Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The men float away. Alex and I stand in the sweltering sun and breathe freely
again. Life is direct and immediate. No one needs to know where we are, who we
are. We are no longer sure ourselves. We are just travellers in the middle of a story
from another world. When the engines start and the convoy heads out, we laugh
until near to tears and only stop when two men from the village arrive with a
massive trout and some cold naan. Ramadan has clearly finished. We offer the
men a handful of small denomination Afghanis and ask them to join us. We brew
tea, fry the trout and watch shadows move down into the valley as though the
mountain is the gnomon on a sundial. We finish our simple meal and the men
leave, their curiosity diminished by the chill mountain air that fills the valley each
evening.
Waking midway through the night, I see through the tear in the tent a dazzling
array of stars illuminating the black sky. The Milky Way seems like all that is good
and safe in life. I remember childhood nights spent secretly with my small
homemade telescope on the roof in Massachusetts while my parents slept. The sky
is so incredibly clear above me now, I can see nebulae, and areas where opaque
clouds of gas obscure what lies behind, like the impenetrable darkness that looms
in the soul even when it is most content.
