“And yes how many years must a mountain, exist before it is washed to the sea. And how many years can some people exist before their allowed to be free, yes and how many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn’t see. . .”

The catch up.

            So its been a while since I’ve last written an update to my blog. (But this is over four thousand words, so now having completed it I don’t mind so much.) I’ll have been in Kalpa for two weeks tomorrow. It feels like a lot more. Tomorrow we may be setting of further into the mountains into the region of Spitti for roughly ten days. However it’s pouring it down at the moment so Harel is making enquiries with regards to the road we’d have to travel, and whether or not it will be passable. Spitti is considered to be highly beautiful, further snow covered peaks peppered with bristling trees broken apart by lush valleys. It also has one of the largest peaks in the area at 7025mts.  Although ‘Shilla’ is still 1,800mts lower than Everest, it’s not something that’s to be considered lightly. Between the towns of Taboo and Dhankar this large chunk of rock has struck along my metal and cast sparks of interest. I’ll come back to the mountains later. My current region is, it is said, mountainous and is “known for its pristine natural beauty that includes gurgling streams, conifer-clad slopes and snowbound peaks that seem to reach upto the skies.” Or so says the book entitled ‘Discovering the Himalayas’.

            I arrived in India around two months ago, and in Kalpa around two weeks ago. I’v travelled thousands and thousands of miles since my first arrival, and thousands and thousands of feet since my second. Kinaur Kalpa is defined as being part of the Higher Himalayas. It used to be the old capital of Himachal Pradesh before the British Raj discovered Shimla. With a population of around 300 people it’s doesn’t seem to have retained much of its former importance. Or maybe this is just the casual progression in village communities. The lower town of Reconpeo has much greater energy, in a dirty, industrial town type way.  Although it is slowly sprouting Hotels and satellite dishes Kalpa maintains some of the rugged yet regal nature of the rustic. Two small restraunts and two tea houses control the orbit of the stomachs, and therefore of the social circle of the town. It has a few temples, two orphanages (one for girls, one for the boys) and a littering of general shops. These small shacks are incredible for acquiring all of the essentials for life, and in some part help define what the essentials of life are. For instance, even if i actively wanted to cook a meat dish I’m rather limited by the lack of goods available. Although to be fair you can buy tins of tuna, and I believe that there is a butchers around somewhere, though i’m not overly keen to go and sample it. I have however sampled the local moon shine, an apple wine that’s a buy product of the surpluses orchards that are to be found around here. Apparently there are 52 days of celebration in India where no one in Kalpa works at anything but ingesting their favourite poison. Although strongly co-mingled with religious significance, these festivals provide a legitimate means of letting loose some steam. Here in the hills the men gather round fire bins on the street and sup the local alcohol while the women congregate in the warmth of the indoors.

            I’m sharing a place for the moment with an Israeli called Harel. Its quite a spacious room, and now that the gas has been delivered we also have use of a furnished kitchen. Before this we’d just been making use of the kerosene stone that I picked up. The stove needs some tinkering done to it, but it came in handy enough for making coffee and generating heat in our first few days. We combined the bounty of the stove with bundles of candles and two extra blankets each, yet in the first few days here you still wake up with a numb nose an no desire what so ever to climb out of the cocoon of warmth. It was snowing the night we arrived and the cold burnt through the thickest of layers and sapped the warmth from your bones. We were having Chi and whisky’s with our third travelling companion who’s been a regular in the hills for 10 years. At close to midnight, tipsy and tiered after a full days travel, me and Harel still chose to run up the hill to our lodgings rather than extend out stay in the naked atmosphere.

The walls seem to have been deep soaked in warmth these last weeks, and combined with the slight rise in temperature (we now have rain rather than snow) the atmosphere seems to have become invigorating rather than subduing, three days out of four delivering clear skies. Talking of atmosphere my residence in Kalpa is somewhat over three thousand meters above sea level  and in the first few days you could certainly feel the difference as your body acclimatised, for the first few days breathing was a bit more difficult.

There’s something about the memory of that run home on the first night that seems to encapsulate the generous flow of interesting experiences that the last two weeks have produced. Compelled by original dynamics to do something out of the norm I find myself seeking a productive and healthy course during my time here. Much like being forced to exercise on the first night to avoid the cold, a surplus of time casts threatening shadows of boredom unless staved off at a goodly speed. I’ve achieved this in different ways.

