Downhill From Here
Another lesson learnt: I am not as fit as I think I am. And probably never was.
At the foot of the hill straddled by Mukteshwar itself sits Kapileshwar, home of a revered seventeenth century temple. With not much else to do I thought I'd go take a look.
The descent was easy: three hours through jungle trails, the stones scattered across the path flecked with mica, silicon deposits, which give them a silvery sheen. With many of the animals seeking warmer weather elsewhere it was quiet, but for the occasional encounter with local people going about their daily business. Once my guide and I crossed paths with a squadron of Kumaoni women, the saffron colours of their saris standing out against the dull winter greens of the vegetation.
The temple itself was worth the trek down the hill, with a frontispiece decorated with a carved lintel plus engravings of elephants and lingas. A pair of curious local children came to check me out, adding extra interest to the photos (these will be developed and posted later).
The sting in the tail was getting back up the hill. It swiftly became obvious that I was not capable of managing the gradient, and even with my guide Chorta carrying my bag I had to stop every few steps. I began to worry that I wasn't going to make it.
To make matters worse, we ran out of water and I was unable to communicate with Chorta that we needed to backtrack to the roadside stalls we had seen (not that they sold anything other than chai anyway). Eventually, as I painfully tottered my way along, a passer by was able to run up to Mukteshwar and brought back a bottle of water.
However embarrassing, the experience brought home to me just how tough conditions are here in the Himalayan foothills. I'm just a city boy and to the Kumaoni people who climb these hills every day, burdened with firewood and water pots, I raise my hat.
