My little Everest

I used to read everything about the mountains, put them on them for a while, but now I only walk through the stories of non -useful graves. From my most likely childhood, I remember a slight cardiac arrest when I first saw the Špik group in the forest – Martuljek after the left bend. In elementary school, a poster was glued in the lobby, which celebrated the first Yugoslav conquest of eight thousand, as you also know that it was in 1975 and the summit was Makalu. Then there were years when I caught something about the hills only from my father, who neutralized his valley at height. I myself with the hills, what hills, mountains, I met more intensively in the years when I was no longer threatened by the fate of Christ. I conquered the Julian, Caravan and Kamnik spokes along the usual paths.

I tackled the more extreme ventures, of course, into the shame of the climbers. For several years, I have also been weak and half -blind in sports climbing directions. I was not talented.

However, I was constantly reading everything that was translated into my mother tongue or about the mountains of the defective in Slovene. And he was amazed at how it was possible that all our mountaineers, the Himalayas, whether they came from Gorenjska, Styria or Primorska, as they choose. I was later dedicated to this secret, but I would not explain that it would not be awkward. But I was very skeptical of a herd enthusiasm for a book addressed Route. I found nothing more in it than a Slovenian translation of the long -known thoughts about paths, goals and relatives. Obviously, I am too close to the deeper understanding of people who achieve more.

Oh, how many stories I devoured about Everest, from ours from 1979 and later, through Messner’s achievements and reflections, of course, of course, when the South Egotrip behavior took so many lives that the tragedy had to be recorded in more, specifically conflicting books.

It was all about reading from Kathmandu to the base camp under Everest after all. I wouldn’t want to see landing at Lukla Airport because it is probably terribly. How to walk to the tent, where they are dedicated to a friendly weather window for the top of the world, I can only guess.

Visiting the starting point for Čomolungmo was one of my feverish wishes, but the fate of it deprived of it. Not too much, but enough that my hike at about 5300 meters is not intended. Because my head could hurt, but I wouldn’t know whether because of its height or canceled my installation in the beta. Which would be annoying.

I just read the book of two great Slovenes, who, as for the mountaineers, are more or less pathetic, looking for these and those grale and metaphysical impatience, enumerating their decades of climbing and friendships. Through their stories, I visited a lot of the world, checked the descriptions on Google and stared at the scenes from Velebit, and especially from Canada. Oh, how much would I like to be there, but not climbing, Magara with her specialty. Not the one from which to read the paths, but with the one that would drive her. But it probably won’t work in this life either.

One just agrees that he has to adjust his Everest. It can be 2864 or 13 meters in height, can be 42 or five hundred miles in the distance, it can, gods, take the depths of the sea or soul. And it is hard for me to go out of my tongue, because I negate myself, maybe sometimes the truth is more important than the goal. Path like a streka and as Switzerland.

I have not been following the mountaineering ventures for several years, but after the last book I read, I nevertheless typed the inquiry about Sagarmata’s base camp. A fan of providers spread in front of me, who bring me safely, and the Lukline traps are not mentioned. But if you believe it or not, I didn’t even look at the price.