The Electric Nepal Acid Test

I wish I could think of a word that could accurately describe my day, but so far every word I have considered I have subsequently dismissed as inadequate.
The short version was that we went to visit the school I will be working with. It's about an hour's bus ride away in Dhading. It was decided that I will trek out there every Monday to teach English to the 3rd, 4th and 5th graders and then teach computer classes in the afternoons. Then I will spend Friday mornings in Dhading helping the teachers with their own English skills. After all this was decided, we headed home. The End.
But the real kicker comes from our journey on the bus. Unlike the Micro Buses of Kathmandu, the buses that take you out to Dhading are larger and reminiscent of Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters. There is one main highway that runs through Nepal, from Kathmandu to Delhi and everywhere in between. The buses that run on this road don't run on a time table or an itinerary; they just run. In order to catch one of these buses, you simply stand by the side of the road and signal when one drives by. Then you hope it slows down enough for you to jump in. Think NYC taxi meets ski slope quad-lift.
We caught a bus fairly easily on our way there. The ride however... well, to all the people that have ridden on I70 through Silverthorne during a blizzard with me behind the wheel, I am SO sorry. I now understand your pain and I sympathize with all who have chastised me for my careless and reckless driving habits. But seriously, this was SO much worse. We were careening down hills at 50 mph, passing trucks around blind curves with oncoming traffic. In the words of Ferris Bueller, after this ride I was so uptight you could have shoved a piece of coal up my ass and by the end you would have had one helluva diamond.
I do recall about 3 seconds of solace when I realized that this far outside the city, the sky was clear enough to see t white peaks of the Himalayas in the distance.
The peace was broken when I looked up to find our bus inches from flying off the side of the mountain while being simultaneously t-boned by a 1980 Toyota hatchback and passed on the right by a truck with "ride me" painted across the bumper. Since I am supposed to ride this bus twice a week for the next, ohhhh... 21 weeks, I would like say here and now that I never said "I love you" enough to Anita, and therefore when I die she gets everything. Except the IRS debt. Dad, you can keep that.
The ride home was a completely polar experience. Our driver was Filipino Bono in the flesh, and inside our bus was (and I swear I am not embellishing for the sake of storytelling): 3 Bob Marley stickers, 1 asian with dreadlocks, 2100 eggs divided into 12 cartons (I counted), 3 goats, 2 playboy tattoos, and the most AMAZING Canadian tuxedo that I have EVER seen.
I will never forget that bus ride.
Cheers to the next 84 rides I have left to weather.