The view from the top
My feet were lead and every breath set my lungs on fire as they tried to grab some oxygen from the perilously thin air which veiled the mountains here. Few more metres and I knew I'd be at the top and the view from up there would be worth killing for. I tried distracting myself by looking around and marvelling at the beauty that lay around me. It was as if the mountain had anointed itself with its bet ornaments just for me.
The snow at my feet was white and fluffy. The trees were skeletons meagerly covered with white shrouds that hung tightly to their limbs. In places tiny green leaves poked out from under mounds of fresh matter. 'Pines' I recalled. The world was nothing but a white sea and I was the only traveller who dared to ride its waters.
Unexpectedly, I hit a large rock and stumbled forward, face-first into the freezing snow. It really helped the fall that with my heavy rucksack and winter clothes, I weighed a few extra kilograms. When, I peeled my numb face from under the white world, hoping to see some colour, I realised that the large rock had saved me from walking right over the edge of the mountains like a cartoon character.
Struggling, I stood up. It took so much effort that I can swear it was as if the mountain was pulling me deep into itself, wanting me to become one with it; wanting me to bewitch me by its beauty and entrance me to follow it deeper and deeper to my own doom. The mountains had done this to several hikers before me- buried them so deep that they had disappeared without a trace. But not me. I wasn't here for the snow or the mountain or plant; I was here for the view from the top.
Shedding my rucksack, I carefully walked toward the edge, my boots making crunching noises as they tread over the crisp layer of snow. I positioned myself precariously close to the diabolical drop and looked around.
For a split second I felt as if I had been transported into a different world. I guess that's why the ancients considered mountains to be sacred portal to the land of gods. And they were damn right. If the map that unfurled around me wasn't the land of the gods, I don't know what is. Up front was a gigantic bowl- shaped valley. Tiny figures perambulated about the snowy fields. For the first time, it struck me. The insignificance of our race struck me like a lightning bolt.
The valley was naturally fenced by a range of large snow-capped mountains, whose tips looked like waves on a rough, frothy sea, the ones from the ancient god Poseidon created horses. They brooded over the valley and watched all the activity unfurl at their feet with the same interest we would look at some rare specimen. They obviously didn't know all the source of activity and excitement was out of reverence and awe dedicated to their breath-taking, ethereal selves.
Off to my right, what I beheld was enough to to make me hurl myself off the edge of the mountain out of euphoria. Two peaks were straddled by a mass of white fluff. It took me a while to figure out that they were the results of the condensation of the great amounts of water lost from the oceans every day.
The clouds connected both mountains like an ephemeral bridge holding two brothers accusingly by the ear after an argument over something petty like siblings are always doing. I almost giggled at the thought.
My gaze drifted back to the valley where the black silhouettes danced gracefully against the white background. It was almost as if some unearthly, divine beings were performing a puppet show. Though, I couldn't see the strings, it looked just like that. Each and every move timed and calibrated.
I slowly turned to my left, wondering what awaited me there and I was glad I looked. A mammoth bulge rose from the bowels of the Earth, pierced through the heavens and continued straight up. A ring of clouds encircled its waist like a belt. No wonder mountains are considered portals.
The deep brown terrain of the mountain, dusted with snow reminded me of a large chocolate cake dusted with icing sugar. Wrong thought. Instantaneously, my stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since morning. I ignored it. I was well beyond the whims of my body, my legs had learned to give in, my lungs didn't burn anymore and now my stomach would learn to wait.
I marvelled at the intensity of the collision between the Eurasian and Indo-Australian tectonic plates that gave birth to such wonders. Had the phenomenon occurred today, the magnitude of the ensuing disturbance would probably end life as we know it. It makes me glad to think the mountains weren't born yesterday.
I stood on my mountain, hands on my hip like a captain on the bow of his ship. I looked at the world around and below me- the valley; the sea of peaks; the condemned, misbehaving brothers and their supreme overlord who saw everything, heard everything and knew everything- as it all metamorphosed into a large sea of white, stretching out to infinity and I on my mountain-ship was the master of the sea. It was a crazily intoxicating feeling. My brain had lost all its ability to process how surreal this was, how all of it could end up being a dream, and all sorts of other contradictory thoughts and feelings. And boy, was I glad.
Shouldering my sack, I took one last look at the Elysian landscape before deciding it was time to go. I had spent a lot of time here and my guide had probably taken me for dead and left long ago. I broke a smile thinking about how traumatised the poor man would be once he saw me at the hotel. He'd probably think I wasn't human anymore. And the assumption would be partially correct for I was was beyond normal, ignorant Homo Sapien. I had experienced transformation up here- apotheosis- realised that we are all masters; gods of our own sea. Or like the ancients liked to put it- 'thou art that'.
