Day sleeper. A one way ticket yeah.

Last week we spoke about the meaning of the word brave in grade 7 English. Brave: to do something that scares us. We were reading a story about a girl who one might call “brave to the extreme.” I’m talking fearless of ghosts, walking alone at midnight, and hunting down human skulls. The usual.

From left: Kimi, me, and Jude with Mr. Carma.

I was coming back from an eastern village in Bhutan recently over our midterm break. I waited outside my friend’s house with my hand stretched out ready to flag a car down. I jumped for joy (in my head) when within ten minutes a taxi pulled up and was asking for the equivalent of 5 Canadian dollars to make the 8 hour drive across the country to the capital. I hopped in the back gleefully.

By 2 pm in the afternoon we were flying down what I believe to be the most beautiful stretch of road in all of Bhutan. Perfectly paved, windy, with a steep mountain valley below and picturesque views of the Himalayas on either side, I could drive on this stretch for days. I remembered riding on the back of my friend’s motorcycle down this stretch only a year before.  This particular ride clear in my mind, I put in my headphones and enjoyed the views. My thoughts soon winded down into a deep sleep.

Shortly after, I was jolted awake. The taxi took a sudden sharp jab at the mountain to our right, now completely perpendicular to the mountain, car still in full motion. In less than three seconds, before I could even register what was happening, we were then on the other side of the road, sheer seconds away from catapulting off the “picturesque steep mountain cliff to the left.” Within those three seconds, the passenger in the front seat had managed to both grab the wheel and put on the breaks as I leaned forward and shrieked a perfectly articulated, “hoooooolllyyyy SHITTTT!” Almost simultaneously, the car came to a screeching halt next to one of the only boulders that sat along the stretch of road.

My family swirled around in my head, as I shakily got out of the car, safe, still on our main road. I walked towards the college student who had been sitting beside me. Yearning for the warmth of a living human being, I pulled his body close and gave him a good hug.

“We’re safe,” he said.

We’re safe.

“The driver fell asleep,” exclaimed the hero of the car, and let out a small chuckle, as if any part of that experience actually warranted a chuckle.

But, maybe what else was there to do in this situation? I shed a smile. It was a direct result of my sudden realization that humans are so minute in comparison to their surroundings. This was a simple reminder to myself to wake up and recognize this fragility of the human body.

Life is impermanent. And I had lived that realization in full force.

I couldn’t formulate words to say to our hero passenger, but it came out something like this, “Your reaction time was incredible.”

And then I gave him a pat on the shoulder and a high-five. A high-five to someone who just freakin’ saved your life after you practically somersaulted off a steep-ass mountain cliff, also known as the Himalayas?

Yes.

We got back in the car and the passenger in the front took over driving. Within five minutes the driver who almost drove us off the cliff was fast asleep. Again.

This guy should be studied, I thought to myself.

“You know, I have an exam next week. And that exam is no longer scary,” exclaimed the student beside me. I flashed him a smile and was genuinely sorry he had to leave the car almost five minutes later.

Shortly after, we reached another taxi stand. I decided to leave the taxi I was in. I decided this not so much for lack of confidence in the new driver, but rather to start moving forward from the horrific memories I had associated with this car. I paid the driver for almost killing us, wished him a “safe journey (and good sleep)” and hopped into a taxi van with about five other passengers.

I laid my head back on the window as the sun slipped beneath the mountains. I had two more hours of travel, my body still in shock.

We pulled up to a roadside stand. The woman in the front, cradling a baby, bought some freshly roasted corn and passed it out to all of us in the car. This selflessness is so deeply embedded in the Bhutanese culture. The combination of this generosity and my shock-induced complete euphoria to be alive and breathing almost brought me to roaring tears.

I bit through the corn, happy for a distraction. This may be the only time in my life in which corn is serving as a meditative experience, I thought to myself.

Less than twenty minutes later, about to climb the final mountain pass before the capital Thimphu we got to about a 50 car pile up. We slammed the doors and headed to join the crowd outside overlooking the mountain cliff.

“Accident Miss, car is down,” A woman reacted to my puzzled gaze.

No, I thought. This can’t be the taxi I was just in.

I looked down to see another car completely mangled in the trees about 500 ft down below the main road. This is one of the widest stretches of road in Bhutan. The cause was either a mechanical failure, substance-induced, or fatigue, I thought.

I pictured myself in the car, and tears started streaming down my face.

