On what would be an insignificant day for most people in the world turned out to be a milestone for me last Thursday. Some people fondly remember their first roller coaster ride, others their first bungee jump. People who prefer their heart thumping in their throat, then in entirely different spheres of the anatomy will go parachuting. Since I know that these events are completely out of the question, I ventured out on my own personal adventure: driving a car in Kathmandu.
It has been almost nine months since I have been here. I hired a driver for a good reason, and people who have tuned in to this blog regularly will know that driving here has a risk factor best explained by insurance companies, the friendly neighbors who can stiff you later on potential payouts. Driving a car in New York is nothing compared to Kathmandu. An accident in the Big Apple means a slap on the hand by your friendly insurers, whereas here you, the westerner, are automatically guilty, regardless of whether you are at fault or not. Why then, would people wonder, don’t people simply seek out every blue-plated vehicle in town, take a dive, and cash in? The sense of self preservation is too great for that. Ten or twenty grand won’t do you any good if you’re dead. It only means the remainder of your family can afford a lavish funeral.
The call came from work, where I was told I was needed. A few options were presented to me. Walk to the next intersection, flag a taxi down and then debate for the next few centuries what the fare should be. I could also have taken my bicycle, although the darkness outside convinced me to shelf this brilliant idea. Oh well, I thought. There’s gotta be a first time for everything. I put on my jacket, pocketed the keys, and headed out the door.
Of course, there’s something to be said for a knucklehead debuting in Kathmandu traffic trying to weave his way through it in the dark, the pouring rain, and the heavy traffic on the way home. What to do? Focus, that’s what. Low profile, drive extra slowly, and keep that foot close to the brake pedal. Until the second intersection everything went smoothly. I had already driven on the left side before, so I was familiar with the unorthodox handling of the wheel on the right side. What was new to me was the crowd of motorcycles inching their way past me, each one trying to gain that little edge that would push them forward and get them home a tenth of a minute faster.
My rearview mirror on the left side did manage to hit something – one of those minivans posing as a bus near the intersection. I heard the rubbery thump of the mirror hitting something solid, then saw the mirror knocked inward, the way it had been done multiple times before by other cars, bicycles, or even pedestrians in their attempts to squeeze their way past us when I was riding shotgun next to my driver.
The return trip was anti-climactic by comparison. After my rescue attempt at work, most people had already gone home so that I had the streets more or less to myself. A couple of close shaves followed through narrow roads, but eventually I managed to guide the car back into our own compound with everything intact. Mission accomplished.
Now when some braggart tells me about the virtues of base jumping, I will flip him off and tell him about driving in Kathmandu. That oughta show him.
It has been almost nine months since I have been here. I hired a driver for a good reason, and people who have tuned in to this blog regularly will know that driving here has a risk factor best explained by insurance companies, the friendly neighbors who can stiff you later on potential payouts. Driving a car in New York is nothing compared to Kathmandu. An accident in the Big Apple means a slap on the hand by your friendly insurers, whereas here you, the westerner, are automatically guilty, regardless of whether you are at fault or not. Why then, would people wonder, don’t people simply seek out every blue-plated vehicle in town, take a dive, and cash in? The sense of self preservation is too great for that. Ten or twenty grand won’t do you any good if you’re dead. It only means the remainder of your family can afford a lavish funeral.
The call came from work, where I was told I was needed. A few options were presented to me. Walk to the next intersection, flag a taxi down and then debate for the next few centuries what the fare should be. I could also have taken my bicycle, although the darkness outside convinced me to shelf this brilliant idea. Oh well, I thought. There’s gotta be a first time for everything. I put on my jacket, pocketed the keys, and headed out the door.
Of course, there’s something to be said for a knucklehead debuting in Kathmandu traffic trying to weave his way through it in the dark, the pouring rain, and the heavy traffic on the way home. What to do? Focus, that’s what. Low profile, drive extra slowly, and keep that foot close to the brake pedal. Until the second intersection everything went smoothly. I had already driven on the left side before, so I was familiar with the unorthodox handling of the wheel on the right side. What was new to me was the crowd of motorcycles inching their way past me, each one trying to gain that little edge that would push them forward and get them home a tenth of a minute faster.
My rearview mirror on the left side did manage to hit something – one of those minivans posing as a bus near the intersection. I heard the rubbery thump of the mirror hitting something solid, then saw the mirror knocked inward, the way it had been done multiple times before by other cars, bicycles, or even pedestrians in their attempts to squeeze their way past us when I was riding shotgun next to my driver.
The return trip was anti-climactic by comparison. After my rescue attempt at work, most people had already gone home so that I had the streets more or less to myself. A couple of close shaves followed through narrow roads, but eventually I managed to guide the car back into our own compound with everything intact. Mission accomplished.
Now when some braggart tells me about the virtues of base jumping, I will flip him off and tell him about driving in Kathmandu. That oughta show him.
