The long road to Rekong Peo

Watching the mountains take shape from beneath my blanket, reluctant to move, wait for the alarm. Doze. 
Coffee on the balcony, blue skies and clear air, another coffee and finish packing. 
A day of movement. 
Down the quiet hill, the daily influx still an hour away, pausing, listening to the river, tyres on tarmac, distant horns. 
Another morning of sunshine and heat, the extra layers redundant for the moment, descending to the main road, following the flow downstream. 
Then Manali bus stand, waiting for tickets for the Rekong Peo bus to go on sale, wondering which bus, which seat. 
Seat eight. Middle. Ouch. The make of bus I'd expected, fixed seats upright, though cushioned these days, still there's the thought that it's going to be a long eighteen hours if the bus is full. 
Then in Kullu a platoon of soldiers get on board with all their gear, an abundance of rifles and submachine guns, bags piled high at the back of the bus, blocking the exit, the bus full, standing room only. It's been an hour and a half, seventeen to go. 
And the route takes a different road, longer, single track and passing places through woodland as the valley falls away and the journey winds on. A full moon hanging bright and heavy between the hills, gone again, the resurgent dark spotted with the lights of implausible dwellings hanging beneath summits and ridges now dark against the last light of day.
And on through the night we go, vast arrays of stars in the valleys below, the moon casting silvered light. 
Meeting the Shimla road, widening tarmac above rivers cut into the living rock, disappearing where recent avalanches have deposited memories of that road which led to Rekong Peo in the murky past.