We quickly found a local bus to take us to Kathmandu. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the Jungle Book atmosphere came as a surprise. Open fires smoked on the roadside between lush vegetation and hundreds of palm trees. Banana plants hung heavily with upside-down clusters of yellow fruit.
“Oh look, that must be the bungee zone. It’s the third highest in the world.” Ammon pointed toward the flimsy suspension bridge stretched across the deep gorge.
“Isn’t the highest bungee in New Zealand? Wherever it is, I’d be way too scared to jump like that,” I grimaced.
Ammon shook his head. “Nah, I think the one in South Africa holds the record now.”
“That’s where I want to go,” Bree said.
“Who knows? Maybe we will one day.” Mom said.
Not only did the face Mother Nature presented change, but the people did, too. I was overjoyed to see yet another drastic transformation while crossing a border. Everything seemed to morph at the drop of a hat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought we were in India. Women and children in brightly coloured clothes sold all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables by the side of the road as barefoot, naked kids ran in and out of leaf-roofed huts and played under the trees. The women wore really colourful dresses and lots of earrings and gold jewellery. “I love their style so much already,” I said. “They’ve got Paki dots and nose rings too.”
“That’s something you’ve got to get straight, right here and now. It’s called a bindi. I don’t even know where the term and misconception of Paki dots came from, since they are a Hindu tradition, not Muslim. And finally, referring to them as Paki dots is kind of a racist thing to call them,” Ammon instructed me.
“Okay, I get it. Bindi. But I’m still getting my nose pierced. Since I need to get straight with the new culture.” I smirked.
Mom made one of her typical Marge Simpson “rrrrhmmmm” noises at me. Her reaction was now scaled back to a low rumble, which I interpreted as an improvement over her previous, full-blown refusals.
High Hopes
32
Ammon had been out exploring Kathmandu that morning when we took advantage of his absence and made a special call. We couldn’t help but snicker when he returned and headed straight for the bathroom to enjoy a refreshing rinse, oblivious to our deviousness. Stepping from the shower, he stood in the doorway towel drying his hair.
“What the heck is this?” He waved an empty dish at us. “How could I have missed this?! I’m gone five minutes and you…” he paused to calm himself before continuing, “called room service? You guys seriously can’t be trusted. Haven’t I taught you anything?” We’d treated ourselves to the cardinal sin of breakfast in bed, unable to resist the telephone and the enticing menu placed by our bedside.
“No, no.” Bree smiled despite her bulging hamster cheeks. “We would never do something like that.” I turned my back to him and quickly shoved half a banana in my mouth. When Bree saw my equally stuffed cheeks, we both struggled not to choke in our efforts to control our laughter.
“That’s it. Pack your stuff. We’re leaving,” he said. “Today!” He snagged a slice of leftover pineapple from the plate on his way out the door.
“I guess that means we’re moving,” I said, with a sarcastic pout.
Ten minutes later, he came back. “You’re lucky we forgot about the time change when we crossed the border. So it’s actually two hours and fifteen minutes earlier than we thought. It’s not checkout time yet, which means we can go hunting for a room without having to lug our bags around.”
“How do you get a two hour and fifteen minute time change anyway?” Mom asked.
“I don’t have time to explain that. It’s just the way it is,” Ammon said. “And don’t think that asking questions is going to make me forget you guys are in trouble.”
After a four-hour drive from the border, we had arrived in busy Kathmandu late the night before. We were dropped off in the Thamel district, the main backpacker hub, where we parted ways with our Swiss friends as they continued on to find a hotel of their own. The buzz and shake of the capital city had felt like being thrown into a blender, and the morning hours promised no less commotion. It felt like a really exciting place to be, with lots of motorcycles, traffic, people, and animals (and their excrement, of course) in the streets.
It didn’t take too long to find the Happy Guest House, one of many backpacker accommodations in the area. It was a definite downgrade from our two-bedroom hotel suite with room service and a private bathroom, but this place was only a hundred and fifty rupees (US$2.50) per room instead of the thousand rupees (US$15) we’d just paid for our first night in Nepal.
“Cozy? Hrmph… A total savings of ten bucks,” I said as I looked around our latest jail cell. It took less than ten minutes for Bree to start wheezing, partly from the musty, mouldy air within, which was amplified by the recent monsoon season and its sporadic bursts of drenching rainstorms. The heat and humidity made the room feel extra sticky, and we’d be sleeping on beds that were the hygienic equivalent of a rat’s nest.
“I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but ten dollars every day does add up,” Mom said.
“Whatever…” I was not actually all that bothered by the relocation. We didn’t spend that much time in our rooms anyway, usually. After spending another month in China with its strict Internet censorship, I was a lot more interested in connecting online with friends and family. For only pennies an hour, we spent a long time online in the small Internet café nearby. This was our chance to catch up on blog entries and emails and for Ammon to research routing options. We uploaded a few photos at an exasperatingly slow rate, and they even had MSN already downloaded on the computer – a super luxury. It was Grandma’s first time using MSN, and I was relieved and happy when she was able to figure it out. She was our biggest fan, always following our travels closely, checking where we were on her world map, and printing every blog entry to read and keep safe. She was also the one who arranged the finances on that end and who would be informed first if anything happened to us.
