You put your left foot in
You put your left foot out
You put your left foot in
And you shake it all about
Then you do the Kathmandu Pokey
And you turn yourself around
And that’s what it’s all about!

I have decided to rent a motorcycle in Nepal. More importantly, I have decided to rent a motorcycle and actually ride it. Big difference. The rule in Nepal is that are no rules. Thus one must learn the Kathmandu Pokey. To succeed at this dance, one must ride his/her motorcycle on the left-hand side of the road while avoiding cows. They’re sacred, you know. And remember that among all the hectic traffic, time stands still here; so expect the unexpected.

Nepal is amazingly insane. Somehow everything seems to work without regulation. It’s very similar to the Buddhist doctrine of yin and yang. You need good and bad balancing one another. In Nepal this applies to all areas of life. The children laugh as cars honk and rickshaws whistle by their heads. Somehow, these kids survive. There is dead animal meat surrounded by myriads of flies, but the sweet smell of incense after a sacrifice to Siva overprints the revolting stench and cleanses the senses. So, your nose survives. Sour rice wine cools the hot curry. So, your mouth survives. The water is black with filth. Everything from plastic containers, automobile parts, raw sewage to rotting flesh. You carry your iodine drops for a very good reason. And yet, beside this foul river towers a beautiful Vishnu temple. Orange flower petals garnish the ground and you forget the filth of the waters and inhale the subtle fragrance of burning sandalwood. Smiling women in red saris comb their long black hair and blush when they realize you are watching. Chanting and soothing sounds of drums fill the air with a gentle vibration and you smile from the peace of it all. But then a diesel truck blasts by at an outrageous speed; and as you turn to face the brutal noise, a curious monkey from the Poinsettia tree steals your camera. This is Nepal. Beautiful and terrible in the same breath.

With this setting in mind try to picture traffic: rickshaws, taxis, two stroke tractors, women carrying farm animals, men pushing vegetable carts, diesel trucks with Krishna painted across the side and all of this on a road with no center line. No centerline but that’s the least of your troubles. The roads are barely paved. Most consist of dirt and more dirt, and the occasional cobble stone motorcross track. There is definitely no city department on road duty here. Now, add the pedestrian swarm to the equation and you have absolute chaos. But even after the Third World throng, my motorcycle addiction gets the best of me and I decide to ride. I figure that after surviving taxis and rickshaws for the last three weeks, it’s time I challenge the elements and rent a bike. At least I know that it will be an experience I won’t forget. You put your left foot in…

I had been photographing the bikes around town and knew my selection would be limited. Most of the bikes are from China, India and Japan. None of the bikes exceed 250 cc, and this is probably a good thing because no one wears helmets except for the dudes who wear full-face helmets on the top of their head. A bit like the people who wear shirts with expensive labels printed on the front to show they can afford the brand name. They look like Marvin the Martian from the Loony Tunes cartoon. After strolling past many a rental joint, my first choice was a Honda Hero 125cc. It’s not because I favor Honda’s – even though I must say they are reliable and in a Third World country this is very important. I mainly chose the brand that sounded the most interesting. I mean come on girls; wouldn’t you want to ride a Hero, too? Teasing aside, it’s just too bad that the rental guys couldn’t follow suit. To put it mildly, the men of these rental shacks were exceptionally frustrating. They assumed the motorcycle was for my boyfriend and when I informed them the motorcycle was for me, their eyes lit up with amusement. They kept showing me the small scooters but I insisted a motorbike was what I wanted to rent, not a tin can with a motor. To make it worse, their rates were ridiculous. There is a “tourist” price and then there is a “local” price. I just wanted a fair deal. After much bartering, I decided to screw the whole thing. So, here I was with no bike. I storm back to my guesthouse, angry more at myself for my lack of patience in dealing with the chauvinistic-gonna-rip-off-the-tourist jerks. I arrived back at my guesthouse in a helluva huff when my host informed me that he would be happy to lend me his bike for a couple of hours. I guess one of the bellboys informed the boss of my predicament. I also think that he was intrigued at the idea of a woman riding his motorcycle. Women in Nepal only ride on the back and to make things crazier they all ride sidesaddle! It’s quite a sight when you see a family of five and the farm animals all piled on a 100 cc motorcycle. You put your left foot out…
With no children or chickens to carry, I geared up. Trekking gear was my only companion, so the usual leather suit was not an option. At least I had a helmet. As I slipped it over my hair, I noticed that the insides were made from old newspaper. Great. Really great. Obviously, “safety first” is not the motto here. I let out a giggle at the absurdity of it all and with bike and the Kathmandu Times as my helmet; I gingerly rolled out of the guesthouse driveway. Ha! I made it. Well, not really. I hadn’t even made it to the street. But details…details. I came across my first obstacle. A goat was blocking my path. To move the beast, I managed the Nepalese word “hajur” which translates politely as “excuse me”. No go. The goat casually looked up, chewed its garbage and kept burrowing for more dinner. I received more reaction from the men selling vegetables next door. Then I remembered the horn. The vital horn! I gave it a good blast and the goat moved a few inches. I was able to squeeze by and voila! I found myself on the main road. You put your left foot in…

