Squirtin at 2750 metres

(This image has nothing to do with the blog that follows: all my images from the himalayas have corrupted - i need a new camera - but this desolate beach we camped on (see previous blogs) in Gokarna kinda sums up the isolating emotions i experienced in that tiny cabin near Chopta. I'll see what i can do with the stinking XD card. Sorry.)

And so i just returned from a trek through the Indian Himalaya which was an adventure of sorts and a trial as well. But as per usual i begin to speak in the same twisted tongue as that dancing midget in the red curtained theatre - let me go back a little further and share some recent history.

When i arrived in Rishikesh, some 8 or 9 days ago now, my mood plummeted. Exhausted after the 3- day journey from the deep south - anxious and of busy mind - i turned on myself as one often does and questioned my motives for coming back to this place, reproached what i thought i was thinking. But this has turned out to be an important chapter in the writing - and it needs to be reminded that six weeks ago i threw away my guide book and decided to let myself be led by the words and ideas shared with others. This has not limited my experience of India - rather, it has made it apparent that the longer i stay the longer i need. There is too bloody much stuff in this country. But i am rambling again.

It has become a navigation of association: When i arrived in the beautiful Holy Haridwar i noted two other obvious travellers looking for the bus stand. I walked up and introduced myself and we found a bus together. Richard - the Venezualan who lives in Miami - reminds me very much of Adam, and it has not taken long for us to refer to each other with affectionate expletives. We arrived, found a room in one of the ashrams, and then had breakfast. Then the depression came. It was a tough day and i planned rapid departure - Manali? Dharamsala? Almora? But then Richard and Paula asked me to join them for white water rafting. Which was an incredible time. The best bit was when the guide said we could surf the rapids and i leapt out and the others were soon to follow. And we went bobbing down the Ganga like corks on the ocean. And i met an Argentinian woman (Cecilia) and together we jumped from a 5 metre boulder into the Ganga. And then three others asked me to join them on the hike in the Himalaya. And i said yes to it all.

And i got sick in those mountains. It was a four day expedition, the first involved a six hour drive followed by a 6km hike up a near vertical incline. The view was other wordly and i kept hearing the theme from Lord of the Rings in my head. Words shall inevitably fail me here - those formidable old peaks standing wrapped godlike in whisps of cloud. But i could feel the illness coming and when i rose the next morning i knew trouble was in store. And so we set off for the long part of the journey. 18kms of climb and descent, and with each hour i grew more pale and the weight in my gut seeped into my legs. Feverish and poor of sight i stumbled into camp at Chopta. At 4pm i went to bed, only to rise a few hours later with the worst diahorrea i can recall. I shall spare you the details. Suffice to say: I wished i was vomitting.

The following day our guide, Rama, insisted on taking me to the hospital at the mountain village of Gopeshwar. My first experience of a hospital in India defied and dislodged all nightmarish misconceptions i carried. I hald expected to see all sorts of horror, slow service, indifferent doctors, the occasional cow wandering through Emergency. But instead i was met a smiling receptionist who sent me through to see a doctor who spoke perfect english and i did not have to wait for. He asked some questions. He felt my pulse. He gave me a prescription. And off i went. I am now gobbling eleven pills per day - some for the stomach - some for the mouth ulcers - apparently related by a common cause.

Apart from the obvious, the really shit part is that i didn't get to ascend to the 4090m peak of Chandrasila. While the other three were waltzing up and down the mountain - i was writhing about in a fever at 2750m. But the view was hot.

And now i am back in Rishikesh and Rama has insisted on taking me for another rafting trip - FREE! And so i will do that tomorrow and today i will take it easy and continue to pray for my Iranian Visa to get approval and bloody quick as Jas has his and we're just waiting for the green light n all that jazz. Oh! And in the quiet of my mornings after i walk about on my own for a while, i've been trying my hand at poetry. I've been trying to write song lyrics, but it seems easier when i don't try to imagine the music that accompanies the lines. There is a whole heap of stuff in my book now, but the one i was working on this morning is the one i'll transcribe here:

I came upon a waterfall,
Alone for me to find.
Her gentle voice played fancy,
To the burnt leaves in my mind.

And time stretched out forever,
When i touched her sandy floor.
The world became as empty,
As my clothes upon the shore.

And as we lovers parted ways,
Sun dripping from my hair.
The fall let out a mournful song,
Tempting me back there.

To sink, to swim, to be at one,
To hear that lovely dirge.
The final breath, the final light,
To finally submerge.

Thanks for reading guys. Ben