Memoirs of a Wandering Viking, Chapter 3: The Bus Ride from Hell

Peace and tranquility at the foothills of the Himalayas

Let’s return to India once again. I cannot remember exactly how long after Kolkata this was, I think more or less directly after. What I am referring to is the fact that we headed to a lovely town up on the foothills of the Himalayas called Darjeeling. All you tea-lovers out there probably recognize the name. This is because Darjeeling tea is considered to be among the best types of black tea in the world.

Unless my memory fails me, the Darjeeling stay was a peaceful one. We stayed at a lovely hotel and just had a relaxing and nice time. I remember how we went out one night and met some people from Canada. We then went with them to their place and smoked a few joints. When we were going to leave, the gate was locked, so we had to stay at their place for the night.

I could not sleep for some reason, so I sat down on a couch and looked out over the mountains. After sitting for just a short while, one of the worst thunderstorms I have ever seen began in the horizon. The storm was far in the distance, with the majestic Himalayas further in the background. The sight of it was magical! I just sat there and enjoyed myself to the fullest just looking at the amazing display that nature put on.

That nature can be jaw-droppingly beautiful is nothing new, but some of the natural wonders I experienced during the India-trip was in a league of their own. Since I was in my early 20s at the time, and everything was so brand new and exciting to me, it became even more special. I truly experienced a part of the world outside of Europe for the first time, and I loved it.

The bus-ride from hell

Fast-forward the time about three weeks, and I found myself in a small Indian town on the border with Nepal. Me and my friend were going to take a bus from there to Kathmandu, Nepal. It was a very long bus ride; I can’t remember how many hours. Part of the explanation was the condition of the roads.

I remember that there was a British man on the bus who had brought his own beer and kept on drinking and drinking. If that would have been a few years later, I would without a doubt have gotten along really well with him and made him my drinking buddy.

After dusk, when most of the passengers were getting ready to at least try to sleep, I gave him a Diazepam. We used that occasionally during the trip when we had long train- and bus rides ahead of us.

At that time, I did not know that mixing benzodiazepines and alcohol tend to be a bad idea, but at least the Brit did not try to axe-murder us all. I just remember him barely being able to walk all of a sudden, then passing out and sleeping on the floor of the bus.

I started thinking that I might have killed him, because he was out cold, but then I got a sign of life when he started snoring.

He woke up a few hours later when we arrived at a restaurant on the side of the road, and at once asked if they had beer as soon as we entered. I therefore cannot say that I am losing any sleep over giving him the Diazepam. As a matter of fact, I probably did him a favor considering how uncomfortable the bus-ride was. And he did ask me for another one, so obviously he liked it, but I said that I had none left. Not to be stingy, but I had realized that mixing such large amounts of alcohol with a tablet like that could be a bad idea.

I could see that the restaurant where the bus had stopped was not exactly known for its exceptionally high levels of hygiene, but I was so fucking hungry that I decided to eat anyway. That is something which turned out to be a massive mistake!

About an hour later, when we were back on the bus, it started. I all of a sudden felt like I had just eaten a living rat or something similar, and it slowly got worse and worse. After about an hour or so of suffering, I started vomiting.

This is an incident that I think back about now and then. I do that because it is the only physical ailment I can recall having ever experienced which I would rate on at least a similar level to that of having really bad anxiety.

Breaking both my arms, crushing my heal, getting my nose broken, breaking my finger, it is nothing compared to that experience.

As the bus moved along the narrow, windy, bumpy mountain roads, I could not stop vomiting.

After having vomited probably at least 20-30 times, we finally arrived in Kathmandu.

This wonderful little road trip then continued with me getting carried out of the bus and put in a taxi, a taxi ride which would include highlights such as me throwing up inside the cab and out of the window various times. After a pretty short ride which felt like forever, we finally arrived at the hotel.

Once again, I had to be carried inside to the room by the staff who put me on one of the beds. Then I managed to do something which later made me consider a career as a marathon runner, namely to crawl over to the bathroom and the toilet. By divine intervention, I did not have to do a number two until now. Shitting myself on a bus full of people while vomiting my lungs out was the only thing missing from fulfilling that road trip of a lifetime.

The rest of the day continued in the spirit of peace and tranquillity, with me sitting on the toilet constantly shitting and vomiting.

Finally, the athlete in me allowed me to crawl back to the bed and fall asleep, but only to later be woken up by my so called friend. Why? He needed help to kill a cockroach. What did the moron want me to do about a cockroach when I was in that state, throw up on it? I could barely move you idiot.

We are not friends anymore in case you are wondering, that is why I can write like this about him. And no, us ending our friendship has nothing to do with this specific incident. However, when writing about this, I feel assured that us no longer being friends is a good thing.

I did finally manage to fall asleep again after a while, only to this time be woken up to the sound of some ruckus a few hours later. For those who know me, the fact that I did not even get out of bed when there was drama nearby is proof of how terrible I was feeling.

It took me about a week, with a diet consisting of about one spoon of porridge a day, before I recovered. Then, I finally felt confident enough that I would be able to leave the room without shitting myself. I still wasn’t 100% recovered, but it was enough of an improvement for me to manage to leave the hotel. I did feel like I had to make sure to always have a toilet around though, just to avoid any possible accidents.

To sum this up, I hope that I will never have to go through something like that again. No eating in dirty places, especially in situations like that when you are travelling on a bus without a toilet. I really was extremely lucky to only be vomiting in the bus though, because it did not have a toilet. If I wouldn’t be able to stop my body from doing an number two, then I would seriously have had to exit the bus and stay at one of the very primitive guesthouses along the way. So thank God for that!

Lastly I just want to advice everyone to watch carefully what you are eating when you go on trips like the one I did. Believe me, you do NOT want to go through what I did! Take care of yourselves, and God bless you all!

More from Memoirs of a Wandering Viking

Explore the Memoirs of a Wandering Viking series, revisit Chapter 1: Stranded in the Sundarbans, or read Chapter 2: A Recreational Haven, or continue to Chapter 4: From Kathmandu to Chitwan National Park.