Whenever Grady’s name popped up in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen, my heart would leap in my chest. I started to see a pattern in his emailing and found myself struggling to fall asleep at night, my head filled with fantasies of him. I studied every word he typed, and I simply couldn’t get him off my mind.
A live chat with Terri was a special treat because we could send answers as quickly as we could think of questions to ask. I told her every single thing that had happened since our last contact, typing as fast as I possibly could. We even managed to set up our first-ever Skype call there, complete with a headset and a webcam video. I hadn’t heard her voice or seen her face since leaving Vancouver four months earlier. We’d promised ourselves we wouldn’t cry when the time came to say goodbye, but it was impossible not to acknowledge how much both our lives were about to change with my departure. The last time I’d seen her, her eyes had welled up, and it was no different now as we used the webcam. It was obvious she missed us a lot. When I told her how much I wished she’d been there to share the many experiences we’d had, she became emotional.
“Oh Babycakes, don’t make me cry. I have friends over,” she said as she tried to control her emotions, but still the tears came. Not being able to be there for her was depressing, but I tried to be cheerful.
“Who are you hanging out with these days?”
“I’ve just got Sophie and John and Rick and those guys over.”
“Oh geez, Terri. Why them? You know what they’re into. Don’t–”
“It’s okay, Savannah. No one could ever replace you. Even Dad says it doesn’t matter how many new friends I have, because I’ll always have Savannah…”
“Aaaww, really?” It melted my heart to hear that her dad felt that way. He was a well-respected emergency-room doctor, and we all looked up to him. He’d unknowingly had a big influence on me, and was even responsible for my decision to stop printing an
d start writing cursively instead when I’d overheard him telling Terri how childish it was to print at her age.
“You just need to come out here and visit,” I said. “I miss you so much.”
“I want to so badly. Dad says maybe this summer. Do you guys know where you’ll be by then? Will you be in Australia? I should be allowed, ‘cause I’m sure he’d be fine with me going there,” she said excitedly. Terri had nearly bought a plane ticket to spend the summer with us in Mongolia, but her dad had decided it was too undeveloped and might be dangerous. His instincts might’ve been right, considering what ended up happening.
After hiring an inexperienced Mongolian guide, whose only qualifications were that he could speak English and owned a vehicle with four wheels, we’d broken down in the harsh desert terrain with little food or water. We’d resorted to capturing a wild camel with a pair of shoelaces in hopes that it would pull our van to safety. This ingenious plan failed, of course, and our guide Future had blindly ventured off into the desert to get help. Fortunately, he’d found his way back to us with a little help from strangers. Had we died out there in the Gobi desert, her father might never have known what happened to his daughter. On the other hand, we were then invited to stay with a good-hearted nomadic family in their ger. Everyone we met in Mongolia had been friendly and welcoming, and I had never once felt threatened. What began as a pretty scary journey turned into the adventure of a lifetime.
Other friends had also insisted they would join our trip but, like Terri, changed their minds at the last minute. Stephanie, Bree’s best friend, had recently claimed yet again that she was serious about coming, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up again and risk more disappointment.
“Yeah, I’ve heard this story before,” Ammon said. Because so many friends and family bailed, even after he’d spent a lot of time helping them organize their trips, he’d begun to lose faith that anyone would follow through with their travel plans.
“Yeah, but Stephanie got her vaccinations and everything,” Bree defended her friend. “Nobody else has ever come that close.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing. She can still back out. Let’s just wait until she actually has a ticket in her hand. Even then, I won’t believe it until I see her walk through the airport gates.”
“I have to agree with Ammon. I’m not going to get my hopes up again.” Though I crossed my arms and tried to hide my feelings, I couldn’t help getting excited about her maybe joining us.
“Stephanie makes things happen,” Bree insisted. “She’ll come. Stop doubting so much.” Steph was the first friend Bree had brought home from her new high school. It didn’t take long before they were as thick as thieves, and they’d been best friends since they were thirteen and I was ten. When Bree first introduced her, Mom was less than impressed by the way this thirteen-year-old girl sported her oversized breasts in a pink t-back shirt flaunting a big Playboy bunny symbol on the front. Steph also danced provocatively in our living room, whipping her hair and swaying her hips. From Mom’s perspective, these were all sure signs of an undesirable character, and she’d prefer her daughters didn’t associate with people like Steph. Sometimes I felt like Mom was so straight-laced that she’d rather we didn’t dance at all.
Despite Mom’s concerns about their relationship, Stephanie had managed to stick around for five years, through all the highs and lows of the usual teenage drama and angst. Her relationship with our family often reminded me of the kid’s song by Fred Penner, “The Cat Came Back the Very Next Day.”
Mom didn’t say much about it, I think mostly because she couldn’t find enough reason to forbid Steph to come. I was curious to see whether she could really pull it off and, if so, how the dynamics of our group would change.
