Early rise and editing photos, one more night and, in an ideal world, on the 0900 bus or a shared taxi up to Kaza. But there's a twist in the gut and a clamber of unease at the thought. Problematic when considering where I am. 


Waiting for the bus down to Rekong Peo, already thinking of Pushkar and Delhi, checking trains and buses, plotting a course. And yet there's over five weeks left and I don't even know what tomorrow holds.


Or maybe it's my focus that's gone awry, the idea of movement become ingrained, distorting these days here with an illusion that motion is a requirement rather than an option. 
As J says, it's the road which births the journey, the route left behind dotted with cairns beneath which old plans are buried.


And here I find that the connection with something older than Buddhism or Hinduism remains strong here; that there remain restrictions on movement brought about by those gods and monsters which lay in wait beyond the valley. 
If you go back a single generation you can find another cartography where these valleys are populated by creatures risen from the timeless depths beyond history and who will remain a part of this landscape for as long as belief sustains them.