This is such a special place. The Thrangu Tashi Yangste Monastery, above Namo Buddha, sits about 2,000 meters on a peak in the southern highlands of Nepal just east of the Kathmandu Valley. The hills are pock-marked with small villages, tall trees, vagrant leopards, and muddy roads. The weather is much cooler than the valley and I spend countless moments sitting on the roof of the health clinic experiencing being swallowed by vast, rolling clouds.
After lunch on July 01, I loaded my bags into a waiting taxi, exchanged heartfelt good-byes with my partners and took off down the rainy road to my new adventure. My knowledge of Namo Buddha and was limited to its location, distance from Chapagaon, and the length of my stay there as a therapist. The two-hour cab ride turned into almost four hours. That was my first sign that this would be, at the very least, an interesting experience and a memorable adventure. About half way up the muddy road, the cab got stuck. The deep trenches proved to be much too treacherous for the small car. Each time it lunged forward the wheels dug in deeper and large rocks scraped the bottom of the vehicle.
After several attempts the driver pulled over, shook his head, and in broken English declared, “no way.” To his credit, he didn’t throw me out. We were still about 6km away from the top and there was no way that I could carry my load alone up the hill in knee deep mud. We both got out of the cab and he lit a cigarette while, what seemed like, getting instructions from three boys fascinated by a cab and a white guy stuck half-way up a mountain. He pulled out his cell and made a phone call. I’m slowly learning that it’s customary for Nepali men to raise their voice when frustrated – not so much in anger as much as a need for the other party to clearly understand a situation. He shook his head and handed the phone to me. It was my friend from Chapagaon, Prajwal. Ahhhh, finally a friendly voice. His instructions were simple: call the monastery, tell them to send help because the driver can’t make it up, and then call him back. BLAHHHHHHHH!!!! Thanks for the advice Prajwal. What else could I do, but make the call.
A week before I had the fore-sight to purchase a Nepal cell phone. My thought was that it would make for a great way to stay in touch with my Nepali friends and if the occasion arose, emergencies. I called the monastery and spoke briefly sharing my predicament with a couple monks, before they told me to pass the phone to the driver. He spoke with them at length before handing the phone back to me – no one was on the other end and I couldn’t talk with the driver. My limited vocabulary of four Nepali words proves to be a bit lacking. So, we stood there looking at each other while he kept mumbling, “no way.” Ahhh, I guess this is how the universe speaks to me.
Some tense moments passed before I heard the telling jingle ringing from my hand. It was my phone – they called back. Good news, “Hello, this is Lama Yonten. Our van is in Kathmandu, so we can’t pick you up. Soon (an hour or two) a bus will come your way. Take the bus up to the top of the hill and call us; we’ll meet you. Whatever you do, don’t let the driver leave until the bus arrives. Good-bye. Now let me talk to the driver.” What else was there to do, but accept this situation as just another character-building event in Nepal.
I sat down on a rock overlooking the valley and tried to make myself comfortable. This may be a long wait. The urge to laugh became overwhelming and I broke out into a goofy chuckle. It must have been that laughter that scared the driver into his car. The engine turned over, he put it in gear, I turned around and saw him drive off. I’m not sure if it was fear, dinner, sense of responsibility, personal challenge, or just annoyance, but he flew through the mud. When he reached a small crest, the cab stopped and waving hand out the window invited me to run up to him. Once again we were on the move. This time it was with the determination to not let the muddy road get the better of us.
Finally we reached a little hamlet at a crossroad. An old wooden sign with the destination Namo Buddha carved into it on a post pointed down a little hill to the right. Ahhhh, that must be it. Finally, I’m home. We drove the couple hundred meters through the muddy town until we reached a barrier. An ornate gateway with a concrete step told us that this is it. I jumped out of the cab and called the contact number that I had, “We’re here. I’m standing near the stupa.” The voice at the other end told me to wait right where I am and he’ll come down to greet me. I unloaded my bags, paid and thanked the driver, and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited.
Hmmm, that was another lesson that I learned that day: Namo Buddha, the town, is different from Namo Buddha the monastery. After a while of standing in the mud with my bags being amused by the antics of roosters chasing each other, I saw two monks walking towards me. “Doctor Joe?” OK, Im not a doctor, but that never stops me from being amused and feeling warm and fuzzy. I’m not really a doctor, but I play one in Nepal. We grabbed my bags and walked through the gate to a little café next to the stupa. Karma, the monk that greeted me and the young man who will become my Nepali and Tibetan voice while I stay here, asked if it would be OK if he does a kora around the stupa a couple of times before we go up. “Of course, I’ll sit here.”
“OK, let’s go.” Karma instructed me after he returned to my side.
“Are we going to the clinic? How far is it?” I asked like an impatient five year old at the end of a long family road trip.
“From here, just six minutes.”
Hahaha…it was six minutes (more like twenty with my bags) up a steep concrete road. The three of us managed the bags pretty well until we reached the top and I got my first glance at the beautiful monastery. I’m still amazed by the site even after seeing it so many times. We entered the first building on the left – the clinic and my new home.
