Highs and Lows
Low #1: (Scene – a bitterly cold October night in the Indian Himalaya.) Ryan and I are huddled up in our sleeping bags, curled around our cramped intestines and cursing the tasty 15-rupee lentil thali we had so bravely tucked into at that roadside dhaba mere hours before. “We’re tough, we ate daal bhat for four months in Nepal, we can handle thali in India.” Silly westerners. Ryan scours the Lonely Planet India’s health section and convinces himself that he has an amoeba, giardia, and dengue fever all at the same time. Ryan: “Lis, I swear for real, I think I have a fever, check my forehead.” Lisa: “Ryan you’ll be fine, you’re going psychosomatic on me again, it’s not dengue fever because mosquitoes would turn to ice cubes at this altitude. God I think my stomach wants to exit my body through my navel – why the hell did we choose India?” (We were both fine within two days, though we have not returned to that particular dhaba.)
Low #2: Himalayan spiders. Holy mother of god. Massive monsters – they don’t qualify as insects, they fit in the phylum rodentia, I swear. They find our apartment quite cozy – I think it may be their vacation home. These bad boys are seriously the size of my fist. Go ahead, make a fist right now and look at it. Now imagine a huge hairy black spider of that size on the wall above your bed. What do you do? Can’t kill it – I don’t kill things, for one, and secondly the Dalai Lama is next door so that would be like defecating on someone’s altar. My patented cup-and-postcard method for returning living things we find inside back to their outside homes doesn’t work because the damn things are bigger than all of our cups and I think they would tear through a post card. (Note: Lisa is also deathly phobic of all things-spider.) So after much screaming and cursing and jumping up and down in failed panicky attempts to get near the monsters, we discover the rainbow-feather duster-and-bucket method. Yes, I said bucket. The things scurry so you have to be really quick about it. Now envision the process: Ryan and I (in pajamas, winter hats and flip flops), terrified beyond all imagining, shooing the creatures with the duster into the bucket, running frantically out the door and throwing the bucket as far as possible. We pray the spiders survive their flight, but considering how eventful our own flight to this lovely country was, we figure it’s just par for the course for this trip. However, we – unlike Air India – refuse to offer them lodging. Next time they should pick a different carrier. (It took us four hours, but we managed to find all five of them. Please god let us have found them all.)
High #1: Us! We’re at over 6,000 feet!
High #2: Walking along the kora path outside our door that takes us around the Dalai Lama’s temple. The path rings a high mountain valley. This morning we watched the sunrise slowly awaken the sleeping town below us. We look up to see a massive ring of jagged snow-capped peaks sitting quietly, serenely above us all. They are so close you think you could reach out and touch them. There is something about white Himalayan peaks. They just seem to know they are the places on this planet – they have that kind of smug superiority. As they should. Much respect to you, great mountains.
High #3: Having Time, with a capital ‘T’. Because suddenly it is this tangible gift we possess, this Time. Time to hike around windy mountain paths and explore little towns and villages. Time to watch the sun actually set. Time to read a truly delicious love story (The Time Traveler’s Wife – go out this instant and get a copy). Time to lay out on the ledge of a temple in the sun and watch hawks circle and scream overhead. Time to spend three hours over a savory 3-course Japanese dinner (total cost: 70 cents) and talk with three French travelers about racism and immigration policy in the UK. (Ryan and I now have apartments to crash at in the south of France.) This is my Time, I know it. I revel in it and I am grateful. I wish for you all to be able to find Time for yourselves in your lives as well.
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