June 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Closer My God to Thee
Well, we finally got there. All we had to do was take a quick flit left through Nepal after nicking through Bhutan and Bob was our uncle. But we had to go through Blakiuh first (before we got to Katmandu to look for our Sherpa guide at base camp); and I must know: Did anybody see the sign I saw outside a babi guling, um, establishment on the left in Jalan Raya Blakiuh or did I hallucinate it? There it was in all its glory, in English, far from the nearest Desa you'd be likely to find thronging hungry backpackers eagerly seeking out its delights: "Pig's Vagina". "Yes!" I immediately cried, "Yum! Stop the car you fools, the Hash can wait! How can we possibly miss out on this gourmet delicacy, this rare treat for discriminating diners? Does anybody have a crisp chardonnay on their person?" Something this dizzyingly absurd, difficult to believe, possibly damp and drizzling had to be a sign of what was to come. And it was!
At the site we were addressed by a hare of a decidedly Gallic persuasion, were instructed that the short would be 1 1/2 hours long, the long of 2 hours duration, that it would be flat and easy (a hor hor hor), that Pucak Tedung meant "summit temple", told how to pronounce it (poo chuck ted oong), and not to disrespect cows. Without further aduh, Le Homme Absurd ( smartarse literary reference) sent us on our way up the first of many grueling "ups'' on a set of flagstone stairs and down onto some fairly hair raising muddy eyries with sphincter tightening drops on varying sides. The views from this height were, it must be said, spectacularly vast, and possibly the best yours truly has ever - almost - seen. We were after all in the clouds and visibility was quite low. As some wag shouted (I have no idea who) "You don't see views like this every day of the week, or today either".
The countryside, all of it, was indeed 150% amazing, even in the relatively flat (as promised) parts, the scenery was truly arresting. There seemed to be few local folk around at these remote elevations, well, not exactly crowds (and therefore less garbage). We chanced on only one underwear sporting gent who seemed jovial enough if not a tad nippy. If any of us had lost ourselves, we probably would have had to ask a cow, in the most respectful possible way of course. "Excuse me Madam/ Mr. Cow" we would have enquired in chocolate brown Etonian (or possibly "How now brown cow?). "Could you possibly direct us to the nearest purveyor of fine pig's vaginas?" because of course we would have forgotten how to pronounce Pucak Whatsimidoodle and we would have been so hungry due to extreme exertion weld have eaten anything. Just as we can't have our pig's vagina and eat it too, this was possibly the most challengingly difficult, mostly uphill, mostly muddy and at times even a mite scary "short" I personally have ever done (Mr. Pickles didn't help much either, as usual), though it was also possibly the prettiest and most rewardingly adventurous one as well.
So, while my official HHH2 head band goes off to hare Octopussy for a terrific run, there were also a few choice words uttered on the way back to the car park. After almost two hours of non-stop running, power walking, climbing, struggling, wheezing, stumbling and staggering, I found myself as close to the Hindu Gods as I ever wished to be, alone in the summit temple at about 6.20 pm with barely enough light and too much cloud to see my knees let alone the temple pavilions or the paper, which at this stage was pretty thin on the ground for various reasons. How I ended up coming in after dark as one of the last stragglers when I was on paper all the way with half the pack behind me will be an abiding mystery, though I have a few theories. Agent Orange was behind, had sustained some kind of muscle seizure and was not a happy cramper when he limped in way past dark. I would not have liked to be on the magic bus back to Kuta that night.
The circle was necessarily a truncated affair with Hashers eager to get back to their firesides, jim jams and slippers, brrr. Labia, Wooden Eye and Jangle Balls did manage to raise a few chuckles, J. B. suggesting that seeing as we were so close to the summit temple and the upcoming APEC summit in Nusa Dua, our summiteering should be practiced. Various politicians were trotted out such as Wooden Eye, the Welsh Minister for Animal Husbandry, St Tits, the U.S. Secretary for Terrible Jokes, and breaking the glass ceiling, Mud Flaps, the Danish? Australian? Minister for Lycra Shorts and Volkswagen Bonnets. But we were all knucking fackered and wanted to be practically anywhere but wreathed in clouds in wet, cold Poo Chuck whatever without beer, so we made sure we weren't. Labia and Ungasan next week, hopefully from the ridiculous to the sublime…
On on.