The snow at my feet was white and fluffy. The trees were skeletons meagerly covered with white shrouds that hung tightly to their limbs. In places tiny green leaves poked out from under mounds of fresh matter. 'Pines' I recalled. The world was nothing but a white sea and I was the only traveller who dared to ride its waters.
Unexpectedly, I hit a large rock and stumbled forward, face-first into the freezing snow. It really helped the fall that with my heavy rucksack and winter clothes, I weighed a few extra kilograms. When, I peeled my numb face from under the white world, hoping to see some colour, I realised that the large rock had saved me from walking right over the edge of the mountains like a cartoon character.
Struggling, I stood up. It took so much effort that I can swear it was as if the mountain was pulling me deep into itself, wanting me to become one with it; wanting me to bewitch me by its beauty and entrance me to follow it deeper and deeper to my own doom. The mountains had done this to several hikers before me- buried them so deep that they had disappeared without a trace. But not me. I wasn't here for the snow or the mountain or plant; I was here for the view from the top.
Shedding my rucksack, I carefully walked toward the edge, my boots making crunching noises as they tread over the crisp layer of snow. I positioned myself precariously close to the diabolical drop and looked around.
For a split second I felt as if I had been transported into a different world. I guess that's why the ancients considered mountains to be sacred portal to the land of gods. And they were damn right. If the map that unfurled around me wasn't the land of the gods, I don't know what is. Up front was a gigantic bowl- shaped valley. Tiny figures perambulated about the snowy fields. For the first time, it struck me. The insignificance of our race struck me like a lightning bolt.
The valley was naturally fenced by a range of large snow-capped mountains, whose tips looked like waves on a rough, frothy sea, the ones from the ancient god Poseidon created horses. They brooded over the valley and watched all the activity unfurl at their feet with the same interest we would look at some rare specimen. They obviously didn't know all the source of activity and excitement was out of reverence and awe dedicated to their breath-taking, ethereal selves.
Off to my right, what I beheld was enough to to make me hurl myself off the edge of the mountain out of euphoria. Two peaks were straddled by a mass of white fluff. It took me a while to figure out that they were the results of the condensation of the great amounts of water lost from the oceans every day.
The clouds connected both mountains like an ephemeral bridge holding two brothers accusingly by the ear after an argument over something petty like siblings are always doing. I almost giggled at the thought.
My gaze drifted back to the valley where the black silhouettes danced gracefully against the white background. It was almost as if some unearthly, divine beings were performing a puppet show. Though, I couldn't see the strings, it looked just like that. Each and every move timed and calibrated.
I slowly turned to my left, wondering what awaited me there and I was glad I looked. A mammoth bulge rose from the bowels of the Earth, pierced through the heavens and continued straight up. A ring of clouds encircled its waist like a belt. No wonder mountains are considered portals.
The deep brown terrain of the mountain, dusted with snow reminded me of a large chocolate cake dusted with icing sugar. Wrong thought. Instantaneously, my stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything since morning. I ignored it. I was well beyond the whims of my body, my legs had learned to give in, my lungs didn't burn anymore and now my stomach would learn to wait.
I marvelled at the intensity of the collision between the Eurasian and Indo-Australian tectonic plates that gave birth to such wonders. Had the phenomenon occurred today, the magnitude of the ensuing disturbance would probably end life as we know it. It makes me glad to think the mountains weren't born yesterday.
I stood on my mountain, hands on my hip like a captain on the bow of his ship. I looked at the world around and below me- the valley; the sea of peaks; the condemned, misbehaving brothers and their supreme overlord who saw everything, heard everything and knew everything- as it all metamorphosed into a large sea of white, stretching out to infinity and I on my mountain-ship was the master of the sea. It was a crazily intoxicating feeling. My brain had lost all its ability to process how surreal this was, how all of it could end up being a dream, and all sorts of other contradictory thoughts and feelings. And boy, was I glad.
Shouldering my sack, I took one last look at the Elysian landscape before deciding it was time to go. I had spent a lot of time here and my guide had probably taken me for dead and left long ago. I broke a smile thinking about how traumatised the poor man would be once he saw me at the hotel. He'd probably think I wasn't human anymore. And the assumption would be partially correct for I was was beyond normal, ignorant Homo Sapien. I had experienced transformation up here- apotheosis- realised that we are all masters; gods of our own sea. Or like the ancients liked to put it- 'thou art that'.
Superb
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