 Most obvious and yet least important of these is my reading material. In my time in India I’ve burned through all my original books and most of the ones that iv managed to lay my hands on, totalling around twenty of varying quality. I’m now relaying on books that I downloaded in Australia. I have every Terry Pratchett and eleven books that I had downloaded from The Gutenberg Project. This is turning out to be an amazing amalgamation of escapism and research, Pratchett for the former and Gutenberg for the later. In the Gutenberg file I have; Fifteen thousand useful phrases. The History of the United States. The Art of War. The Notebooks of Leonardo di Vinci. The Outline of Science. The Practice and Science of Drawing, The Worlds Best Poetry. Sayings of Confucius. Self Discipline in 10 days and Women as Decoration.  There’s a certain warm happiness in knowing that my reading list is composed of these, with buffers of Discworld to massage away the strain. I’m really looking forward to the many peaceful hours that i’ll be spending in the next few months, working my way through this select library. There’s also something entirely satisfying in the knowledge that I picked these books a few years ago, and now they drop sweetly into my lap. Though in all honestly i’m not sure how Women as Decoration got in there. However, after reading the first paragraph I find myself laughing on a wry hook. Mrs Emily Burbank begins

“Having assisted in setting the stage for woman, the next logical step is the consideration of woman, herself, as an important factor in the decorative scheme of any setting,--the vital spark to animate all interior decoration, private or public. The book in hand is intended as a brief guide for the woman who would understand her own type,--make the most of it, and know how simple a matter it is to be decorative if she will but master the few rules underlying all successful dressing”

Excellent. Did you know that three men in a boat was originally written in all seriousness?

On the subject of the arts I decided to utilise both The Practice and Science of Drawing, and The Notebooks of Leonardo di Vinci with the intention of drumming into myself the basics of drawing. So far I have a foot and a mountain range. Neither one looks like it could carry much weight. If all goes well then when I’m finished here I’ll upload the full series from across the months, from the very first toe nail to the very last flower petal, or what have you. I have to say that this has been a tremendously interesting experience so far. Potentially the most elusive when transcribed from thought to words. In reading about the practice of art, in practicing it and in contemplating it I’ve found myself thinking  a new form of thought.  Now, imagine so;

The walk begins when you set of from the restraunt with your lunch portioned away in your hard Chinese lunch box. This lies at the bottom of your small rucksack. Next there are a few books, laid down horizontal across the lunchbox to keep it from moving. The thick woollen shawl divides the litre of water and the litre of spicy, sweet, Chi. A few apples, boiled eggs and chocolate bars lie in the top of the bag along with a candle, matches and a knife. You‘re dressed in three layers. Thermals and socks, jeans and t-shirt, and jumper and boots. The jumper is bright blue and extremely warm. The boots are a simplistic leather design, and are extremely warm. The path arrows forth from your shoes and winds its way up past the tiers of houses. Your eyes continue upwards, beyond the outskirts of the village to the farm land. Up to the beginning of the tree line, then where snow mixes against the green and brown. Finally up to where the tree and rocks pitter-out to rest on a shinning snow covered ridge, against a blue sky.

The walk takes a few hours, and a one point you realise that you’ve walked through a different temperature bubble. Around your shoulders gentle snowflakes flicker and the trees part like curtains. The wind whispers of Narnia and the old childhood lands of childhood. The sun glares as you turn around and you raise a hand above a pealing nose to examine the rocky ground leading down to the village. About a dozen feet down the path (not, quite literally) the snow is melting in the air before it has the chance to settle on the land. Catching your breath, resting warm muscles against a rough, old rock wall you squint toward the opposing mountains. Towering a good bit over six thousand feet Kailash and her sisters shrug of trivial concepts such as ‘horizon’, and muscle together against the encroach of animal life. Pushing of once more you turn your back on the mountains and walk by the rocky stream till its source at a gentle spring. Gradually the path and fertile, tiered plots of lands are replaced with raw forest and deep snow. Eventually you tire of your crisp breath hanging in the air and leading you through the sun and snow dappled forest. Finding a tree that’s thicker than a double bed, you sit down on your shawl and slowly cool down in the sun.  You have your fill of food and drink. Then when you’re satisfied you once again begin to soak in the silence, and the smell of the cold forest. Your eyes settle on the distant mountains and, captivated with the desire to surmount them you study them with the intention of capturing them on paper. Slowly the silence thickens and as the terrain becomes more familiar you start to project mental tools onto the Himalayas, trying to understand in your mind what you need to do portray with your hand. You look at the forms as they are, and at the same time try to concentrate on them as they would be when composed with pencil. 

