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A winding road of thoughts.

A winding road of thoughts.

02 July, 2019; 21:34

No photograph or combination of words can ever truly describe or explain the seemingly-irrational and unbelievable beauty of Ladakh, India. The nearly perfect counterpart to New Delhi’s humid, hazy, embrace, Ladakh is host to harsh, jagged, mountains, vast expanses of unforgiving desert, and nothing but the sound of chattering birds, human conversations, and an occasional cow.

02 July, 2019; 5:47

I woke up to a realisation this morning: we are in India. It seems to be hitting me over and over again, as a crow repeatedly drops a nut onto a road in hope that a car will crush it with its heavy weight. The experiences that await us are the treat; the earthy and juicy goodness encased and hidden within the nut, granted only to those who ceaselessly reach for the seemingly unreachable.

10 July, 2019; 11:30

I am now sitting at the top edge of an achingly dry hill, with naught around me except meager shrubs, bulbous terra-cotta boulders and earth, and the occasional and sporadic springs of lavender-hued desert blossoms. While the others are only a few meters away, they feel like distant lives carried by the soft breeze from a faraway land. While I never doubted the beauty of this hidden gem of the world, I am still struck by the passionate adoration that I feel for this land, so at odds with the climate to which I have grown so accustomed.

14 July, 2019; 8:08

The village of Tar is… utterly stunning. It would seem that with every time that something more beautiful does not exist, Ladakh opens up another clam and reveals yet another magnificent pearl. Like the portals to Narnia and the worlds of Tolkien, beyond the dry crown of the mountains hid a gem, a small, expertly-hidden emerald only visible to those who make an effort and are not afraid to tread new and unknown waters. The vast expanse of hard and dry terrain of our journey is perfectly juxtaposed with the quaint and green stony pathways bordered with delicate willows and poplars that dance softly with the silky breeze as well as a sweet little brook that runs along and beside our boots, gurgling happy little melodies. I would not at all be surprised to see a dragon paring high above the mountains, or a hobbit chasing a dream, or a group of faeries walking together on nothing but air to a melody imperceivable to us, mere humans.

19 July, 2019; 8:17

So here we sit, in small corners throughout the Ladakhi guesthouse, bound together by the anticipation of our next voyage just like handwoven yarn that is now tied about our wrists. I wonder what is to come. We have already hit the halfway-mark of our programme. What adventures lie just beyond the bone-dry and armadillo-backed mountains that encase us within the minute, fertile oasis that is our new home?