Before leaving the East Coast, we decided to make a short trip to the Yosemite National Park to have a glimpse of Nature’s beauty in the United States. Fortunately, the snow which fell there during our rainy week in San Francisco had already disappeared when we pitched up our tent under the towering pine trees. And we were rewarded with three beautiful days of clear skies and crisp air — what else could we wish for when hiking?
To me and probably the whole Westernized world — minus the Māoris — Mount Ngauruhoe will only be remembered as Mount Doom, just like Nemo is the new name of the clownfish.
Difficult, then, not to imagine Frodo and Sam clambering up the rocky slopes of this volcano as I am peering at it. And where is the cave they entered to throw the Ring into the lava? I can’t see it. What? It was only a movie?
Only a few hours drive away from Te Anau, we knocked at another door: Leanne and Richard, the parents of my friend Ben, had once hosted me after Ben and I had flown away from the aftermath of the Christchurch earthquake; and, coming back to Queenstown, it was a pleasure to see them again. They warmly welcomed us at their new house, and, being true born and bred Kiwis, enlightened us with a lot of opinions about life in New Zealand, a country so far away from the rest of the world, at once isolated and protected by its distance.
Rummaging in our travel photos, we decided that it was time for yet another Unpublished episode. Again, just random pictures that are worth publishing but did not fit into our posts… A short travel through time and space, back to Asia — it already seems so far away — and beyond!
Intrigued by the pictures of Milford Sound that haunted us from tourist guidebooks and postcards, we set out to discover New Zealand’s most famous fjord on our own. The Milford Road, probably one of the most spectacular highways I ever drove on and which leads — as the name suggests — to the sound, invited us to stop at many sites to absorb the beauty of nature. Once arrived at Milford Sound, a two-hour cruise took us through the fjord and out to the open sea. The crisp air, the morning sun and the misty clouds hanging in the green mountains composed a serenity that brought deep pleasure to my heart. The pictures only convey a small impression of the whole scenery, but being there, living it, proved me once again how precious traveling is, allowing you to feel those places.
I trudged, step after step after step, as I had for the last four days. Even though we had left the backpack at the Machhapuchhre Basecamp, leaving me with my sole camera bag, and even though the seemingly neverending stairs had been replaced by a simple upward trail, every slowly negotiated step felt as if I were running for dear life. We were at four thousand meters.
There is something deeply serene in the exhaustion brought by physical exercise, something that every sportsperson has probably experienced. The need to draw air, to breathe as much as possible, surpasses every other at some point — even if you might have to manage it while deflecting a blow, or simply not show it. And you are left concentrating on making your body work, with no other thought in mind. Step after step after step.
The time takes another meaning. Instead of being carried by the rhythm of your problems, worries, desires, tasks, you turn to the delicious breeze cooling off your sweat, the chirping of the birds, the comforting regularity of your shoes hitting the stone. It could be seconds or hours before you look around you again, and it does not matter one bit. There is nothing else than you being a part of the world, no more and no less than anything, rightfully existing and breathing, and there is nothing else than the simple beauty of it all.
Um 6 Uhr früh klingelt der Wecker und reisst uns aus dem wohligen Schlaf: Ein neuer Wandertag steht bevor. Die kühle Morgenluft und die noch vom Vortag verschwitzten Trekking-Kleider laden nicht gerade zum Aufstehen und Anziehen ein. Doch da müssen wir jeden Morgen durch, und so schälen wir uns, wenn auch mit einigen Seufzern — denn der Schlafsack ist doch sehr warm und kuschelig — aus dem Bett.