It’s not a particularly easy thing for me to do, and I certainly can’t claim that it’s producing much effect with regards to the end product. However it certainly is a new way of focusing my mind. I suppose that it isn’t rare at all to have flash pictures within the realm of the imagination. I think the distinction in this case is trying to hold the essence of the thing I’m perceiving until it can later be poured out on canvas. When surfing my dreams are of waves, when skiing they’re of fast runs, and now they’re of pencil lines.

Anyway I’ve been slowly hammering my way through the artistic texts, experimenting after a few dozen pages. I’ve also been forced to experiment with my music. Just as I long ago ran out of fresh western movies and so have taken to watching Hindi films, so my own music library has slowly been dying of fatigue since my arrival in India and I’ve supplanted it with new material.  I’m currently listnening to a lot of Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkle, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and David Bowie. As well as classical, instrumental, electro-swing, post-rock and trance. I have Harel to thank for most of the above. I have to say that for trance to enter my musical library, even as a foot note would require some unique set of events in my life.

Harel is a few months older than me, and has spent the last three years in the army, spending the lion’s share of time as a medic. Consequently when I expressed the idea of getting into shape he had one or two helpful tips. I’m currently engaging with a few different techniques, including three hundred sit-ups and press-ups per day, in three sets at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Though if we do end up going for an extended hike I skip that portion of the days exercise. For me, this is a pretty substantial advancement. The last time I perused a healthy life style was in Australia and that ended up with me getting snapped on the rugby pitch, and developing splinter fractures in the heel. Now I can manage to pull off a hundred sit-ups without stopping. Though of course the story wouldn’t be mine if I didn’t foul up in some manner. The set up takes me about forty minutes to do slowly, with all the appropriate stretches. I exercise before meals to spark up the metabolism and because my hunger then acts as a natural reminder. Hence a few days earlier, when the weather was much more enjoyable I went up onto the roof to exercise before lunch. For one, brief, period I’m amenable to trance. After a slow hour, and half an hour lying on my stomach cooling down, I go to eat. The next day my back is raw from that hour and a half of sun, and there’s a sharp tan line at my boxers. Sit-ups are not fun. Continuing this series one further, the doors here seem designed for people a full head small than me, and said designers seem to delight in scattering on the floor random rises, or lowering the ceiling by a foot or two for no apparently pressing reason. My head has collected a few bumps. On a final tangent the hot water here is reliant on the electricity, and there is by no means any guaranty that you’ll have electricity in the day. Three or four days can go by, by candlelight and freezing showers.

The day seems to acquire a lot more of a schedule here. The nights become so cold that sleep in a warm bed with a hot water bottle is preferable to almost anything else. Even reading involves me swapping hands every page or so (and sitting on the other one)to  stop them becoming stiff with the cold. But because I’m well rested, and because the day light hours seem to gain more value here I get up a lot earlier than down in the heat of the planes.  One of the ways that I’ve been filling up the blocks of time is through directing my attention towards the grammatical structure of Hindi. Although my raw vocabulary isn’t bad, I’ve become very frustrated with the unnatural manner of my communication. With a hankering to develop comprehensive sentences and a clearer manner with which to communicate information I’ve put down the dictionary and picked up the ‘Hindi basics’ that originally left me so uninspired. It is, however, a lot more bearable now that I have words to play with.

