Sunday night I had what I like to call a cultural learning moment. I was out all day with a Nepali friend walking and talking around one of the tourist sites. It was getting late and dark so we decided around 6:30 p.m. to find local transport to get me back home. We were in New Baneshwor, a section of Kathmandu, and I needed to get to Jawalakhel, I’m guessing about 8 miles away. The only problem . . . I didn’t really know where I was or how to speak the language. The “transport” that ensued would have been completely normal—if I knew exactly what I was doing.
So one of the forms of transportation here is a tempo, a small, 3-wheeled vehicle with two benches situated lengthwise in the back of the vehicle. There’s usually just enough room to squeeze your hips onto part of the bench and hold on to a rail above your head. (see pictures)
So my Nepali friend found a tempo for me and made sure it was going to Jawalakhel. She also told the driver that I (the foreigner with limited Nepali!) should be getting off there so he would point it out when we arrived. Well, about a half hour into the ride, I asked someone if we were at Jawalakhel. No, not yet.
It’s still ahead? OK, great.
A few minutes later, the driver stopped, got out of the vehicle, and started counting his money. This should have been my first clue something was wrong. Before I knew it, without explanation, everyone piled out of the tempo and got into a different one. I was left sitting there wondering what on earth was going on. And there didn’t seem to be anyone too worried about the sole
bedeshi (foreigner) sitting by herself in the tempo. So with no one to tell me what to do, I figured I’d follow the masses and pack up and hop into the new tempo too. When I got in I wasn’t quite brave enough to try forming complete sentences in Nepali with any of the passengers, so I looked quizzically at one of them and asked
Jawalakhel?
In retrospect, this may not have been the best question to ask. For all he knew, I could have been asking
Do you like Jawalakhel? Have you ever been to Jawalakhel? Is Jawalakhel on this route at some point? He graciously said yes but I’m quite unclear now which question he was answering because I don’t know at what point we arrived at Jawalakhel, if we stopped, or if anyone got off or on. All I know is he gave me an affirmative answer and that somehow made me feel secure for a few more minutes.
About 20 minutes later most of the passengers got off the tempo and I was left with one other passenger and the tempo driver asking me where I was going. What follows is my English interpretation of the conversation. It may not be exactly (at all) what was really said:
Where are you going? [driver to me]
Jawalakhel.
Jawalakhel?
Yes.
This is New Baneshwor.
Hold on, what?! … Oh, no!
[laughter]
So, if you recall, I began my journey at 7 p.m. in New Baneshwor. It was now 8 p.m. and I was once again in New Baneshwor. Oh, this was too funny. I had apparently missed Jawalakhel, switched tempos at the halfway point along the route, and made the return trip back within an hour. LOL. What do I do now?
So you won’t be going back to Jawalakhel tonight?
Ah, no. You’d better find a taxi.
[more chuckles]
OK. How many rupees for the ride?
His answer was the classic Nepali head tilt, which meant “Don’t worry about it.” Ah, he had taken pity on the confused bedeshi. So I quickly found a taxi and confirmed the price and destination. $3.50 for the ride.
OK, deal. The tempo ride would have cost about 25 cents, but no matter. This solution was quick and safe, and I was home in about 10 minutes.
All in all, the tempo ride was a comical experience for everyone involved—the driver, the other passenger, and myself! So I’ve decided to call it a comical “learning moment” and hold to the old adage that life is really more about the journey than the destination.
