Break away: The next adventure
Vahishta Mistry in India
The deep rhododendron forest is filled with the noise of the Parvati river and birds calling to one another, announcing my presence. As I pant my way up the trails leading through the undergrowth, shafts of sunlight spear through the canopy above me and light my way. I’m in Himachal Pradesh, on one of my favourite trails: the looping, winding, switch-backed hike leading up to Khirganga. A natural hot spring, high above the holy town of Manikaran near the Israelipopulated Kasol, Khirganga is remote enough that pilgrims and tourists seldom visit. The trail winds through two villages, where locals cultivate fruit trees and cater to passing hikers with hot cups of tea and advice. “Be careful on the river crossing,” one avuncular man tells me. “The boys of the village were playing on it and it may be weak.” The Parvati river is a raging torrent at this height. Falling in is not a good idea.
In the two years that I’ve spent travelling and chronicling my adventures around the planet, some strange tie still binds me to the mountains of North India. Maybe because that’s where I started my love affair with mountains in general; or maybe because there’s some sort of national loyalty at play, which insists that I be truly comfortable only in the land I was born in. Or maybe it’s the people, the wrinkled, grizzly, gnarled locals who are always quick with a smile and exude honesty. Whatever the reason, there’s an undeniable bond and a sense of coming home every time I visit the north.
A night passes, and then two; easily. My tent is comfortable and the goats who come foraging for grass each morning, with noisy bleating and bell-ringing, bother me not at all. During the day, I walk about in the warm sunshine, take a dip in the hot spring and take pictures. The nights are filled with moody contemplation, staring into a fire before an early rest.
This is my third trip now, to these mountains and lately I’ve been contemplating the future. This particular trip to the mountains has been a revelation. I’ve been undecided about what comes next after two years of travel and writing. (Yes, it’s been two years since I started, which comes as a shock.) I’ve seen some wonderful things and lived through a great adventure. But the question of what comes next has been looming, like the peaks around me, and I think I’ve decided that from being an aimless wanderer, one who goes where the fancy takes me, it’s now time to start walking towards a destination.
And the mountains have shown me the way. Although I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off, yet, I’d like nothing more than to spend as much of the future as I can, exploring the hidden stories of the forests and valleys in the mountains. Perhaps these very mountains, perhaps others. Broad life goal sorted, I now need to come up with a plan that lets me do this. Ideas flit through my head: start a home stay! Invite people to come hiking with you in the mountains! Organic farming! Whatever the answer is, I’ve given myself a year to try and figure it out and make it happen. If that means less travelling and writing during that time, as I save money and make plans, so be it.
This entire travel episode of my life started with me selling my house and my possessions and going out to see the world. You’ve been with me on this journey, a constant companion. It’s poetic and quite apt that it ends with me figuring out what I need to do to tie me to a piece of land almost permanently. Although I’ll be back home in Mumbai soon, putting together a plan for this next adventure, I can already taste the crisp air of the mountains. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?
Vahishta Mistry, a 31-year-old marketing professional did something most of us have only dreamed of doing. He sold his possessions and set out to explore the world. Have a question for him? Ping him @vahishta and he’ll answer them here
The deep rhododendron forest is filled with the noise of the Parvati river and birds calling to one another, announcing my presence. As I pant my way up the trails leading through the undergrowth, shafts of sunlight spear through the canopy above me and light my way. I’m in Himachal Pradesh, on one of my favourite trails: the looping, winding, switch-backed hike leading up to Khirganga. A natural hot spring, high above the holy town of Manikaran near the Israelipopulated Kasol, Khirganga is remote enough that pilgrims and tourists seldom visit. The trail winds through two villages, where locals cultivate fruit trees and cater to passing hikers with hot cups of tea and advice. “Be careful on the river crossing,” one avuncular man tells me. “The boys of the village were playing on it and it may be weak.” The Parvati river is a raging torrent at this height. Falling in is not a good idea.
In the two years that I’ve spent travelling and chronicling my adventures around the planet, some strange tie still binds me to the mountains of North India. Maybe because that’s where I started my love affair with mountains in general; or maybe because there’s some sort of national loyalty at play, which insists that I be truly comfortable only in the land I was born in. Or maybe it’s the people, the wrinkled, grizzly, gnarled locals who are always quick with a smile and exude honesty. Whatever the reason, there’s an undeniable bond and a sense of coming home every time I visit the north.
As I crest the ridge after the final, near-vertical section where you gain almost 200 metres of elevation in less than a kilometre, I’m greeted by that most wonderful of sights: a Himalayan sunset in all its glory. The peaks around me tower in grandeur, painted with the crimson rays of the dying sun, clouds flecking the sky in gold wisps.
A night passes, and then two; easily. My tent is comfortable and the goats who come foraging for grass each morning, with noisy bleating and bell-ringing, bother me not at all. During the day, I walk about in the warm sunshine, take a dip in the hot spring and take pictures. The nights are filled with moody contemplation, staring into a fire before an early rest.
This is my third trip now, to these mountains and lately I’ve been contemplating the future. This particular trip to the mountains has been a revelation. I’ve been undecided about what comes next after two years of travel and writing. (Yes, it’s been two years since I started, which comes as a shock.) I’ve seen some wonderful things and lived through a great adventure. But the question of what comes next has been looming, like the peaks around me, and I think I’ve decided that from being an aimless wanderer, one who goes where the fancy takes me, it’s now time to start walking towards a destination.
And the mountains have shown me the way. Although I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off, yet, I’d like nothing more than to spend as much of the future as I can, exploring the hidden stories of the forests and valleys in the mountains. Perhaps these very mountains, perhaps others. Broad life goal sorted, I now need to come up with a plan that lets me do this. Ideas flit through my head: start a home stay! Invite people to come hiking with you in the mountains! Organic farming! Whatever the answer is, I’ve given myself a year to try and figure it out and make it happen. If that means less travelling and writing during that time, as I save money and make plans, so be it.
This entire travel episode of my life started with me selling my house and my possessions and going out to see the world. You’ve been with me on this journey, a constant companion. It’s poetic and quite apt that it ends with me figuring out what I need to do to tie me to a piece of land almost permanently. Although I’ll be back home in Mumbai soon, putting together a plan for this next adventure, I can already taste the crisp air of the mountains. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?
Vahishta Mistry, a 31-year-old marketing professional did something most of us have only dreamed of doing. He sold his possessions and set out to explore the world. Have a question for him? Ping him @vahishta and he’ll answer them here