I also teased Harel into playing a chess match, and sparked an addiction within him. My chess set is now getting a lot of use. In the same way that my thoughts with regards to drawing are developing in interesting ways, the same can be said of my time playing chess. There’s almost a pleasant correlation between how pushing the exercise is, under Harel’s supervision, and how punishing his defeat is on the chess board. We have both been balancing the scales of late though and Harel won his first game against me since out arrival. With another month for him to become familiar with my style i expect to lose a few more games before searching for completely new techniques. Just as before I’m done I intend to be in better shape than I ever have been before.

Me and Harel were introduced to the local government orphanage upon our arrival. We’ve been spending out time with the 26 girls, but we intend to divide out second month between the boys and girls both. There’s 8 boys. Ranging from 5 to 13 the girls were very reserved on out first visit until we started splashing around with Hindi. Now they’re accustomed enough to chastise us for not arriving on time. Baring the games and the exchange of language me and Harel spoil them quite a bit with sweets. Yesterday we went shopping and cooked for girls. (It reminded me of making cakes with Aunty Joyce and Uncle Joe when I was small.) With the help of the chefs at the orphanage we made honey and milk chapattis, (rather than just the basic water type) potato and egg plant, raisins, cashew nut and onion curry for their dinner. Supplemented with Samosers and  hot ,sweet rice balls from the local Dhaba (tea house) we finished with hot chocolate milk and cookies. Cooking for thirty cost me and Harel around £5 each. The girls existence is quite constrained, due to a serious incident they’re momentarily prohibited from going out of the confines of the orphanage except for trips to school. Although there is lots of laughter to be heard, the institute is quite Spartan in a absent minded manner. The walls are painted and decorated with posters, but both are worn, dull and lifeless. Both could be improved with minimal effort and expenditure, just as the food was. And since it is coming to spring the thought of fresh new flowers potted in on window ledges comes to mind. There’s a few other things that i have on the mind as well, but I’ll pour over them if they materialise.  God, on a slightly embarrassing note it turns out that when twenty six cross legged girls muster up their peer pressure it’s neigh on impossible to withstand. I fear that for a few of them I’ve provided a scarring first impression of western dancing. They found it hilarious.

It’s now coming up to 5 o’clock here, and the probability of us going to Spiti tomorrow is rather remote. The weather remains extremely dull and the cold has kept us in the confines of the room for the day, with the occasional venture out for sustenance. However to travel in Spiti you need a further visa. A few days ago a traveller stopped me in Reconpeo and asked me if I could help him get the visa as you need to be in groups of two or more. Since I had plenty of spare time I agreed to accompany him and get one as well with my companion footing the bill, since I had no need for one and he was happy to pay for the expediency. That evening the discussion focused on Spiti and Harel decided he’d go with some other Israeli’s and get a visa. So we now have just over 10 days to go a travelling. Barring the scenery I’m most interested in scouting Mt. Shilla and in exploring Kye Monasteries and one or two of the more remote Monasteries in the hills.

 As April runs into May I want to focus on my exercise, the language and my drawing which apparently hinders the time I spend writing. I’m also considering making a run to Manarli when the Spiti excursion is over, with the intention of catching the last of the skiing season. Even if i don’t go I’ll still be in good spirits because it means that the snow has receded, and so it brightens the odds of Harel being able to accompany me on the first of the mountains that I’ve been training for. Konner Kailash stands at 6,473mts, and hopefully by the end of may I should be trained enough that if the snow gives us its blessing by buggering of, I’ll stand atop Shiva’s dreadlock. (As mythology holds it to be.)

Even if both my intention to go skiing and climbing are foiled in the month of May, I still have a wonderful other fall back. Fishing. It seems that the river running through a local valley  a few hours away by bus runs with both Salmon and Trout come May, along with other local fish.

“Salmoni  or Salmon (Samo gairdnerii gairdnerri) This species thrives in the temperate, tropical and sub-tropical streams and lakes of Kashmir, Himachal (where I am!), Garwal and Kumaun. It occurs at evelations of over 1500 mts. The temperature ranges from 10oC to 30oC in its habitat. This species migrates to the upper reaches of streams and rivers for breeding. Its body is relatively short. The colour of its body is steel-blue. There occurs a reddish lateral band on the body.”

The thought of catching that fish in this region is a constant source of pleasure and anticipation. Even if I fail it seems that the British taste overlapped with the local once more with the Trout, which “has become a very popular fish.” Which gives me rising hope for a successful season.

