a necessary down time

This is the worst part of travelling: the waiting.

After returning from the mountains for the second time, it seemed like a good idea to take it easy in Pokhara for a few days. After forking out for two Annapurna permits (at about $35 each), a tandem paragliding flight (!!!) and the relative high cost of living in Nepal (compared to most places in India), i had well and truly exhausted my budget. Its not like i've been particularly strict with my expenditure, but with my entry to Europe looming, it made sense to just keep quiet, read a book or two and let my aching muscles recover. But rarely has anything been that straightforward - it is never the ideal, but the unaccounted for that dominates the moment of execution.

My digestive system was playing up again so i went to see a real (expensive) doctor. I was aptly diagnosed with dysentary - a charming bacterial experience i probably signed up for somewhere in north India. So quiet days and boring food were the doctor's order - accompanied by a bag of assorted pharmaceuticals. No alcohol - which is fine - but annoying when you're bored.

And i am bored. As unbelievable as it may seem. Indeed, it was a relief to be leaving Pokhara after having very little to do for four days. At least when you're on a bus you're going somewhere. I'd found myself watching movies and trashy cop dramas on television - most uncharacteristic behaviour. This culminated with and probably exacerbated a period of despair - most likely an after effect of trekking in extreme and demanding landscapes. I had descended from the mountains to discover a self performing the lethargic gestures of disorientation and anxious recoil common to one who has lost his way. In the life of dreams and the life of waking, alienation has been the tune. The steps i know too well. But before... before i was on a path that assaulted the mind with the densely woven visions of a kaleidoscopic hurricane. The thickness of forests. The scattering of stones. The pulse thudding in my ears. Onwards we stormed - Craig and i. Each morning we entertained delusions of a slower day - "we should take our time - enjoy each delightful cascade, each breath whispering between the bamboo." But once the feet began to move, the rising pace consumed us with its irresistible ecstasy. More than once we broke into a canter - i no longer saw the path, but felt each collision of foot on stone, over branch, every suspended moment - whirling with the joy of movement.

And when we arrived at our destination, the reward was in the cummulative exhaustion of four days climbing splashed across an incredible ampitheatre. The intoxication of achievement mingled with the deprivation of oxygen. The snow laden might of those terrible sentinels seemed unreal. We were such tiny animals in that most sublime of other worlds.

To make the trek back down was obvious and a natural progression. We stayed a night at base camp so as to witness the dawn a second time (we made the final ascent at 5am the previous morning) - and luck would have a blizzard coat the realm in a thick layer of delicious powdery white. I had never seen such a snowscape before. The descent was optimistic - the magic of such extraordinary places lies also in their talent for infusing the imagined outside. And so we wandered down. Slowly at first, then more quickly on the second (and final) day. Exhausted and aching, we arrived in Birethanti - the final village before exiting the Annapurna conservation region. We departed the following morning in much the same fashion as our arrival - perched upon the roof of a local bus.

Now despite the sense of wonder, i was feeling pretty rough the past few days of the trek. My guts had started playing up and i was being assaulted with intense head and body aches. On the final night i had a fever and was tormented with lucid dreamings. It was a relief when the doctor said "dysentary". Naming the beast made it manageable. And now that that is managed - at least tackled and restrained - there is only the sense of longing, of being lost. When the bus was heaving and wretching its awkward way from Pokhara a stir rose within - as each passenger became aware that the clarity of the morning had permitted the first view of the Himalayan mountains from the Pokhara valley - a rare occasion at this time of year.

For me, it was as if a long lost friend had unexpectedly shown up to say a final emotional farewell. After sitting in my room with a dark expression for some days - i shook with sadness at the sight of those mountains - Macchapucchare striking against the sky like a monolithic idol. I knew then that my adventure in the mountains was over. It is, i suppose, in these moments that we feel the ephemerality of all things; that we might glimpse the tragedy of time's unsympathetic advance.

And now i am in Kathmandu and it is 5.20pm and tomorrow i shall fly to Delhi and then wait for 15 hours before my flight to Portugal. And this is the worst bit - the waiting. Not knowing what new challenges await - left alone to finger the debris of my recent memories. But perhaps there is something necessary in this - a necessary down time. And if i had to choose between a life of logical progression from one meagre contentment to another, or to take the intoxicating climbs with the horrendous falls - i know which burning altar i should have no choice but to fling my wretched form upon in a moment of total embrace.

Still.

I hate the waiting.