The philosophy of trekking is always in the journey itself. Never the destination, although the destination is often a great motivator.
Five hours of trekking in tropical forest is seldom a venture taken on a whim. More so when it was a trail I had little memory of, albeit in a national park that I love.
And so it was that I went to Bako National Park on a particular Sunday, armed with 3.5L of isotonic, lemon juice, rehydration salts, water and a walking stick.
The first two hours is always about the self. Me, me, me. This is easy, I’m doing good, I’m having fun. Hours three and four are the longest. This is where the slope feels extra steep, or windy, or there’s too much ups and downs, or the feet are killing me, or are we there yet? At that stage, each minute lasts an hour, each hour feels like eternity. And one begins to wonder if the end will ever come. But, somewhere along the line, in those most difficult of hours, if you can rise above the vexations of being sweaty, tired, in pain and in the middle of nowhere with no cellphone coverage,no way to get home and possibly without enough water to last you the whole way, you arrive at a quiet place somewhere between zen and meeting God. It is a precarious place to be, so intangible that you could lose it at the blink of an eye. You forget that your legs are so tired they are about to disown you. You keep moving somehow. You hear your own steady breathing and forget everything else. It is an interesting place to be.
Being a novice, I you hold that trance-like state for a very short while, and just as you’re about to turn into a drooling heap of exhaustion, you reach the 90-degree slope that takes you to one of Bako’s golden beaches.
But there is no beach. The tide is in and has rushed all the way to the cliff where you stand, some 20 feet above. It is the middle of a Sunday afternoon. You are stranded at a cliff overlooking the South China Sea. Waves are crashing lazily at your feet. It is a gorgeous setting. You can do nothing but wait for the boatman to come and return you to your point of origin. There is only one option: close your eyes and breathe deep. There is nothing else to distract you.
And that is a form of zen, I suppose. I wouldn’t know. I am no expert.
