October 27, 2024, day 11
And indeed, here too I sleep like a log. My Lombard friend ignores that there may be other reasons why I can't sleep at night at any altitude, for example visits from damned sciatic exhibitionists. Yet during the night my personal sciatic exhibitionist disappeared. But thinking about it, since the climb to Thulo Syabru began, that is, since the second part of my journey began, the silent part, the part expressly dedicated to solitaries, the sciatic exhibitionist has relegated himself to a song. Did Shiva and Buddha do me a favor? Better not to sing victory. At breakfast, my Lombard friend asks.
- How did it go? -
- I feared worse, - I answer. She looks at me with her eyes wide open. During the night, someone had repeatedly let out violent coughing fits. It was her.
After breakfast, I say goodbye to the Lombards, they continue beyond the lake, towards Valle Helambu. Other guests also leave. In the guesthouse, I, Padàm and the Sardinians remain. I treat myself to a tour of the lake. I am the only one to treat myself to that tour, the Sardinians enjoy the warmth of the wood stove. The man, named Michele, gives me some off-trail suggestions, he had already done it the day before I arrived. When I walk in the mountains, off-trails are my favorite. Maybe not only when I walk in the mountains, maybe my life is off-trail too, unmarked paths, improvisation, a spirit of adaptation, no certainties, no reception facilities, few people to share who knows what with.
The shores of the lake are frozen. On the surface of the water, sheets of ice streaked with cracks sway. A few meters from the shore, the water changes color, from transparency to an intense blue, down there, under the still surface of the water that reflects the surrounding peaks like a mirror, there is a precipice, the lake is very deep and dangerous, the whirlpools have claimed some victims, confirming how the sacred goes hand in hand with danger. The lower shores are dotted with small monoliths formed by many stones one on top of the other, they are the most discreet signs of the typical enthusiasm of those who go to the mountains, signs that hide philanthropy. an unwritten code shared by all walkers, futuristic messages delivered to the wayfarers to come; in a fit of absence, the walker stops, looks around, picks up some stones, places them one on top of the other, some lose their balance, he puts them back in a more stable equilibrium until he places the smallest pebble on top and the monolith is made and whoever comes after will find that monolith and will understand that someone has passed by there, that after all he is not so alone, that in his solitude he can continue his journey certain that the path is the right one, a path furrowed by a crowd of many solitudes.
Voices. Noises. Joyful screams. Flirty high notes.
There is a small concrete area with a small stupa. There are some people, boys and girls. One of them has wet hair and is wearing a swimsuit, another one is apprehensively placing a beach towel on her shoulders; two other boys are in the water, one of them is screaming and laughing, laughing and screaming and then diving in.
I go back to my guesthouse. There is a Hindu holy man sitting on the floor in the lotus position, he is wearing an orange tunic and a corolla of flowers, he has a long black beard. We look at each other.
- Namaste! -
- Namaste! -
Someone has rung a bell. The frozen screams of the boys in the water. Then silence.
The plan includes another night here at Gosaikunda but with Padàm we agree to go down to Laurebina after lunch and spend the night there. I liked that place a lot, which then allows us to break the descent, the journey is now coming to an end, for the last day, that is the next day, a long descent towards Dhunche awaits us.