The top of the world is the place there is nothing taller than you. We're going from Lhasa to the outskirt with Nepal. We are twenty vacationers who leased a transport, and among us there is additionally a polio with braces. The last pass we crossed was 5220 meters, and there was the typical hill of rocks with several Tibetan banners waving in the breeze
We will burn through five days on the transport - we were told before leaving - with diners extremely distant from each other. The gathering pioneer is an American and instructs us to compose ourselves for good in light of the fact that the following stop will be following seventeen hours. By then we simply need to purchase a couple of packs of scones to the Chinese armed force shelter in which an officer is guarding the land and offers rolls.
The air, obviously, is thin, the air is overwhelming regardless of the softness we feel, and we're ungainly, cumbersome in developments, wrapped in our yak fleece coats and walk, when stop to extend our legs and piss, similar to zombies, as though we were on the moon. Something is missing, and for this situation it's not simply gravity. Yet, it's decent.
The far off scene indicates little pinnacles, which are the most elevated on the planet, yet from that tallness, they're not in any way incredible. Indeed, even Mount Everest saw from over 4000 is a lovely mountain, however surely not a colossal, or a mammoth one. From that point it's just 4,000 meters high, alongside all others pretty much a similar height.
The sky is extensive and during the evening is as dark as the darkest pitch and populated by billions of to a great degree splendid and throbbing stars. Never observed a wonder such as this; they're similar to light gaps on the dim foundation of the infinite theater. The voyage isn't so natural and in the meantime even not exceptionally lovely, unequivocally in light of the fact that it's tiring. It's tiring to inhale, to stroll, to relate with others in the gathering. It's tiring realizing that we'll land following quite a while of shaking on this transport running over streets of stones and shakes, ricocheting safe amidst an unfilled view; purge above and inside.
I'm not upbeat. I'm not troubled. I'm not solid and not debilitated; not quick, nor moderate. It's the climate of I'm not; an inclination that invades everything, outside, inside, myself, as well as other people. It's hard. Everything is excellent, totally wonderful, yet in the meantime completely at the farthest point of my continuance. Not for human. I see it according to my kindred explorers. That is a position of shake, thin air, dark sky and shining stars. I'm happy I'm doing it; I wouldn't have ever experienced such an inclination anyplace else, however I don't know whether I need to attempt it again or notwithstanding coming back to Tibet.
Following five days we get to the fringe with Nepal. The fringe check point is more than two hours of confounding plunge amidst tea estates worked by Indians. At last we can see ladies dressed as ladies, men dressed as men and young men and young ladies who grin, play, work, and take a gander at us with shock. They take a gander at this gathering of twenty, including a polio, descending from the most astounding mountains to land at an outskirt post in which there is literally nothing.
In the wake of passing the migration and traditions, which are only two fighters remaining outside a void stall, we go down considerably promote until the main town, everything by walking, all at confounding drop, all amidst clean, excellent, verdant tea ranches. At the town there is nobody and nothing, only a truck conveying concrete sacks stationary amidst the soil street, sitting tight for us to get on and bring down to Kathmandu. So it is. That truck was sent from God. I ponder what web of occasions, fates, things, and all inclusive elements ensured that we in the end got down to Kathmandu.
We will burn through five days on the transport - we were told before leaving - with diners extremely distant from each other. The gathering pioneer is an American and instructs us to compose ourselves for good in light of the fact that the following stop will be following seventeen hours. By then we simply need to purchase a couple of packs of scones to the Chinese armed force shelter in which an officer is guarding the land and offers rolls.
The air, obviously, is thin, the air is overwhelming regardless of the softness we feel, and we're ungainly, cumbersome in developments, wrapped in our yak fleece coats and walk, when stop to extend our legs and piss, similar to zombies, as though we were on the moon. Something is missing, and for this situation it's not simply gravity. Yet, it's decent.
The far off scene indicates little pinnacles, which are the most elevated on the planet, yet from that tallness, they're not in any way incredible. Indeed, even Mount Everest saw from over 4000 is a lovely mountain, however surely not a colossal, or a mammoth one. From that point it's just 4,000 meters high, alongside all others pretty much a similar height.
The sky is extensive and during the evening is as dark as the darkest pitch and populated by billions of to a great degree splendid and throbbing stars. Never observed a wonder such as this; they're similar to light gaps on the dim foundation of the infinite theater. The voyage isn't so natural and in the meantime even not exceptionally lovely, unequivocally in light of the fact that it's tiring. It's tiring to inhale, to stroll, to relate with others in the gathering. It's tiring realizing that we'll land following quite a while of shaking on this transport running over streets of stones and shakes, ricocheting safe amidst an unfilled view; purge above and inside.
I'm not upbeat. I'm not troubled. I'm not solid and not debilitated; not quick, nor moderate. It's the climate of I'm not; an inclination that invades everything, outside, inside, myself, as well as other people. It's hard. Everything is excellent, totally wonderful, yet in the meantime completely at the farthest point of my continuance. Not for human. I see it according to my kindred explorers. That is a position of shake, thin air, dark sky and shining stars. I'm happy I'm doing it; I wouldn't have ever experienced such an inclination anyplace else, however I don't know whether I need to attempt it again or notwithstanding coming back to Tibet.
Following five days we get to the fringe with Nepal. The fringe check point is more than two hours of confounding plunge amidst tea estates worked by Indians. At last we can see ladies dressed as ladies, men dressed as men and young men and young ladies who grin, play, work, and take a gander at us with shock. They take a gander at this gathering of twenty, including a polio, descending from the most astounding mountains to land at an outskirt post in which there is literally nothing.
In the wake of passing the migration and traditions, which are only two fighters remaining outside a void stall, we go down considerably promote until the main town, everything by walking, all at confounding drop, all amidst clean, excellent, verdant tea ranches. At the town there is nobody and nothing, only a truck conveying concrete sacks stationary amidst the soil street, sitting tight for us to get on and bring down to Kathmandu. So it is. That truck was sent from God. I ponder what web of occasions, fates, things, and all inclusive elements ensured that we in the end got down to Kathmandu.
No comments:
Post a Comment