2013 ~ P R E S E N T |
S T I L L E V O LV I N G
my then-boyfriend that I loved him before we lost all
internet connection when the cables up in Srinagar
twisted and snapped, needing days for someone
to find the problem and fix it. I melodramatically
apologised to him and his friend because our species
continue to exploit theirs. Through it all the horse
watched me and said soothingly in his horsey way
that it will all be fine and that he will see me home.
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On what was supposed to be the third day of the
trek, I found myself on a white horse—the same
horsey friend?—being led by my steadfast guide.
He’d managed to arrange for passage out and being
on horseback meant that the journey would be far
quicker than the hours I’d managed in the previous
two days. From about 8.30 in the morning to 5 in the
afternoon we trudged on, going the opposite way
from everyone else which meant an even greater
expanse of emptiness with no other human in sight.
We didn’t speak much to each other, just to the horse
for he would occasionally refuse to move, preferring to
munch on grass instead. Occasionally, we would pass
some trekkers late on the journey, looking pityingly my
way. Or amusedly, I couldn’t really tell.
After a long while of not encountering another living
soul on our journey back to civilisation, I saw a lone
donkey standing motionless on his own little rocky
island surrounded by water. He continued to watch
us as we got closer, silently watching and chewing
slowly, swivelling his head to continue eyeing us as we
eventually passed him. Between the looming, dizzying
hills, the never-ending expanse of this valley, and the
eeriness of a day scorched quiet of life by the blazing
sun, I felt that the donkey had something to say to me
too. So, I turned away from the donkey, leaned down
and mumbled another “please take me home” to my
horse friend, and looked ahead. I think maybe I’ve had
enough learnings, donkey dude.
The remainder of the journey was a blur of difficult river
crossings and perilous shifting sands; administration,
more money flying away to the hospital, the agency
that arranged my return, and the airline company;
food poisoning; reading a great number of books at
record speed; and, being humbled by the kindness of
others. I’ve failed the Markha Valley Trek spectacularly,
and embarrassingly, considering the number of people
who have easily completed the trek. This isn’t a
redemption story; this protagonist does not emerge
from the trial of fire to become a glamorous butterfly
who’s learnt all the valuable life lessons and who then
conquered all the treks with aplomb.
I suppose the real lesson to it is in coming up face-to-
face with that wall eventually. The wall of reality that
unequivocally exists for each one of us, no matter
how much we may try to deny or find a way around
it. I’ve met my limit and it is crushingly humbling, and
painfully human. On the trek, while I was mired in an
unceasingly pathetic mental soliloquy detailing my
◀ Hard at work chasing a story
during ISO Iloilo (2013).