Newly emerging female Japanese tempo driver in Kathmandu Valley...maybe

I like the tempo the best. It’s the ratty ‘ol three-wheeler that fits 10 passengers on a regular load, about 14 on a super busy-we need to step it up and make more money sort of load. It’s more satisfying to beat on its clunky metal roof, the signal we use when we want to get off, than on that of a micro. The micro’s short for micro bus, one of those vans that seat maybe 10 people in the States. In Nepal some clever interior manipulation has been done and it will hold anywhere from 18 to 25 people, the latter involving some major twisting of limbs and hunching over. You can absolutely get your daily yoga on if you manage to squish into one during rush hour. This micro has some soggy lining on the ceiling that makes the beating experience notches below the tempo. Air flow within the vehicle is usually non-existent and the heat and sweat generated is not for the faint of heart. The only thing that may be worth it is to sit right by the guy who collects the money, opens/closes the door and yells out destinations aka the conductor. He also seems to have another job, which is to hang out the window and frantically wave other vehicles and things away from smashing into the side. It seems to work. Strangely enough, I haven’t heard any crashing sounds on the streets yet. If you’re lucky enough to have someone that can translate, or if you’ve been secretly perfecting those Nepali skills, you may hear these conductors trying to get passengers by saying that they are the last micro headed for that certain destination. I’m eager to hear of other lies they conjure up, those sly businessmen. How brilliant.

You learn to intently focus on your surroundings here. Not like in the US or Japan where you can go on having no clue what goes on between your starting point A and destination point B for the 30 years of your commute, because a voice (both automated and human) will tell you when exactly you need to get off. In Nepal, observation and detail become your second nature. The street names are obscure and destinations are entrenched in local jargon. Walking to my internship is the same. I find myself constantly praying that no one decided to repaint that wall or that gate a different color. Kalpana told me that if someone is coming to the office for the first time, they would have no choice but to take the one route that goes past major landmarks. Never mind that so many streets lead to it – the only explainable one is the one where you turn at the sign for the Sri Lankan Embassy and continue in some relation to the famous temple in the area.

The prize that comes in exchange for convenience is an intense connection to the city that you are a part of. The labyrinth of wide, narrow, rocky, dusty…they all flow through your body like veins. You move through the heat and smog as part of it. The tempo doesn’t provide any shelter like an air-conditioned subway or cab in New York, it just gives you wheels. You know if the rain is coming, because you smell it in the wind. You know when you’re nearing a chowk, because you feel the tempo dodging people more frequently.

I’m a pro at this public transportation now, completely self-proclaimed and topped with a naïve foreigner grin. A little over one out of every two attempts gets me to my destination, and I swear the statistics are rapidly changing in my favor. For being here for two weeks, I call that success. Then of course, I always manage to bang my head as I get on and off the tempo. That totally messes up my flow, not to mention it blows my cover as a pseudo-local. It’s also when the drivers are courteous enough to ask everyone where they are going, when my cool Nepali façade is ripped away. Chakrapath, Naryan Gopal chowk, Maharajganj. Thamel, Jawalakhel, Pulchowk, Bhatbhateni, Ratna Park, Sundhara. The names of places I can deal with, thanks to my religious studying of the Kathmandu Valley map every night. When the drivers get even nicer and start asking things in detail, then it’s all over. But I’m not afraid to get lost here – I feel that term is so irrelevant, like it is in Manhattan.

Check back with me in another week – I may be considering becoming a driver for tempo route 5.