High river blues

Sun, 31 Aug 2008
It could be that with the conclusion to my last missive, i somehow gave the impression that my life revolves around alcohol.Nothing could be further from the truth – and am I not a lover of truth? In fact my life revolves around the spiritual path and how to get back on it, being non-judgemental, charitable good works, getting laid in a psychologically sustainable fashion (or indeed any fashion)and desisting from masturbation when I fail at all of the above. Just so’s we’re clear.

We’re 3 days into the high river lockdown, and checking the river at both ferryman point and broken bridge end twice a day has made it clear that ‘wishing it don’t make it so’. We’re not exactly dehydrating and worse things happen at sea, but the chicken is finished, the eggs are gone, the mushroom rice is now onion rice, the veg noodles now onion noodles 9oh the deprivation!), and the dogs are starting to eye up the cowshit….You know you’re in trouble when ‘Shanti’ – the only other functioning guest house in low season – start loading up carrot in the pizza to make up the weight!
There’s no way across – not even the coracle men (the unacknowledged hampi gangstah mafia) will risk a ‘bamboo massage ‘ from the police for a crossing. 4th day and a curious admixture of ennui and zen acceptance has descended upon us.By this time ***n will be back from ^^^^^ and similarly stranded on Hampiside – so I figure the best possible use of my time is to steal a march on him, conquer the Elephant on my own and thereby royally piss him off for all time!
Once again tho it’s no go – so far but no further she says, so i slink away like a mangy cur denied its rut against a table leg, and settle for a 360* traverse, trying to find the fabled North West passage. It doesn’t exist. We’d always figured, ***n with the practised eye, me playing devil’s advocate, always ready with a ‘yes but…’ or a ‘how about…’ that the best approach is to climb up the Elephant’s tail,(Easternmost end) and trek West along the spine.Looks easy. Question is – can you get to the tail?
No. Of course, we could hire Timo – local boy, styles himself as guide during high season – to lead us up through the the caves(about which more later) and thence to the summit – but is that not like getting spruced up on Friday night and telling the taxi driver to take you straight to the brothel?
Yes. There is no easy path. A more blatant metaphysical analogy I cannot give.
5th day and we’re down to rice, onions and tap water. The Kingfisher is out. No shortage of rum though – because I ain’t as dumb as I look! I am however getting bored – because the thing about stasis – there’s only limited mileage you can get out of it. So its time to invoke some long-dead Egyptian Gods, make like sheep and get the flock outta here…….
‘I bless Ra, dooby wooby…. sunset silk, i bless Isis cow’s mothers milk….
I bless Horus, the big bad hawk…..I bless the earth upon which I walk……..’

6th day and as if by Magick the waters have receded, the trees, festooned in their canopies with reeds and rubbish from up river can breathe again, and I re-acquaint myself the ferryman – an important office…as the Greeks and Romans coulda done told ya. But they’re dead so fuck ‘em.
Look around, suss the the going rate, check in at Shanti (Hampiside)guest house, Rs150.
Bump into ***n and Mark, a Saath Lun’dun geezer……establish the bona fides, share the supplies, catch up with ***n and because we’re drinking get kicked out of Sri whatsisguruface restaurant…..

‘Sa Lundun fing…..Innit.

Adam x
‘this is where the rubber meets the road!’