Kat Out of the Bag Chapter Six By Steve Rudd

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

Support for any given country's government can be a funny thing, but never hilarious. The Maoist rebels in Nepal, in an ideal world, would have the government of the landlocked country instantaneously overthrown. They have their revelatory reasons behind such desire, or so it seems. It just doesn't seem very fair that such Maoists should allow their political perversions to affect any innocent tourists who are investing money into their country. In reality, though, high-profile kidnap cases can only make the government stick out their heads a little more than usual and listen to the rebels' ruthless demands. Or else.

All I wanted to do was to walk; to trek into the northernmost regions of Nepal and up to the border of Tibet. I wanted to lose myself. With no time to waste, myself and Yogesh - my porter - set a strict enough itinerary that outlined where we would be, and when.

Setting ourselves a target of a minimum of fifteen miles a day, this might not sound much distance to be covered on a daily basis, but bearing in mind that even a relatively minor increase in altitude can greatly affect one's energy levels, then fifteen miles is in fact a lot of ground.

Much of the first few days of walking saw us through lush, jungle-esque landscapes in the warm and wet valleys immediately north of Kathmandu. The transition from such valleys to the steeper and far colder folds of the overwhelming Himalaya mountain chain that forms the backbone to the country seems sudden, especially when the road north suddenly takes a turn for the worse, as the asphalt grinds unceremoniously into bitty gravel that is a nightmare to either walk or pile-drive through.

On foot, we persevered. And all along I thought and fought about the woman that I'd met back down in the city of sin from which I had escaped.

Like me, she was an innocent pawn in the mess that subsequently transpired, but for the time being I had to forget her unless I wanted to drive myself insane. Ideally, my mind needed to be as pure as possible as I contemplated how family units can break down with erstwhile simplicity if the families in question lay low and allow such relationships to disintegrate.

The close family aspect that held together the close-knit village communities through which I was passing forced me to re-evaluate the possibility that every family is changed forever once the children reach a certain age and differences in personal attitudes rush to the surface of raw emotions. A close family is a like a fortune to be cherished.

It hurt, then, when I realised that my family had never been there for me when I'd needed them the most. My mother, father and only brother had only ever appeared as ghosts, showing up in my dreams to disappear as soon as I would wake. My soul was being haunted, and for one awful instant every day - as soon as my eyes slit my lids - I honestly thought that my real reason to live had been well and truly greased. For this, I had my reasons.

© Steve Rudd 2004

Continued on www.thisisUll.com...... Chapter 7

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