Getting my Trek Legs: Bhagsu's Waterfall

I'm in trekking paradise, so I decide to try out my mountain-legs and take a short trip to the waterfall just above Bhagsu village, where I'm staying. My body and I haven't really been on speaking terms for the last few years, but with yoga newly-found for me, I decide that my body and I should try to form some kind of relationship.

At first it's a bit of a “hi, it's nice to meet you” walk, a fairly casual stroll past the shops of Bhagsu village. The sidewalks are lined with tables, just as in Mcleod ganj, although here it's fairly difficult to figure out the theme of these shops. Down in MG, the theme is fairly simply: Tibetan Buddhism. It doesn't venture all that far away from that. But these Bhagsu shops are selling everything from light-up plastic toys to cheap jewelry to knick-knacks that will probably hang in a window in the West. Oh, that's right- the theme is money. By sitting there smiling at the passersby, subtle communication is emanating from these shopkeepers: I rely on you for survival. Please buy my stuff.

I shuffle past a public swimming pool, thinking “ha! And you locals pretend you're not warm, with your fuzzy sweater-vests and hats!” To one side is a Hindu mandir, and I pause to ask some lounging old men “Krishna inside?” No, no, this is a Shiva temple. You're in the mountains, Missy. Next to a river (I probably should have guessed). A look of disappointment flashes over my face before I can suppress it, and I try to make up for it quickly with a half smile. Just keep on walking, Kelly.

I reach the river and pause to watch a group of monks washing their robes in a stout waterfall. Huffing and puffing, I climb up towards the bigger fall, where groups of tourists have gathered for pictures. It's getting warm, and my librarian sweater fans out behind me, limp and tired, like an aging superhero's cape. A goat chews mindlessly on a cliff above me as her kid has a drink.

At the very end of the trail, just before the waterfall, a giant boulder stands in my way. I watch as an Asian woman in socks and sandals tentatively tries to climb over and gives up.

Somehow, I make it. I sit down next to a red-clad monk, who smiles at me and says something. “You did very good,” an old Tibetan man translates. How did you get up here?, I can't help but wondering.  We're all giggling about how wonderfully sweaty I am as I cool my face with water from the stream. Blame it on the altitude. “Too much ghee,” I say, and the old man chuckles.

My body, like a new pet (or a neglected old one) is still a bit wary of me, but there is still plenty of times and plenty of treks on which we can get to know each other.