being stuck with the madman driver felt like only our second-worst option.

These people had absolutely no sense of personal space or boundaries. This kind of behaviour was very far from anything my upbringing had prepared me for. A crowd this big, this loud, and this close and smothering couldn’t be anything but part of an all-out riot, and I feared they were out to get us. People were standing up on the tires and the bumper trying to reach our baggage. Although it was fastened down, the ropes were now slapping against the car windows as the ropes holding it to the roof unravelled. Fearful that our stuff would be passed off to accomplices and disappear into this sea of piranhas, Mom urged the boys to step out quickly.

“Watch yourselves,” Ammon warned as he opened the door to brave the inevitable. Bree, Mom, and I followed suit, leaping out and disappearing into the crowd. The backpacks were already unloaded, but surprisingly, we saw that some of them were plunked down next to the wheel of the truck, while others were already perched on the heads of young boys who clearly had no intention of running off. They offered to porter our bags the sixty-four metres (210 ft) across the bridge to the Nepalese side for one American dollar to earn some money.

This wasn’t a riot, and nobody was out to steal anything from us. Hands were still waving and people were shouting, but now they appeared to be inviting. How is it possible that I had actually felt scared just moments ago? They were touching us, but not grabbing or scratching, and I couldn’t help but notice their brilliantly white smiles, even in that chaos.

There were mostly men, but I spotted a few girls standing around observing, and their smiles were endearing. They were shy and withdrawn, but very curious. We hadn’t even officially crossed the border and it was very clear we’d left China and Tibet behind.

We crossed the Friendship Bridge fully loaded and on foot, mesmerized by the tall green sides of the deep gorge. White-water rapids rushed below us, but the sound of nature was covered by the commotion of honking horns, air brakes, and shouting.

“Look. There’s the Nepalese flag. That’s a good sign,” Ammon said, pointing at the blue and red flag on the other side of the bridge. “Did you know that Nepal’s is the only non-quadrilateral national flag in the world? And the Swiss flag, of course, is one of only two that are square instead of rectangular,” he said, nodding toward our four friends.

“What’s the other square one?” Bree asked, and Ammon was more than happy to see her showing genuine interest and answered, “The Vatican.”

Huge guns seemed to be pointed at us constantly, but the guards on this side of the border were smiling and waving, unlike the stone-faced Chinese officials we’d been dealing with. As I showed the Nepal visa in my passport to the customs official and waited for my coveted stamp, he told Sebastian, “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s not good for your health.” I hoped this meant the habit wasn’t as omnipresent in Nepal as it had been in China. I was immediately impressed by all the English I was hearing, too, and happy to think that I just might be understood here.

We quickly found a local bus to take us to Kathmandu. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the
Jungle Book
atmosphere came as a surprise. Open fires smoked on the roadside between lush vegetation and hundreds of palm trees. Banana plants hung heavily with upside-down clusters of yellow fruit.

“Oh look, that must be the bungee zone. It’s the third highest in the world.” Ammon pointed toward the flimsy suspension bridge stretched across the deep gorge.

“Isn’t the highest bungee in New Zealand? Wherever it is, I’d be way too scared to jump like that,” I grimaced.

Ammon shook his head. “Nah, I think the one in South Africa holds the record now.”

“That’s where I want to go,” Bree said.

“Who knows? Maybe we will one day.” Mom said.

Not only did the face Mother Nature presented change, but the people did, too. I was overjoyed to see yet another drastic transformation while crossing a border. Everything seemed to morph at the drop of a hat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought we were in India. Women and children in brightly coloured clothes sold all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables by the side of the road as barefoot, naked kids ran in and out of leaf-roofed huts and played under the trees. The women wore really colourful dresses and lots of earrings and gold jewellery. “I love their style so much already,” I said. “They’ve got Paki dots and nose rings too.”

“That’s something you’ve got to get straight, right here and now. It’s called a bindi. I don’t even know where the term and misconception of Paki dots came from, since they are a Hindu tradition, not Muslim. And finally, referring to them as Paki dots is kind of a racist thing to call them,” Ammon instructed me.

“Okay, I get it. Bindi. But I’m still getting my nose pierced. Since I need to get straight with the new culture.” I smirked.