Compromises
33
Before we left Vancouver, I was forced to find new homes for all of my pets. Out of the kindness of her heart, Terri had agreed to care for my tortoise, Buttercup, and my peach-faced lovebird, Autumn. I’d mentioned Buttercup and Autumn during a Skype conversation, and then began to worry when I didn’t hear from Terri for a few days. Whenever her green MSN icon appeared online, I’d type a quick ‘HI’, but she’d disappear almost instantly, which left me feeling hurt and rejected. Eventually, I figured out that there must be a problem with the pets. If so, I didn’t want her to treat me like that; I just wanted to know what was going on. Mom sent her an email to let her know that if something had happened to them, she should not avoid us or feel guilty, that we appreciated her taking care of them for us, and that we loved her no matter what.
As it turned out, Autumn had died, and I was heartbroken when I heard. Autumn was an incredibly attentive, smart bird. Lovebirds aren’t usually talkers, but she was very social and could say several words. She’d always follow me around the house and land on my shoulder, chirping in my ear. She was my next favourite pet after Harrison, the five-year-old Maltese dog I hadn’t had a chance to say a proper goodbye to, and I still hadn’t even gotten over that. I left the Internet café feeling empty and somewhat betrayed.
Passing beneath bats hanging in trees and treading carefully between baskets full of cobras on the walk home, I got stuck in a crowd of backpackers who were attentively ogling a snake charmer who displayed a huge boa constrictor. All the foreign girls were delighted, shrieking with excitement as they watched him adeptly handle the giant serpent. The snake charmer – with his dramatic black moustache and bright orange turban – dared me with his dark eyes as he stepped in front of me. We’d always had snakes around the house, and we’d had a pet boa constrictor when I was still small enough to have been a tasty snack.
I accepted the challenge, easily taking command of the snake and draping him around my neck and over my shoulders like a shawl. The turbaned man stepped back, a bit disappointed by my fearlessness but also pleased by the surprised reactions I got from the growing crowd. I’d always been enchanted by the powerful, majestic way snakes move; they feel like they are floating over your skin. Sensing the scales moving so smoothly over my arms and neck brought back memories of my gorgeous black and yellow king snake, Eve, and the thought of her instantly made my eyes tear up.
I was just about done in from all these emotions when Mom urged, “C’mon Savannah, put it down. He just wants money. Let’s go.” I gave the snake a kiss goodbye and handed him back to his owner, who promptly stuck his hand out for money.
Stomping up the dark staircase to my room a few minutes later, I took my hurt out on Mom. “You don’t even care that Autumn died, or that I had to give away my pets. But I do. It’s your fault that I’ve lost Harry, my geckos, and now Autumn. Who’s next? And in the end, I’ll most likely lose Terri, too. It’s so not fair. I can’t take it anymore!”
Bree was just putting her daypack on when I stormed into the room with Mom close on my heels.
“I can’t take it either. Of course I care. I feel terrible. Do you honestly think I’m a monster with no feelings? You’re being completely unreasonable, and I won’t listen to this. I don’t even want to be around you. You’re not coming with us today.” Mom then glared over at Bree. “And neither are you!” The door caught the wind and slammed behind her when she left to meet Ammon, who was waiting downstairs.
Bree and I just stared at each other in the abrupt silence for a while before Bree broke the spell. “I’m not sure what just happened there. I wasn’t even the grumpy one this time.”
“Yeah, I don’t know, either.” We were both so baffled and caught off guard by Mom’s behaviour that we actually broke out into therapeutic laughter.
“What the heck did you do to her? She was so mad at you that she left me behind, too!” Bree laughed. “I can’t believe she just did that. And I’m hungry.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing. We’re stuck now and we don’t have any food or money. Wanna play cards?”
“Sure. How do you like my drawing?” Bree grinned as she held up her latest artwork.
“Eeew, that is so disturbing,�
� I said, nudging Bree and pointing at a pigeon sexually assaulting a dead one, its lifeless neck twisted to the side and its wings stretched flat on the brick square. I knew it would take some time for that image to fade from my memory, but before I could think much more about it, I heard Ammon yelp.
“Oh freak, not again. That’s unbelievable. That’s the second time today a bird shat on me.”
“Ammon, I told you the first time. It’s good luck to get pooped on,” Mom said.
“How lucky can I be? I’m still stuck with you three.”
“Oh, now, Ammon,” Mom said, not so easily falling for his exaggerated attempts to gain sympathy. “I have to warn you though, if you’re going to be this lucky all the time, we’re probably never going to leave you.”
“Whatever… I’m looking forward to being up in the clean, quiet mountains for a while.” He frowned at the leftover splat on his left shoulder. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he blurted out, “Age. They tell the age by the teeth.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Mom asked.
“They check the teeth before buying a goat head. That’s how they decide which one to buy. It’s so obvious. They wouldn’t want to put an old, Alzheimer’s-ridden goat brain into their soup. How did I miss that?”
“See, what did I tell you? Bird crap is good luck.” Mom smiled at the smear on his bright yellow Brazil jersey.
“So where does the whole bird-poop-brings-good-luck superstition come from?” I asked, trying to comprehend why anyone might wish poop upon themselves.
Sihpromatum - Backpacks and Bra Straps Page 24
