Journal Entry 10.27.23

The traffic in Kathmandu is nothing short of a miracle. “An example of true civic mindedness,” my friend observed. Trekkers crossing a bridge or navigating a waterfall is the complete opposite.

Kathmandu traffic is like watching water in a river, mental synapses navigating the flow of information, it is like music. Watching trekkers is like watching a log jam. Sticks filling up a culvert and a flood ripping up the landscape.

It has amazed me how where there is a 4 inch path on a landslide, trekkers will shove past me, knocking me to the ground. Or how they will rush a tree bridge on a flooded stream as if they have somewhere they have to get on the 5 second mark. Trekkers will push forward, making porters carrying 50 plus pounds on the backs with tump lines to help them endure the pressure, stand and wait, the trekkers sporting nothing more than light weight outer gear and Leki poles. There is nothing natural or rhythmic about the passage of a person on a trek. No matter how fit or inexperienced they are. There is no acknowledgement of the forces of gravity going down a trail versus up. The individual is always the precedence. The force of “me-ness” the directive. There is a blindness to their certainty that their passage is of greater importance than anyone else’s and that time is of the essence.

Maps are not just about the path, they are about how the path is used. There are superhighways, there are tracks, there are flight paths in the air and there are the footprints left by an otter. All are evidence of how desire lines are made or prevented.