Voices: I survived another nerve-rattling Nepal quake
KATHMANDU, Nepal — For about a week, Kathmandu had tried hard to seem normal. Shops and many restaurants reopened and everyone went back to work. City traffic was picking up and people were trying hard to go back to their old routine. Yes, there have been scores of aftershocks. Morning greetings usually started with, "Did you feel that big one?"
So at first, I didn't think much about the table swaying. I was on the rooftop terrace restaurant of a four-story building in central Kathmandu having lunch with my husband, John. It was a picture-perfect warm day, blue sky, a slight breeze, that ubiquitous honking of traffic below and a view of the former royal palace that is now a museum. This was a rare treat, as John is usually out of Nepal.
Just before 1 p.m. Tuesday, we were hit by another earthquake, measuring 7.3 magnitude. Our table shook but we ignored it thinking it was just another aftershock. Besides, the tables were rickety. But then it started to sway and slide. People jumped out of their chairs screaming and rushed toward the staircases at the other end of the terrace.
I wanted to join them but John grabbed my hand. We stood there, holding onto each other, legs splayed for better balance against the slow rolling sway that ebbed and flowed. It seemed to come to an end but then started again. John pulled me back and reminded me that the staircase led to a narrow alleyway with high walls on both sides. So we stayed and hugged.
Like April 25, when a more powerful 7.8-magnitude quake hit, this one seemed to go on and on. In fact, it lasted about 25 seconds.
When it stopped, we ran down the stairs and I did what I did last time: try to connect with friends and staff and reach out to the school my 10-year-old son, Lucas, attends. Most Nepali schools are still closed but my son's school, the British School Kathmandu, had reopened four days after the first quake. All the kids followed instructions: drop, cover, hold and then, in an orderly but fast pace, race to the soccer field.
This is a city and nation on edge. Like everyone else, my heart was pounding, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what I should do next. I left my husband at his office and drove, or rather inched along in a traffic jam trying to get out of downtown.
Phone lines also were jammed, so my calls weren't going through, nor was I able to access Facebook, which had helped so many of us connect after the last quake. I switched to Twitter, through which I tracked down friends and relatives.
The news, like the earthquake, came in waves. Many Nepalis in hard-hit areas who had returned to their homes or to open their shops near damaged buildings died on Tuesday.
It has been raining every night now. Hard pounding rain. Hours of thunder and lightning. The rains mean many more landslides throughout eastern Nepal, including the village of Namche Bazaar near Mount Everest, which was captured on a relief helicopter video.
If there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it is by coincidence. Nepal's government on Monday asked all foreign military providing relief to leave in the next few weeks. Luckily, they are still here: Indians with helicopters and the U.S. Marines with four Osprey helicopters to bring in aid where roads have disappeared.
As night gathers here, my neighbors are playing loud music. Others are planning to return to their neighborhoods' open areas to sleep. Everyone is talking about the quake and what tomorrow will bring.
Lorch, a former New York Times correspondent, is a freelance writer based in Kathmandu.