Mom made one of her typical Marge Simpson “rrrrhmmmm” noises at me. Her reaction was now scaled back to a low rumble, which I interpreted as an improvement over her previous, full-blown refusals.

High Hopes
32

A
mmon had been out exploring Kathmandu that morning when we took advantage of his absence and made a special call. We couldn’t help but snicker when he returned and headed straight for the bathroom to enjoy a refreshing rinse, oblivious to our deviousness. Stepping from the shower, he stood in the doorway towel drying his hair.

“What the heck is this?” He waved an empty dish at us. “How could I have missed this?! I’m gone five minutes and you…” he paused to calm himself before continuing, “called room service? You guys seriously can’t be trusted. Haven’t I taught you anything?” We’d treated ourselves to the cardinal sin of breakfast in bed, unable to resist the telephone and the enticing menu placed by our bedside.

“No, no.” Bree smiled despite her bulging hamster cheeks. “We would
never
do something like
that.”
I turned my back to him and quickly shoved half a banana in my mouth. When Bree saw my equally stuffed cheeks, we both struggled not to choke in our efforts to control our laughter.

“That’s it. Pack your stuff. We’re leaving,” he said. “Today!” He snagged a slice of leftover pineapple from the plate on his way out the door.

“I guess that means we’re moving,” I said, with a sarcastic pout.

Ten minutes later, he came back. “You’re lucky we forgot about the time change when we crossed the border. So it’s actually two hours and fifteen minutes earlier than we thought. It’s not checkout time yet, which means we can go hunting for a room without having to lug our bags around.”

“How do you get a two hour and fifteen minute time change anyway?” Mom asked.

“I don’t have time to explain that. It’s just the way it is,” Ammon said. “And don’t think that asking questions is going to make me forget you guys are in trouble.”

After a four-hour drive from the border, we had arrived in busy Kathmandu late the night before. We were dropped off in the Thamel district, the main backpacker hub, where we parted ways with our Swiss friends as they continued on to find a hotel of their own. The buzz and shake of the capital city had felt like being thrown into a blender, and the morning hours promised no less commotion. It felt like a really exciting place to be, with lots of motorcycles, traffic, people, and animals (and their excrement, of course) in the streets.

It didn’t take too long to find the Happy Guest House, one of many backpacker accommodations in the area. It was a definite downgrade from our two-bedroom hotel suite with room service and a private bathroom, but this place was only a hundred and fifty rupees (US$2.50) per room instead of the thousand rupees (US$15) we’d just paid for our first night in Nepal.

“Cozy? Hrmph… A total savings of ten bucks,” I said as I looked around our latest jail cell. It took less than ten minutes for Bree to start wheezing, partly from the musty, mouldy air within, which was amplified by the recent monsoon season and its sporadic bursts of drenching rainstorms. The heat and humidity made the room feel extra sticky, and we’d be sleeping on beds that were the hygienic equivalent of a rat’s nest.

“I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but ten dollars every day does add up,” Mom said.

“Whatever…” I was not actually all that bothered by the relocation. We didn’t spend that much time in our rooms anyway, usually. After spending another month in China with its strict Internet censorship, I was a lot more interested in connecting online with friends and family. For only pennies an hour, we spent a long time online in the small Internet café nearby. This was our chance to catch up on blog entries and emails and for Ammon to research routing options. We uploaded a few photos at an exasperatingly slow rate, and they even had MSN already downloaded on the computer – a super luxury. It was Grandma’s first time using MSN, and I was relieved and happy when she was able to figure it out. She was our biggest fan, always following our travels closely, checking where we were on her world map, and printing every blog entry to read and keep safe. She was also the one who arranged the finances on that end and who would be informed first if anything happened to us.

Whenever Grady’s name popped up in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen, my heart would leap in my chest. I started to see a pattern in his emailing and found myself struggling to fall asleep at night, my head filled with fantasies of him. I studied every word he typed, and I simply couldn’t get him off my mind.

A live chat with Terri was a special treat because we could send answers as quickly as we could think of questions to ask. I told her every single thing that had happened since our last contact, typing as fast as I possibly could. We even managed to set up our first-ever Skype call there, complete with a headset and a webcam video. I hadn’t heard her voice or seen her face since leaving Vancouver four months earlier. We’d promised ourselves we wouldn’t cry when the time came to say goodbye, but it was impossible not to acknowledge how much both our lives were about to change with my departure. The last time I’d seen her, her eyes had welled up, and it was no different now as we used the webcam. It was obvious she missed us a lot. When I told her how much I wished she’d been there to share the many experiences we’d had, she became emotional.

