I remember looking down. The river was about 150 feet below me and it was a raging torrent. It was a large river and the gradient was so steep that it was cascading down over rocks and boulders much more like a waterfall than a river flowing down a canyon. I remember being impressed by the immense volume of water cascading down below me, and by the sheer drop off – a straight drop down to the river. I was on the abrupt edge of the trail that had come to an end where it had been washed out by the summer monsoons. Replacing the trail was a deep slot in the side of the mountain that shot straight down to the river. The trail took up again about 2 yards in front of me. On my left side where the trail had just collapsed and fallen in a landslide/rock-fall shoot down to the river there was one little spot – a step – to put your foot on so you could jump across the debris shoot. The porters had dug this little foothold in the vertical side of the wash-out. It wasn’t even in bedrock; it was just dug into the soil, it could’ve easily collapsed when anyone of us stepped on it. It was about 12 inches long and just wide enough to support the width of your foot. I was supposed to step into the vertical shoot onto that little foothold and then long step across to the trail on the other side. And as I look at that little step, and I look down the chute to the river about 150 feet below me, I thought, “Holy shit! I can’t believe I’m going to do this.” It’s about the single most dangerous thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
I will tell you one thing – I did not like India very much.
Now I know that some people think that India is a lovely, romantic country to visit. You know there is a lots of color, and a strange and exotic culture, and mystical music. Maybe it’s because they stay in the Western hotels – desert islands of insulation against the poverty and depravity outside. The food is great, there’s clean water to drink, and lovely clean rooms with clean linen and fine furniture and sanitized pictures of India scenery hanging on the hotel walls. They foray out in little groups in rented taxis or minibuses insulated from the exotic culture that they came to immerse themselves in. They don’t really have to get that close to the people – they don’t really have to live with them. When I was there I stayed with the locals. I don’t know how you go to India and ignore the starvation, the filth, the pollution, the open sewage running through the streets, and the abject poverty everywhere you turn. I really didn’t like India very much.
Next week: My first night in India