This looks like India. There are vast temples covered in intricate carvings. There are mosques with sharp arcs and memories of Islamic invaders. There are crumbling walls lining rolling hills. And, of course, there are monkeys.
Camped out on a quiet patch of soft grass, we watched them pick flowers from the perfectly trimmed gardens and dance among the crooked branches of old trees. Just when we thought they were cute and gentle, they attacked.
The picnic was perfect—delicious food and great conversation. I suppose the monkeys were jealous. With one sudden cry, they ripped plates from our hands and dashed for the food. More cried from the branches above—and soon we were showered. By monkey shit.
A giant terd splattered in the middle of my plate. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore.
We decided to see the elephant bath and use the toilets. But the elephant bath was so old and dirty it smelled terrible, and the bathrooms were locked. We found bushes instead… and guess who picked a thorn bush?
Things weren’t going quite as well as I’d hoped, but spirits were still high. I sat with an Indian woman who runs miles every day, an Indian man who bikes five hours regularly, and a Frenchman who makes a point to lift weights each morning. They smiled brightly at me and made a proposal: “Catherine, you want to climb?”
I looked at the mountain. A snake of tiny steps cut its way through the forest, and people—like ants—disappeared into tiny specks as they ascended the peak. This would be a hike.
In 35 minutes, in the pique of afternoon heat, we climbed a freaking mountain. I thought I was going to die.
But the views were worth the run:
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