“Oh Babycakes, don’t make me cry. I have friends over,” she said as she tried to control her emotions, but still the tears came. Not being able to be there for her was depressing, but I tried to be cheerful.

“Who are you hanging out with these days?”

“I’ve just got Sophie and John and Rick and those guys over.”

“Oh geez, Terri. Why them? You know what they’re into. Don’t–”

“It’s okay, Savannah. No one could ever replace you. Even Dad says it doesn’t matter how many new friends I have, because I’ll always have Savannah…”

“Aaaww, really?” It melted my heart to hear that her dad felt that way. He was a well-respected emergency-room doctor, and we all looked up to him. He’d unknowingly had a big influence on me, and was even responsible for my decision to stop printing and start writing cursively instead when I’d overheard him telling Terri how childish it was to print at her age.

“You just need to come out here and visit,” I said. “I miss you so much.”

“I want to so badly. Dad says maybe this summer. Do you guys know where you’ll be by then? Will you be in Australia? I should be allowed, ‘cause I’m sure he’d be fine with me going there,” she said excitedly. Terri had nearly bought a plane ticket to spend the summer with us in Mongolia, but her dad had decided it was too undeveloped and might be dangerous. His instincts might’ve been right, considering what ended up happening.

After hiring an inexperienced Mongolian guide, whose only qualifications were that he could speak English and owned a vehicle with four wheels, we’d broken down in the harsh desert terrain with little food or water. We’d resorted to capturing a wild camel with a pair of shoelaces in hopes that it would pull our van to safety. This ingenious plan failed, of course, and our guide Future had blindly ventured off into the desert to get help. Fortunately, he’d found his way back to us with a little help from strangers. Had we died out there in the Gobi desert, her father might never have known what happened to his daughter. On the other hand, we were then invited to stay with a good-hearted nomadic family in their ger. Everyone we met in Mongolia had been friendly and welcoming, and I had never once felt threatened. What began as a pretty scary journey turned into the adventure of a lifetime.

Other friends had also insisted they would join our trip but, like Terri, changed their minds at the last minute. Stephanie, Bree’s best friend, had recently claimed yet again that she was serious about coming, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up again and risk more disappointment.

“Yeah, I’ve heard this story before,” Ammon said. Because so many friends and family bailed, even after he’d spent a lot of time helping them organize their trips, he’d begun to lose faith that anyone would follow through with their travel plans.

“Yeah, but Stephanie got her vaccinations and everything,” Bree defended her friend. “Nobody else has ever come that close.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing. She can still back out. Let’s just wait until she actually has a ticket in her hand. Even then, I won’t believe it until I see her walk through the airport gates.”

“I have to agree with Ammon. I’m not going to get my hopes up again.” Though I crossed my arms and tried to hide my feelings, I couldn’t help getting excited about her maybe joining us.

“Stephanie makes things happen,” Bree insisted. “She’ll come. Stop doubting so much.” Steph was the first friend Bree had brought home from her new high school. It didn’t take long before they were as thick as thieves, and they’d been best friends since they were thirteen and I was ten. When Bree first introduced her, Mom was less than impressed by the way this thirteen-year-old girl sported her oversized breasts in a pink t-back shirt flaunting a big Playboy bunny symbol on the front. Steph also danced provocatively in our living room, whipping her hair and swaying her hips. From Mom’s perspective, these were all sure signs of an undesirable character, and she’d prefer her daughters didn’t associate with people like Steph. Sometimes I felt like Mom was so straight-laced that she’d rather we didn’t dance at all.

Despite Mom’s concerns about their relationship, Stephanie had managed to stick around for five years, through all the highs and lows of the usual teenage drama and angst. Her relationship with our family often reminded me of the kid’s song by Fred Penner, “The Cat Came Back the Very Next Day.”

Mom didn’t say much about it, I think mostly because she couldn’t find enough reason to forbid Steph to come. I was curious to see whether she could really pull it off and, if so, how the dynamics of our group would change.