Not a firefighter or ambulance was in sight. What I did see continued to feed my tears: About thirty Bhutanese people, children, parents, and monks, breaking the already shattered car, attempting to rescue the screaming driver inside. There were branches being used as tools, but mostly their bare hands. I could feel the energy rushing between these people, the common goal of simply busting their asses to rescue this stranger as quickly as they could, was astonishing. The only bystanders were young children, people with babies, the elderly and me. The experience lasted about 45 minutes and although there was ample space on the road for cars to continue, not a car started its engine. Until this driver’s body was out of the car, not a person would move.

I could feel common breaths being let out above the road as we first spotted the bleeding driver being carried up the cliff on the back of one of the saviors.

In my emotionally drunken state, the next thing I saw really made me giggle. Monks swooped around the destroyed car to collect the driver’s belongings. It was as if they had been called upon by some higher power to fly in in their red robes and offer their help in any way they could. They continued to sweep their robes around the car as bystanders on the road wrapped the injured driver in scarves and any clothing they could find. They hauled him into the back of one vehicle and off he went to Thimphu hospital.

“I need a fucking hug,” I texted to my friend Jonathan as I got back into the car.

I admit to having suffered from mild anxiety and irrational thoughts in the past. Perhaps because of the isolation in Bhutan, I continue to experience, sometimes intense, waves of them on the odd occasion. It may cause some late nights here and there, but all I am able to manage.

It was logical for me to feel frightened after my near-death driving experience. It is not, however, rational for me to fear every car that drives along the road, which has become my habit recently. And I recognize that, but am having difficulty acting upon it. It occurred to me one night that if I choose not to drive in any car I could be stuck in Tshangkha village for the rest of my life.

I decided last weekend that I wanted to take a leave day on the Saturday to visit some friends in a southern part of Bhutan for hiking and a rafting trip. It occurred to me that I could take a week to walk there or I could suck it up and take a car.

I spoke to my principal about what he thought would be the safest method of transport. I first mentioned my near-death experience to him, as if to justify what might seem like an irrational fear. My way of traveling has gone about 180 degrees from last year. Previously, I would take any ride, with any person, any time of day. I’d check out their speed when approaching me, for about 30seconds, and then more often than not just hop into the car. Meeting interesting people seemed to outweigh the possibility that they could actually be dangerous or better yet…. A day sleeper.

“He fell asleep? What time was it?” the principal asked.

“About 2 in the afternoon,” I replied.

“He should not be sleeping at 2 in the afternoon. Why does someone need to sleep in the day time?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically. I hoped.

That’s right, I thought. Falling asleep driving at night is okay.

I spent almost the entire night going back and forth between driving or not driving the following evening. My anxiety was peaking, and my brain was overactive to the nth degree. My dear friend Jude, a nearby Canadian professor, would be driving in the morning, but I’d have to find my own way home. I trusted Jude as a driver, but the ride home freaked me out 

I met Jude on the road outside my house at 530am the next morning to send some supplies with her for an upcoming trip to Toronto. I apologized and shook my head. I couldn’t get into that car.

“You’re getting in Sar. If you’re like this in your 20s, what are you gonna do later on?” she said.

I smiled and instantly jumped downstairs and grabbed my bags.

Three days later I convinced myself that the best option for my ride home was the public bus. They nicknamed it the “vomit comet” and I had refused to take it in the past solely because of this reason and because it drove approximately 10km per hour.

Today was a different story though. I had no ticket but gathered on a busy bridge waiting for its arrival with a few other villagers. Two packed buses drove passed. The third bus driver said he couldn’t offer me a seat but he was willing to take me the 4 hours to my house.

I took him up on the offer.

So there I sat for 5 hours tangled between wooden crates, anxiously checking out the driver’s eyes to see if he was drifting off even in the slightest. The passenger in the front passed me potato chips and other treats as she continuously glanced back and forth as if to check if I was still there, or perhaps if my limbs were still in the right order. I shed her a smile and reassured her I was just fine, still battling an unnecessary amount of inner anxiety.

A perk of that weekend trip. Hikes with beautiful Thinleygang students

We piled off at a roadside shop for some lunch. The driver took me under his wing and whisked me into a separate room, designated for drivers only.

I helped myself to three different curries with rice and tea.

“You don’t pay. They treat drivers,” he said.

I of course made it home safely after the journey. The driver insisted I shouldn’t pay for the 5 hour trip. I thanked him kindly, but insisted he accept some money.

Being brave has taken on all new levels. Be it ghosts or mind-wrenching road trips, bravery takes some guts and in my case, some mind fights and manipulation. I’m developing a personal goal to tackle yet another obstacle of living in this magical place. I want to go back to my place of comfort and, perhaps innocence, that I thrived so well in last year. I want to laugh my guts out while doing so, because, after all, I am 25 years old living smack in the Himalayas in the happiest country in the world. So I will bite the bullet and take on some crazy experiences. And it will be okay.