Weekend Wanderings

or, that scooter may be old, but she's still got it

Over the weekend, I went out of the city, up to Nagarkot, for a mini-painting retreat that doubled as a milestone birthday celebration for our teacher.

It took me years of living here before I learned that there was a much more pleasant way to get to Nagarkot than via the Bhaktapur road. That route takes you through some of the city’s most congested intersections and onto a large, multi-lane road that is no fun to drive on. It was enlightening to hear there was another way to get there, past Boudha and Jorpati.

Once you get through those hubs, the drive is genuinely pleasant; I last drove this way with my niece earlier this year, in a crazy-fun but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to drive as far north as we could and then do a short trek in the Helambu area.

Point is, that was the last time I’d been this way, more recently than I’ve traveled to Nagarkot. So when I came to a turn I recognized, I took it without a second thought.

The scooter has recently had some repairs and worn-out parts replaced, and it all made for a very enjoyable drive. Only when I reached a V, the left of which was the road to Melamchi, did it hit me, all of a sudden, that I might not be in the right place: my niece and I had paused at this same intersection to make sure we were on the right road—to somewhere else. Ooops.

The answer to “Which way to Nagarkot?” was a helpful finger pointed down the right of the fork, unpaved and dusty. For a split second I thought this was the way I’d take before after all, that the road had gotten messed up since my last visit. It soon became clear this was not the case: the entire road was dust and rocks and has clearly never been paved once yet. The direct route on a black-topped road was far behind me.

Good reception was a welcome surprise, enabling me to confirm with Google Maps that this road would, indeed, take me to my intended destination.

It was bumpy; it was dusty. But look, it’s hard to be mad when views like this follow all along your left.

Eventually the unpaved road spit me out onto a paved one that I immediately recognized, just minutes from my final destination; I was only about an hour late.

**

The mountains remained clear all day, and in the evening, fingers stained with ink after a full day of painting, I watched the sun set over the Himalaya. Above me, off to the right, was a hillock with a stupa atop it where a flautist, a woman not from our party, played as the light faded and the music was everywhere.