Not a lot happened that day

We had been on the bus for nineteen long and uncomfortable hours. The pills we had taken to aid sleep in the night had been no help, our fellow passengers were loud and fidgety and frequent stops had seen us emerging bleary eyed into dusty night time streets. The sun rose and brought with it a sticky heat and all penetrating glare as we sat and turned our numb expressions on the lush tropical landscape bouncing past the windows. When finally the bus shuddered to a halt, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and the name of our stop was called we gratefully unfolded ourselves one last time, dragged our packs the length of the aisle and almost fell out into the baking heat. Will and I were the only ones getting off at this stop so once we were out the door it slammed shut and we were briefly blinded by exhaust fumes and dust as the bus shot off with a speed it had seemed incapable of when we were on board.
We looked around us. We were trying to get to Royal Bardia National Park, the second largest and less visited of Nepal’s national parks which is tucked away in the far west of the country. Yet we were standing, as far as we could tell, miles from anywhere. A couple of huts stood nearby, smoke curling apathetically from the fires within and some dogs lay idling in the sun. There was, however, a large log that we appropriated as a bench, dumping the packs at our feet. Hope lay in a track that curled away from the main road and disappeared into the woods but before we tackled that we lay in the sun for a few minutes, enjoying being able to stretch out and not being tossed about by dodgy suspension. It would have been very, very easy to fall asleep but we fought the impulse. The journey was not yet over and we needed to finish it before we simply dropped.
Tentatively we approached the huts. There was a woman pottering about who clearly spoke no English but dashed off when we started talking to her. She soon returned with a man and a gaggle of small children who stood gaping at us in naked awe. The increase in numbers did not greatly help communication but we eventually managed to get them to understand that we needed directions to Bardia. They pointed down the track. Will and I nodded at each other in satisfaction at being right about that. Suddenly the man seemed to have an idea and he excitedly disappeared again, calling one of the children after him. We waited to see what he would bring; hoping perhaps that it would be a map, or even better a phone. We were completely nonplussed, therefore, when the man and boy returned wheeling a decrepit old bicycle each. The idea of Will and I cycling along with our enormous packs through Nepali jungle with no idea where we were going had a certain appeal but practically speaking was a joke. This was not what he had in mind, however. Through a complicated series of hand gestures and gabbled Nepali, punctuated with hopeful expressions and smiles, Will and I grasped the vague outline of the plan. The helpful man was offering to take one of us along the track, show us the way to Bardia where we could find someone to come back for the other and the bags. Will and I had a brief discussion. Splitting up could be risky and I had deliverance-esque visions that undoubtedly did little justice to the friendly family before us. The discussion had only one possible conclusion; we couldn’t hang around by the roadside indefinitely so one of us would have to go, the other would have to stay. Will was keen to go and although I would usually react against the idea of sitting about I was very tired and sitting down was quite an attractive option.
Will had clearly come prepared. He began pulling various items out of his pack: a bottle of water, a first aid kit and what looked like some kind of energy food. I could then only watch as Will and the man mounted their bikes and set off. They quickly reached the first turn in the track and vanished from sight leaving me standing alone with the bags under the non-wavering gazes of several small children and one of the dogs.
I went back to the log bench and sat down. The heat was quite incredible and the minutes since we had got off the bus had already seen droplets of sweat forming on my brow. I wiped them off half-heartedly, knowing they would reform in seconds. I lay back and exhaled deeply, savouring the peace around me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the kids had drifted off, my interest for them having evaporated. The dog had lain back down and was settling in for a nap, albeit with one eye still checking on me every so often. The calm was surprising, I was sat next to the main road that runs from Kathmandu northwest through Nepal to the Indian border, but since the bus that had dropped us off nothing had passed. I glanced in each direction to where the straight road disappeared into a heat haze in the distance but aside from the long grass gently swaying in the light breeze there was no sign of life. The sun was still climbing, it must have been about half ten or eleven I guessed. My mind briefly skipped back to think of elevenses on my Grandparents lawn when I was younger. I had thought those summer days were hot but that was before I ever came to the sub-continent. The thought of tea made me thirsty so I pulled my water out of my pack. When I had bought the bottle it was straight from the fridge and the first sips had been deliciously cool. Now though it was warm and the water did little to refresh me. I couldn’t just drink any water I wanted out here because of the danger of infections and I imagined I was several miles from the nearest fridge so I put the rest of the bottle away. I didn’t know how long Will was going to be and I didn’t want to run out. Just at that moment one of the children, a boy looking curious but cautious, came around the log and stood looking at me.
‘Namaste’ I said in my best Nepali accent. The boys face creased in an embarrassed smile before he gingerly returned the greeting. Since I was bored a conversation seemed fun and I wasn’t going to let the lack of a shared language put me off. ‘So how is life treating you out here in the sticks?’ I asked. The embarrassed smile returned at once and this time was accompanied by a mixture of incomprehension and amusement. He clearly thought I was gibbering. I decided to try another tack and went back to my bag. I pulled out my head-torch and put it behind my back as I turned to face the boy. I turned it on and suddenly brought it out and shone it in his face. It was supposed to be a comedy gesture to entertain the child but he didn’t take it that way. With a frightened squeal he stepped backwards, tripped over Will’s pack and fell over. He then scrambled off with a hunted look in his eyes. I meekly turned the torch off again and replaced it in my pack. I hoped the mother wasn’t going to come and attack me with her frying pan in retribution for scaring her child but there were no signs of movement at the huts.
