Braden Fichter

Kathmandu, Nepal. April 2017.  

Rush hour in Kathmandu shot from a speeding taxi cab. This series captures the density, style, and subtle nuances of a culture very far from my own. They name their motorcycles. 

Our plans to jeep out to a location in the remote mountainous region of Northwest Nepal to provide medical aid were unfortunately dashed due to land slides. We scrambled and organized a spontaneous trip to make the best use of our donated ultrasound machines. I woke up in my ten dollar hotel and packed a box of medicine and one of the machines and barely fit into the taxi cab.  Our destination was Chautara, an area devastated by the earthquakes not long ago.  My plan was to teach trauma based ultrasound and obstetrics ultrasound techniques to Regional health directors I had never met. I literally had a phone number scribbled on a napkin in my pocket.  

Nepal. April 2017. 

I have been to Moab multiple times now. It has become somewhat of a March tradition,  it seems to start my year off.  The nicest time there, some sneaky warmth, tends to hit right in mid march, and its prime mountain biking weather. I have kicked off multiple mountain bike seasons out here,  the warm red radiance from the rocks smooths over any of the cold winter doldrums left in my body.  A general peace seems to emanate from this place,  I find it a refreshing place to reflect on my life, and just settle into nature for a while.  I left rejuvenated again, after some epic trails and amazing camping under the stars. We named our campsite Moab Beach, we never wore any shoes, the fine red sand and the warm breeze off the rocks felt just like Florida, you see, a beach. 

My hands were covered in mud again,  my back was splattered with it.  It was at least the tenth time I had to put the chain back on my shitty beach cruiser.  Every time I hit a bump, the chain fell off.     This road in Santa Teresa has lots of bumps.  It has lots of curves,  lots of trucks, feral dogs, hand written signs on tropical wood, motorbikes buzzing,  bridges with no railings, muddy water carving new paths to the ocean coming down the mountainside, trickle drip sounds falling off of the countless green overhanging leaves,  tin roofs pitter pattering in chorus.  The rain wasn't stopping.  

I had been soaked for almost 48 hours,  since I set foot on our speedboat with about 15 others headed to this little outpost.  To get here its a flight into san jose,  a shuttle to jaco, a speedboat for an hour, then another shuttle for a half hour.    We had to cover our bags in plastic and skip across big swells to get here. We were all laughing like kids getting sprayed by the sea,   I felt myself unravel a little,  I still felt tension in my neck,  my brain, my thoughts were still wound tight from the utter exhaustion of a hard work block, closing on the house, and moving.  Its a numbness,  a feeling of tapped and depleted reserves, the ringing in your ears after a concert that takes a while to fade.   I had literally closed on my house, handed over a check, and drove home. I filled a bag full of beach shit and hopped on a plane 2 hrs later, went through houston, getting into san jose Costa Rica that same night.  

There is a beautiful far away tucked in feeling in Santa Teresa,  people dont talk about how its rained for days on end,   were all here until we leave,  why does it matter?   Its a place of feeling, of doing what you are doing in the moment.  It is a community,  you can see the energy and feel it,  people walking from one place to another everywhere,  daily errands,  helping a friend,  scoring some weed, bringing some food in to the restaurant, dogs on atv’s their masters guide down the cratered road avoiding the mud holes with practiced hands.   People come here and a lot stay, leaving when they need to.  There is a never never land feel to it, but it is very real.   I have made friends every day.  I say hello to people in the water,  I recognize the locals.  They are welcoming, Pura Vida without pretense.   This place is an escape that never fails to let my soul settle.  The ebb and flow with nature is welcomed and enjoyed.  It is a place of collective experience,  no big resorts.  Its a place you sit on logs and burn palm fronds for bon fires mixed with locals, Norwegians, Italians, Canadians all seeking a little valhalla, all content.   The internet is slow,  nobody has tv’s on.  I haven't ever seen an argument here,  of course they exist, but the tension required to get there between people doesn't have a chance to percolate and build.  

I went to sleep early last night, still numb , trying to make sense of what all happened in the past few weeks,  I wanted to simplify.  Too much movement,  too many decisions, too much uncertainty for too long to not leave a stamp on me for at least a little while.  It was a temporary situation that left me with a beautiful house I'm going to love and Im very proud of but it took a lot out of me.  I wanted to get rid of the pressure,  let it blow off,  the beer every night wasn't working.  

The second day here,   after the big muddy bike ride down the street to the bakery,  I grabbed my board again. and headed out for my third session of the trip.   This place has been bathed in a gloomy grey fog since I had been here,  so dissonant from my memories of this place and its tropical title.

I skipped down the muddy path,  squishing and avoiding barbed wire and other wood be saboteurs of my feet.

The waves, which had been choppy but with good size,  were freakishly clean, and nearly perfect.

Maybe 50 surfers were in the water, salt and peppered down the beach,  a fine salty haze hung above the water,  and far out to sea, there were spots of blue in the sky but the clouds were layered and complex. No wind. Things just frozen in the sky.    The distant low cloud layer brightened as the sun came to meet it from above too slow to notice in one glance.   I caught one after another beautiful waves,  the lift up the face and lightness as I spring to my feet and slingshot down the face,  eyes wide open, locked into the energy, high pitch sound of spray as I pump the face.    The experience is an aesthetic one,  forces in motion that teach you the power of the sea, yet with no jarring aspects. Everything is smooth yet with intense power.  These pacific swells,  They can approach in sets of 15 ominously.  Giants bigger than you.   The water is 74 degrees,  somehow not warm or cool,  The waves have tiny ripples on them that shimmer as the sun behind them lights through the wave.  Just a duck dive itself is relaxing, pushing the board through the face of the wave and pulling on it to get you through the face. You are totally immersed for a second, popping out the other side and shaking it off like a wet dog,  on your way paddling out for the next set of waves.  Smiles and nods are passed around,  as we all look out to sea.  Maybe a holler for a good wave your neighbor catches.  I find I have a habit of whistling like a bird when a good wave is coming,  when the instinct of 20 years of reading waves sees a familiar pattern taking shape, and I know Im going to get a dance with it.  

 In my life,  I have willed a lot of things to happen,  when I want, for better or worse. I can be too focused on doing that, when I need to chill the fuck out sometimes.  Im sometimes distracted by this, spoiled, I like to get what I want, going to get it with an intense purpose.  These waves, and this ocean, so connected, teach me what is important.  This energy is the earth itself,  it is a force generated thousands of miles away, that we all share as it gives its last effort on the beach.  We are at its pace, not mine,  I have to wait.  Forcing anything in this place will not do anything, and I see the beautiful lesson in that every time I'm in the water.   Let it be, and it will be beautiful.