We are sitting on a balcony (sic) of a hotel deep in Himalayan jungle, the sun is out, and the water gushes down through a maze of huge rocks, eddying and falling in the mesmerising way as only wild water can. Just downstream, there's a suspension bridge, held up by fraying wires. Gaps in the roadway across are roughly covered by segments of tree, and the whole structure moves as if more than an inanimate construction. It epitomises where we are: functional, roughly beautiful and used. Joining us as we stroll onto the span, groups of West Bengali tourists, up from Calcutta, in their best tracksuit trousers, shirts and cardigans, all snapping happily away. The ability to compose is absent, but they're clearly having a lovely time, enjoying it every bit as much as we are. As Sarah says, "beautiful India", and that indeed is where we are. Stunning, captivating, and precious in its ability to resist the development of mankind.
At that point we realise that those badly attired Indians are after the same thing as we are when we head to the South Hams or Norfolk Broads: escaping the rat race to somewhere still pure, natural and untouched.
Pictures:
We met this little chap on our way down. Don't worry, he's only about 12 inches long and immature.
Sarah surveys the bridge.
Looking upstream. Beautiful.
Bridge looks like a dilapidated version of the start of the Inca Trail - don't you think ?
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