And so life is good at the moment. It cost me about £100/£150 a month at the moment to live the basic life here, which frees up a lot of funds I would have spent on travelling for things like indulgent food and indulgent gifts, as well as enabling me to save a good proportion with the intention of climbing the first few rungs of Everest. Though my research on that subject isn’t yet complete, so it remains up in the air. None the less it is marvellous to think that no matter what happens throughout my life, Kalpa and these mountains will remain forever a open opportunity.

            This leads me nicely to other opportunities that have now passed me by. For a long time I’ve been balancing the security of Law against the opportunities of other paths. I therefore spent my days in Shimla deeply considering the encroaching decision. The school’s terms and conditions made my mind up for me. If I accept the offer then although your attendance is not compulsory, your tuition fees are. I find myself unwilling to fork out a goodly sum to define a path I’m not sure I truly want, while I myself believe myself to be unprepared. Whilst it has seemed to be of momentous importance until now, I can’t see what would ever stop me from achieving the conversion if my heart and spirit were truly behind the decision. It feels right to wait and see if that desire will strength with time, rather than risk tearing it with too much weight now. And if I am to make that decision then I think the prep work needs to be expansive.

            The consequence of this is that in all likelihood I’ll extend my time in India till the first few days of August, and hopefully along I’ll have the chance to have a crack at Everest.

            For the now, though it’s still wet my my fingers are getting cold and I’m bloody hungry having subsided on oranges and a portion of Momo’s that Jamie brought me, I’m going to go eat. The Samoser’s are the best I’ve ever tasted.

Some people are colour blind, some kleptomaniacs, I’m very absent minded when it comes to maintaining a long distance bond with people. So, for those who i should be contacting, know that an intrinsic part of the person your missing is the appalling ability to engage with long distance contact. All apologies, and much love.

To the moon and back,

Paul

Ps. Meant to add this somewhere. Forgot. Need to create a title so we’ll call it...

“...Don’t                                             l                                         is for boring people...”  

                   be a smarty pants          l               seriousness

                                                          and

Thou shall not try to mimic another person’s style.

Thou shall not entertain people who just spit bile.

Thou shall try to work an international phone, do that thing with your fingers. You know, dial.

Thou shall not think that any person under the age of 30 who doesn’t know what to do with their life is lost, some people can just smile.

Thou shall not forget that anything that can be put in a nut shell, should stay there.

Thou shall not quote willie-nillie, and before speaking think with care.

Thou shall not think that something is worth having just because its rare.

Thou shall always watch beauty pass, but never seem to stare.

Thou shall not say your goodbys when things get hard, pack a bag and alight.

Thou shall not deliver spite, or consider something to be trite.

Thou shall not consider any one point of view to be ‘right’

Thou shall not forget the Himilayers overhead, capped white, crowned with stars at night.

Thou shall not make repetitive bleats about thy travel.

Thou shall not make repetitive bleats about thy travel.

Thou shall not make repetitive bleats about thy travel.

Thou shall learn not to babble.

Thou shall not think that just because the wind is blowing, you have your answers.

Thou shall not forget ideas providing purpose; also propagate paths malevolent as cancers.

Thou shall witness the experience, but not interrupt the rhythm of the dancers.

Thou shall not disperse your youth without sampling life as one of the chancers.

Thou shall not look at life with naivety, via a rose-coloured hue.

Thou shall not focus on how things came about, but what they mean for you.

Thou shall understand your emotions and acknowledge them when they begin to stir.

Thou shall not put men and women on odious pedicles, no matter how great they are, or were.

Scroobius pip is just a man,

Steven Fry is just a man,

Terry Pratchet is just a man,

Alex Supertramp was just a man.

Jesus Christ was just a man,

Your Great Granddad was just a man,

Your own Old Man is just a man,

The next big thing,

Become just a man.

Thou shall not think that just because a person has lived longer, they know more.

Thou shall not think just because you have youth on your side, there is no Natural Law.

Thou shall give equal thought to what you have in life, rather what it could be.

Thou shall experience what it means to be free, and be willing to pay the fee.

And thou shall always,

Thou shall always,

 always make children...

...smile...

XxX