Himalayan Adventures - Bus Ride from Hell

When we arrived at the bus station we exchanged our purchase receipts for tickets and found our bus, a process that turned out to be a lot easier than I was expecting. Our bus however, was perched on a jack, not a good sign. We also noticed that all the tires were bald, which didn't ease my nerves considering we would be driving on windy mountain roads. The passengers were mostly foreigners - French, Russian, Israeli, Spanish, and some local guides. We introduced ourselves to a lone traveller. His name was Jaime, or Jimmy as his friends called him. He was Spanish, from Madrid, planning on hiking the full circuit. After a brief conversation over Oreo cookies, we boarded the bus. At 8am, we finally left the bus station, an hour after our scheduled departure. During the first hour, we made frequent stops to pick up local passengers and unidentifiable packages. I assumed the bus driver received a cut from the extra ticket sales and package deliveries. I dozed off for about an hour and a half. When I woke up I was shocked to discover that we were still in the Kathmandu Valley and that there were now fourteen Nepalis squeezed into the front of the bus. Tony and I were assigned seats in the front row, which meant that we practically had people sitting in our laps, especially Tony with his long legs.

The bus made a stop for lunch. We shared a table with our new Spanish companion and had the first of many Dhal Bhats, a traditional Nepali dish consisting of rice, lentils, potatoes and pickled vegetables. Every Nepali household seemed to have their own version of this dish and as we would learn along the way, you never know what you'll get when you order food on the mountain. At lunch, we discussed whether we would take another bus or jeep from Besisahar to Bhulbule or to start our hike from Besisahar. Given the time, it didn't seem likely that we would arrive in Besisahar with enough time to walk to Bhulbule before nightfall. We opted for the jeep instead. Jimmy had met a guide in Kathmandu who said that his wife owned a guesthouse in Bhulbule. He invited us to join him there that evening. We agreed. As it turned out, the three of us would hike together for the remainder of the circuit.

At 3pm, nearly seven hours after leaving Kathmandu, and countless heart stopping, hairpin turns around cliffs that dropped into endless gorges, we finally arrived in Besisahar. We found out that the jeep and local bus cost about the same. We opted for the local bus since the jeep was waiting for more passengers to arrive before leaving. The bus arrived at the station promptly at 4pm as the ticket agent said it would, which was amazing for Nepali standards. We hopped on and braced for another painful hour.

Upon our arrival in Bhulbule, we were met by guides and porters who insisted that we needed their services to navigate the difficult trails to come. Trusting our instincts, we thanked them for their offer and proceeded to find the Waterfall Guesthouse. The sun had set by then and as we walked five minutes out of the center of town, the mountains around us turned into black and grey silhouettes against the moonlit sky.


The guesthouse was a simple lodge made out of wood and a metal roof. Two beds furnished a surprisingly spotless room. The small window behind our beds opened up to a beautful waterfall. We ate dinner while waiting for the electricity to turn on, the first of many days without electricity.

As I crawled into my warm down sleeping that that night, I felt nervous anticipation. Tomorrow would be our first offical day of trekking.