The Lonely Old Reprobate

I mentioned previously about family visits to Chiaves in the Italian Alps when I was in my youth, I have always been a fantasist, and so it was all those years ago that the family owned house we stayed in there was often full. On one memorable occasion, because it was overcrowded, I volunteered to camp out in the garden that night, and that night it rained, and it poured, but ‘I was the tough guy’, I could handle it, I lived in Lancashire where it rains all the time, even on sunny days, so I knew I would be alright.

 But as the night wore on, the clouds piled up, and the wind whipped up a fury, the air changed as it became more and more charged until the static had to release into the thunder storm it had been threatening. I was cool about it, I was tough, remember? And then the thunder rolled in, and with it the lightning, the air itself was alive and crackling, and as the storm came closer the timing between lightning strike and thunder roll  duration shortened , until they were simultaneous and my spirit broke. I dind’t want to show weakness, but I was scared. 

We all know thunder and lightning, it is an essential part of our weather systems, but I had never experienced anything quite like this before. This wasn’t Lancashire with it’s rolling hills, this was the Italian Alps, Mont Blanc was not so far away, the highest peak in the range, and the valleys between the mountain tops are deep, and in a thunder storm they form a sound box bigger than any man made speaker. And when the thunder cracked, the valleys roared back as if the gates of hell had released its most foul demons.

I was twelve, and I was petrified, so I gathered my sleeping bag and hid among the stilts the house was built on. The storm still raged, but I was safer there than in the garden where I convinced myself the demons would find me.

The memory is evoked because the Monsoon just arrived, about an hour ago. It wasn’t Biblical as so many descriptions I have read, but with it came the winds, thunder and lightning, and because I am in the Altai Mountain Range, there is that bellow which brought me to my keyboard, only less dramatic, and in no way demonic. 

The rain soaked terrace outside my door

The ceiling fan dropped out with the electric and the already intermittent internet, but with it, came the earthy smells of the land eagerly soaking it up, and releasing the resin smells baked hard by sun and dust, and the birds are singing, and the air is clear and fresh and most welcome, and I am not sweating nearly so much.

On the way here, as we approached Kumbhalgarh, Mannish, my taxi driver was telling me, how arid and dry the landscape typically is, and how after even a short burst of rain it becomes lush and verdant. What he told me reverberated, and reminded me of what one of the staff at ‘Marshalls Corner’ had said to me, just a few short days before. There had been a couple of light showers in Jaipur, they arrived early in the day before I was properly roused, and which, for a bloke from Lancashire, I thought nothing of. But he told me how lucky they were to get it.

The whole reason I came to Kumbhalgarh, is because it is in the hills above the plains of Rajasthan, so I can avoid the Monsoon. Perhaps I will come to value the rains, it hasn’t been so long since I escaped the Lancashire damp misery and cold, so it doesn’t yet hold the same significance for me. 

Where I lived in Lancashire, was a few short miles away from what has been defined as the wettest spot in England, Dunlop Bridge, a hamlet on the edge of the Trough of Bowland, and there is no shortage of the wet stuff there. I guess living so close to, and being so hemmed in by the miserable wetness for such a long time, it has given me a romanticised appreciation of the desert climate where I am now.

If it stays like it is at the moment, I won’t mind it so much. The rain stopped about half an hour ago and already it is dry again outdoors. I can live with that, it is certainly fresher, the 40degree heat has dropped to a cool 30, and the breeze is lovely, so that’s a win. And if it gets worse, I have only paid the hotel for one week in advance, so it will be easy for me to pick up my rucksack and move on again, if I don’t like it. The tourist season is over, so accommodation won’t be difficult to find, and the people are so welcoming anyway. They are so glad of the business you bring, and nothing is too much trouble for them.

Occasionally I wonder what the hell I am doing. I’m not a kid. I think to myself ‘what are you thinking? A 66 yearly nomad, with no particular plan, and no final destination, no one to turn to, and no safety net to catch me if I have a problem’. Well do you know? One benefit of being brain injured is living in the here and now. My memory doesn’t function in typical fashion, I mean, yesterday is gone, as though it never existed, so I don’t carry any problems forward. Every day is a brand new beginning, and I start each day afresh, unburdened by yesterday’s woes, and tomorrow? That will look after itself, as it always has done, but now, I answer to no one, and no one else shits in my toilet, so why should that be a problem?

Of course I have a vague plan, wait until the Monsoon passes and then go to Kerala, where I wanted to go before I set off. 

I keep making reference to my spiritual journey, and the experiences I keep having along its path. When Harsh from ‘Marshall’s Corner’ sent me the Parmahansa Yogananda quote, and he mentioned coincidence. I told him the guru doesn’t believe in coincidence, I mention that in reference to Kerala, because the Uber Driver in Manchester who took me back to the Holiday Inn after selling my car, told me about Kerala, because that was where he originated, and he had fascinating stories. He told me how the jungles are still wild, and how in the past, it elephants and tigers came into the villages they would shoot them, ‘but of course, now, they are protected, and we can’t do that any more’.

So Kerala beckons, but it is only mid June now, and the Monsoon is just rolling in there. It will intensify through July and August, and taper off in September. The land will be replenished, the Ghats and waterways will be cleansed and renewed, the temperature won’t be quite so hot, and it is probably the best time of year to go there. So that’s my vague plan.

Of course, before I can go to Kerala, I have to consider my visa. I can only stay in India for 180 days, I arrived here on May second, so come the end of September my time will be up. 

What I am thinking is I can get out of India to a number of surrounding countries, stay a couple of weeks and return. My visa will renew automatically, and I won’t need an entry visa for any of the countries I’m able to, because I get 30 days on my passport alone. The cost varies depending on your chosen destination, Bhutan being the most expensive, but there are plenty of alternatives. I could go to the Maldives, but I am not looking so far ahead just yet. I don’t even know where I will be next week yet, so while it’s crazy, it’s also very exciting, and I have never felt so free.  

I spoke with my friend Keith online last night and he was telling me he wanted to reply to one of my posts, but didn’t want to navigate all the requirements the hosting site imposes. So, if you want to contact me, you can message me on facebook, or you can use my email:- tonybegolo@hotmail.com