Into the Mist

My final post...

On Monday, I sat on top of an elephant and rode into a community forest in Chitwan. I sat facing the back left end of the elephant, hanging onto the wooden box-like structure which held me and 3 other friends and rocked back and forth rhythmically with each step. It was early morning, and you could only see 20 feet on all sides on account of the thick mist. The mist was a result of the changing temperature and the onset of winter. All of us were bundled up as best we could in mix-matched layers, only daring to take our hands out of our pockets to snap a photo of some animal or something.

We wadded (or the elephant really) across a small river, climbed the bank and entered the forest. In some places these elephant rides are called "jungle safaris," but this one hour "adventure" did not really seem to me to live up to that name. Sure, we saw some other wildlife: some birds, and a lot of deer. But I didn't take many photos and found myself paying more attention to the elephant's tail. It swung like a pendulum with every step, occasionally changing course or swinging higher to attempt to tap my friend's leg or shoe.

After an hour we started heading back to the elevated platforms where we had first climbed onto the elephant's back. We saw the outlines of 5 peacocks within 100 yards of the platforms, but the vibrant, striking colors were hidden by the mist still as thick as before.

As shapes and physical features like trees and the river faded behind me as if in a dream and all I found myself doing was staring into the mist.

Just as I was the first of my friends to slowly and gingerly stand and step back onto the wooden platform, I am the first of those 4 friends to arrive back home and take the first shaky steps on solid ground again.

I have chosen to relate this short story about the mist with you because I feel that it sums up my time in Nepal. Day after day I was living completely and freely in the present with only a vague idea of what the future held and at the same time realizing the elements of my past and their influence on how I perceived my present. The ideas of uncertainty and the dream-like nature of the mist showed me the importance of living and loving in the present. Nepal and the people I encountered there and on my flights back home taught me show much about themselves and myself and yet the more I learned (and continue to learn) the less I know, it seems. More questions have arisen, but none more prevalent than the one I hear at the end of each and every conversation: When will I go back?