I could claim too much work, and that would be true. But mostly, I needed to recover. Because this time someone made me climb mountains. Yes, I am talking plural here. As in two. And we are talking serious mountains, >9,000 feet above sea level.
Usually while traveling I follow three strict rules:
- mountains from the bottom
- churches from the outside
- pubs from the inside
This time I broke two of those rules, and that required some serious resting afterwards. At 9,000 feet above sea level cigarettes are just not the same. And while climbing uphill, I sounded almost like one of Glynsky’s steam engines. You guessed correctly, this isn’t for me.
I knew that before, and for the next 20 years I will stick to above mentioned rules again. But someone wanted to convince me, that mountaineering is fun.
So, is it?
Well, you climb up a mountain, which requires paying a lot of attention, where you set your foot. Thus, you have neither time nor eyes to look around. All you see is rock, or rocks. And when you take a break, or reach the summit, what do you see?
More Mountains, more rocks. How exiting is that?
Next annoyance, you have to shlep all the stuff you need or want with you. So, no surprise when looking at the menu. And extra work. Since mountain climbing is somewhat dangerous, alcohol is out of the question. Again, where is the fun in that? And then you have to climb down again.
But like with all other activities, the most important issue are the people. Looking at the people participating in any activity always tells you all you need to know. And this is where mountain climbing is like jogging: nobody is having fun. Or at least they are all hiding it brilliantly from their faces. No smiling, no laughter. They all have the same strained, stressed, worried look on their faces.
Why that should be fun, beats me. But if you enjoy it, keep going. It means less people where I like to be, in cities and on sea.
With a cigarette and a drink,