November 2000

Getting up at 5:30 on a Saturday morning, after a totally shattering week and a rather lively 'enkai' the night before, is maybe not really that amusing. Nevertheless, I can say with absolute certainty that the day that followed the evil, peaceful- sleep-destroying 'bleep' of my alarm clock transpired to be well worth that little extra effort.

Time passed in a rather spacey blur from "bleep" to random Kainan bus-stop, from the strange mini, taxi-like morning bus with its "Is this really a bus?" thoughts to little windy streets and ALT Jeeva's quaint little pink American-style apartment (complete with mail-box saying MAILBOX). Finally, after a bombardment of Jeeva's teachers and students crying "Hello, hello, hello," we found ourselves squished into the school mini-bus, heading off into the distant misty-morning mountains towards some mystery destination - the starting point of our 30km hike.

As we spluttered and chugged along, winding slowly up and down on our narrow roughly-tarmaced route, Jeeva and I began to wake from our morning stupor. As we eventually reached a fresher, more lucid state of consciousness, it slowly began to dawn on us: uggh! - just how far from American-cottage-ville were we actually venturing? Take us home!

Monstrous green, furry mountains rose up on either side of the dusty-grey road along which we ambled for mile after mile. The sun was very hot, baking our hair, our skin, the never-ending road, and the rice fields that lay all about us at the foot of the spectacular, dominating mountainscape.

A baked-tarmacy smell filled the pine-needly air and hovered there for the duration of the day, sometimes mingling with the scent of fresh flowers or the stuffy dust of the rice harvest.

We had somehow become separated from those both in front of and behind us, and had ceased chattering for a while as fatigue began to set in. From somewhere in the distance, above the constant buzz of summer insects, we could make out the equally-constant, transcendental tunes of the music man. A teacher from Jeeva's school, he's a collector and maker of instruments, a lover of nature and creator of music- a truly magical man.

From the moment we hopped off the bus, to our short desperate sprint over the last few metres to the school gates, the entire group's morale seemed to have been balanced, carefully, between the fingers of this almost 'super-natural' man. At times when the group was traipsing along together, I watched him with utter fascination. Slightly separated from the rest of the group, seemingly in his own little world, he gently marched along, head bobbing ceaselessly to the gentle rhythm of the peculiar wooden instrument that he played, cupped within his hands. Hour after hour floated by, and all the while the music man's tender plucking of the six slender metal prongs of his instrument echoed in the air about us, an uplifting, tingling, mysterious beat, somehow utterly in harmony with the surrounding nature.

As Jeeva and I sauntered along the empty road to the music man's distant tunes, flowers in our hair, fresh mountain conkers, more flowers and music-man crafted instruments in our hands, we looked at each other and smiled, amused not only at each other's appearance but at the somewhat surreal nature of the day's unique experience.

Ten or so hours later, refreshed, relaxed and successful (with 'gold' medals and certificates to prove it), we were sitting munching delicious curry and sipping red wine in the dim comfortable light of Jeeva's cosy mini villa. A warm peaceful sense of contented exhaustion washed over us and outside night began to fall as we chatted sleepily about the day's unique experience.

Larissa Roberts

Posted on November 2000 in the following categories: Opinions, Stories and Information | TrackBack(126)