Brightly colored caravans clamored past on the dusty highway that continued out of Mahadevbesi, proclaiming their presence by honking like an aggravated circus clown. While I was pleased to be out of the rickety jeep crammed in with others like sardines, I did not feel any more at ease standing at the outermost edge of this remote town. I had tried to confirm that my connection would somehow know where to find me, but the driver looked at me, perplexed. I’d quickly learned that for locals, these stresses were met with complete nonchalance. Sitting on the side of the road, my brand new Osprey and olive skin pointing me out like a sore thumb, I took a deep breath and tried to feign confidence. Yet I’m sure my nerves shone through when several minutes later a young man arrived and, speaking English, announced he was there to take me to my final destination - a small farm outside of town. Sometimes, by going down a rabbit hole you discover fascinating origin stories of weird everyday items, such as how Corn Flakes were meant to deter folks from sinning. Sometimes, is drags you stumbling through a forest of classmates-past, obsessively comparing vignettes of your lives. Sometimes, you end up in Nepal. It was March, and spring fever had activated a restless nerve. Living in Portland, I could easily get to the ocean or any number of natural wonders in under two hours but lately, mini excursions hadn’t been satiating me. And I could never be gone for too long, lest I compromise money-making opportunities. But how was that precious cash being put to use? That was the question I asked myself as my daydreams became a series of google searches on my desktop. Within hours, I’d dove into an ocean of options and surfaced with the information for an affordable way to experience Nepal on a local level through a woman-run non-profit. Entertaining the idea only half-heartedly, I submitted three weeks-worth of time-off papers to my job. I hadn’t yet been employed with the company for 6 months and I presumed my wishful wanderlust would be denied. But work didn’t bat an eye. Suddenly, this spark of an idea became a living breathing thing. And I had not the first notion of what to do with it. The last time I’d been out of the country was a decade before, when I took my Birthright trip* to Israel. Contrary to the organized itinerary that put the heavy lifting in the hands of others, I was designing my first solo international adventure from the ground up. As I prepared for my October departure, plans expanded as did shopping and to-do lists. Documents, vaccinations, bookings, insurance - I became aware of one detail after another as the trip quickly drew nearer. And logistics were only one puzzle piece. For as much intrigue as I’d had in visiting, I couldn’t even tell you where I’d be on a map. I was truly heading into the unknown. With help from a few** well-traveled bloggers***, I began to understand the culture I’d be immersed in and the way tourism could help or harm a country so vulnerably reliant on it after a 2015 Earthquake. I invested in the Lonely Planet guidebook which lessened the shock of driving laws (or lack thereof), steered me away from tourist traps and gave me a grasp on the constantly changing tide of politics that plagued a society rooted in a corrupt caste system. Once I’d scoured my resources, I had a 3-week itinerary**** that seemed concrete, ethical, and affordable. But no book prepares you for meandering a developing country for the first time. That meant walking past corpses of diseased dogs, but also discovering some of the most pristine natural beauty I’d ever witnessed. It meant planning one thing and rearranging when communication or transportation didn’t go as planned. That moment on the side of the road would not be the last that I would wonder, “What have I done?” And in the end, I was grateful for that. Because what would travel be worth if you always knew what to expect? *https://www.birthrightisrael.com/ **https://www.thecommonwanderer.com/ ***https://alittleadrift.com/ ****https://flightofahoneybee.wordpress.com/2019/09/24/what-is-your-time-worth/