The road. The road of Nepal. Needless to say, it’s a good thing I had been a pedestrian here before. It was also a good thing that I had played video games in my childhood. Complete and utter chaos! I soon learned that the horn was my friend. I started honking at everything! Even the cows move slightly to the left when you honk at them. After about two minutes, you have no choice but to submit to the madness of the street. You surf through it like a new age dance and for some reason it all makes sense. Eventually, I felt more confident and started weaving in and out of rickshaws, children and even the taxis. The traffic in the town began to thin out and I decided it was a good time to see what this machine could really do. I checked out the terrain – it was gonna’ be bumpy – I lifted my butt off the seat and twisted the wrist. Well? Nothing! The bike was a gutless wonder, but I really didn’t care. The countryside was spread out before me like a rich tapestry of rice paddies and small hamlets. I passed a Buddhist stupa bathing in the sunlight. The neighboring school children waved enthusiastically towards me and shouted “Hello! Hello!” I waved back. The Himalayas towered over me. More specifically, the mountain range called the Annapurnas named after the beautiful Nepali goddess, Annapurna. I suddenly felt very small and realized I was a mere mortal riding around on the mountains’ sacred feet. I heard that this particular goddess was a force to be reckoned with. With this in mind, I slowed down and put my butt back on my seat. And you shake it all about…

An hour or so had passed and I decided to head back to my guesthouse. The country road was in poor condition but the lack of traffic made for a wonderful ride. I even played chicken with a huge bus with its horn like an out-of-tune concerto. The bus was bigger, and I was defeated and forced to befriend the sidewalk or whatever could be referred to as such. It was the shop-keeper’s dirt patch that was my new route. The bus zoomed by and I gradually regained my composure on the road. I was getting closer to the guesthouse and had to cross a four-way stop. Well, four-way stop is a bit of a joke. No one really stops. And again, the general consensus was some sort of road Darwinism. Survival of the fittest and the fittest is the biggest. The traffic now was quite light, so I was not too concerned. I slowly crept through the intersection. Just as I started to move forward, I smelled something funny. I couldn’t quite make out the scent. It smelled like soya beans mixed with gardening manure. I slowed down some more to swerve around the huge pothole strategically placed in the center of the intersection. The smell had become stronger. The sun was starting to fall behind the Annapurnas and the goddess seemed to whisper my name. From past superstitious experience, I chose not to ignore the whisper and did a quick shoulder check. Holy @*&#! I was being overtaken by a herd of yaks! With the confusion of the intersection, they didn’t know what to do. The yaks did know that they had surrounded - something. And this seemed to suit them just fine. You do the Kathmandu pokey…

Now, what do you do when you are surrounded by yaks? I didn’t remember reading about this in the driver’s manual. Nice cows. Nice hairy cows. I tried to gently urge them forward with my horn but to no avail. It only seemed to make the herd more agitated. I don’t know if you have ever seen a yak but they are hairy black bovine with long horns. They look a lot like the steers from Texas except with dread-locks. So, the plot thickens or sickens – depending on your vantage point. Meanwhile, I have gathered a bit of an audience. Everyone here is on Nepalese time, so no one is ever in rush to do anything. This was definitely the case in my situation. However, because this was something out of the ordinary, it seemed to amuse the crowd. A circle of people had formed around the circle of yaks. Great. Now I am confronted with two layers of organisms to penetrate. The horn, my friend, betrayed me. Everything around me had stalled. I tried to maintain my composure, but the situation was outright ridiculous. Everyone was smiling at me, and the only thing left to do was to smile back. A Tibetan woman was speaking to me in a language that I didn’t recognize. She kept repeating the same word and waving her arms around like helicopter rotor blades. All I could do in my present state was laugh. I was not communicating with anyone very well. The cowherder was a young boy who decided to talk with his friends on the side of the road. I manifested his entertainment for the day. He sat on the sidewalk and gingerly watched the show. And I just kept smiling through clenched teeth. I was nearing the end of my rope. It appeared I had gained the attention of someone or rather something else. A rather large female yak or “nak” was trying to devour my bootlace. Just great. Nice nak. Nice hairy nak. Eventually, in all the peril, an older cab driver got frustrated by the mob in the middle of the intersection and started hollering at everyone, including me. This triggered a spontaneous reaction and the boy started herding his animals down the street. And me? Well, there I was still in the nucleus of the action quietly as if to soothe the black beasts, saying “hajur… hajur…excuse me please.”

Eventually the goddess and yaks took mercy on the renegade stranger and I made it home. My host raised his eyebrows and asked curiously, “How were your travels today?” I suspected the news of me being caught in the yak herd had traveled faster than my me. Or maybe he heard nothing. Maybe this was just the natural order of the day. Maybe being surrounded by animals in the middle of the street was good luck in Nepal. Maybe the mountains really had whispered to me. Maybe the newspaper from my helmet would be a good evening read.

Maybe a nak’s regular diet was bootlaces. Maybe I had just learned to do the Kathmandu Pokey. Perhaps, that’s what it’s all about…

Lesley Gering
Published Canadian Biker, Motorcycleworld.com & Motorcycle Mojo