07.19.2013 - 07.19.2013
How many versions of this photo have I taken already? But it gets me every time.
We have to scrabble up those rocks in a little bit
We made it!
The Red Cuilin Mountains behind
Why are rocks so beautiful?
Let's contemplate that question
Whoo, that's some view
But this is probably my favorite picture of the day
I wish I had a panorama stitching photo app when I took these pictures
The jagged top of the world
It's a little dizzying looking down there
That's where we came from! (I think)
Another range, another day
Our beautiful campsite
* * *
Well, I don't want to write, being sleepy, but if I don't Chris will ridicule me, and I suppose he'd be right to do so.
Three Dutchmen kept me up all last night with their noisy motorcycle entrance and burping and laughter and erratic conversation, just the kind to allow you to fall off into a doze before erupting and sending you into a startled wakefulness. I longed to act the Robby and ask them, Can you please shut the fuck up? But I'm not Scottish, or Robby, so I seethed quietly in my tent and screwed my earplugs in tighter. When I woke in the morning I was surprised to find three youngish guys rather than the be-paunched middle-aged men their gruff, slow laughter suggested. Even now, closed away, they become old again, three friends form uni days reliving the glorious, wife-free past. How can such young people guffaw like that?
Maybe all the European sophistication would fall away if I could understand them in their native languages. The Dutchmen speaking English are all politeness and good cheer, never the type you'd expect to burp so obnoxiously all through the evening and night, as though a campsite at midnight shared by fifty people were no more than their friends' living room. But now I'm sounding like a stick in the mud. Let them have their fun, Chris would tell me, but then he slept soundly through it all.