My attempt at conversation having gone awry I sat back down and resolved to keep myself to myself from now on. Even this did not go right, however, as I realised that I had sat on an ants nest and was covered in the nasty little things as they crawled over what seemed like every inch of my body. I leapt up and started trying to frantically brush them off, beating my chest and rubbing one arm with the other. I could feel them in my trousers and began to hop from leg to leg holding my trousers in the hope that the ants would drop out. Eventually I managed to get rid of most of them and beyond the occasional itch in some unreachable or untouchable place I was ant free. I then turned to survey the bench log and noticed that the mother and her children had come out of the hut and were watching me with obvious mirth. When they saw that I had noticed them one of the kids did a disturbingly accurate impression of me dancing on one leg and beating my trousers. It was clear that the show was over though so the mother turned away again with a shake of the head that is the universal gesture for ‘I will never understand foreigners’ and headed back to the hut leaving the children staring at me. I sat down again, careful to sit away from the ant’s nest.
I then realised that the next dilemma was welling up inside me. The jumping around had awoken a need in me that had lain dormant for most of the bus journey but was now making itself felt with a vengeance. I needed to pee. I looked over my shoulder and the kids were still there, looking expectantly to see what I would do next. A brief run through my options led me to the conclusion that I needed to walk into the woods a little way and there I would be free and out of sight of prying eyes. I stood up with as much nonchalance as I could manage, glancing about as if considering the weather. Then, pretending to be consumed by an overwhelming interest in the local flora I moved off towards the woods, being careful not to show determination or anything that would bring the children following after me. Sure enough after a brief flicker of interest they were content to watch me go. Within seconds I was in the trees, the light dimming as I passed under the dense canopy. I was still a bit anxious about being followed so pressed on further until I could lose myself in a particularly deep shadow. I was halfway through my task when my mind started thinking. We had come all this way to go to a national park that was famous for its wildlife. Elephants were quite numerous, as were wild tigers. And here I was, unzipped and vulnerable standing alone in woods where anything could creep up behind me. With a sense of deep unease I turned so the tree was at my back. I half expected to see a tiger standing right behind me ready to pounce and maul me but the woods were silent and eerily empty. I immediately and desperately wanted to be back in the open and yet I was wary of making sudden movements. Carefully and deliberately I began to retrace my steps back to where I could see lighter areas ahead. Gradually the dark green and grey shades around me gave way and I felt my anxiety lift. I stopped just inside the trees to collect myself, I didn’t want the family to see my running out of the woods with wild eyes and a terrified expression on my face. I stepped sedately back into the clearing by the side of the road and ambled back to the bench log. The kids barely gave me a glance.
Feeling nicely relieved I sat back down on the log, careful to stay away from the ants. With the kids off doing their own thing peace reigned supreme, the road stayed resolutely empty and even the breeze had died off leaving a simple, still quiet sitting over me. Somewhere in the grass on the far side of the road a cricket clicked mournfully as if unable to fight the heat. I knew how it felt, once again sweat drenched my brow and my shirt clung to me like I was in the grip of a clammy giant. The effect of the heat was soporific, before I knew it my mind was wandering and my eyes hooded. I was looking straight up at the clear sky, the blue ceiling hanging with a stillness that was mirrored on the ground. As far as I could see there was nothing that interrupted the silky opal clearness and it seemed to draw my eyes into its mysterious depths while giving nothing away. It was like looking deep into a lovers eyes, beautiful, intriguing and full of mystery. I could at once see it all and yet interpret so little. As my eye shifted I saw the moon hanging silently and proudly in the daytime sky, its silver surface smoother than usual and with a glow I hadn’t noticed before. My mind, dull and lethargic, briefly wondered why the moon was so clearly visible at this time of day but I didn’t have enough interest to take it further. Suddenly there was a rumbling sound that grew rapidly and I thought for one mad moment that the moon was falling to earth when suddenly an air horn went off as a truck rushed past me, I jolted awake and almost fell off the log. My heart was pounding and the dust cloud thrown up made me cough and jam my eyes closed. As the noise receded again I went back to my pack and had another sip of water.
I was beginning to wonder what had happened to Will. It felt like he had been gone for hours. The sun had breasted its rise and was now descending again. The morning stillness had given way to the afternoons stillness, a stillness broken only by the occasional drop of sweat running down my face. Just as I thought I was drifting back to sleep I heard a car horn. I sat up and looked along the road but it was empty. I listened again and could hear an engine coming along the track. With hope brimming up inside me I stood on the log and looked almost desperately at where the track emerged from the trees. As I looked a battered old jeep chugged into view driven by a Nepali and with Will standing proudly in the passenger side waving. The jeep drew up beside the huts and I saw the man who had gone with Will leap out of the back and begin unloading the bikes. Will meanwhile descended nobly from his steed with a satisfied grin on his face. As I moved towards him he asked ‘has much been going on here?’ and I truthfully replied, ‘not a thing’.