Ulrich & Me

Kathmandu International Airport
I stood at the center of the arrival gate, scanning anxiously through the crowd; peoples of all shape and sizes behind the guard rails, waiting for their arrivals. My heart was pounding. Where is Ulrich? We haven’t seen each other for nine years. Had he changed much? Had I changed much to him? Then, a familiar cheeky whistle resounded to my left. I turned, and there was Ulrich! Sunglasses propped up over his tousled hair, revealing a set of thick eyebrows that framed his bright blue eyes within his angular face. He was flashing me his trademark impish dimpled smile.

“Uzi!”

Brushing through the blurry crowd, I ran towards him and jumped into his open arms. He returned my enthusiasm with an embrace so tight I had to grasp for my breath. Finally we pulled apart and faced each other. His twinkling eyes met my teary eyes – we seemed to have gone back in time, to when we were just kids; carefree in our innocence, helpless to our emotions and oblivious to the world when impulse took over.

“Ahhh, look at you, look at you, and look at you!” My small chin cupped between his warm hands. “Come’ on. Let’s head out. We have a lot to do.”

We stepped outside. The sun was just setting in the horizon. Everything around us tinted with shades of gold from the sun’s rays. What a sight. To indulge our senses further, I reached into my jacket, took my cigarette case out and popped a cigarette into my mouth while offering one up to him. He let out a huge sigh of relief at the sight of one and playfully snatched it from me. The sun made her exit as we stood watching her transform into twilight, all in a cigarette minute.

Ulrich and I grew up in the same town – a small but bustling town rooted in a spirit of community and enterprise. Neighbours were cordial and supportive of each other, but also gave each other their privacy. It was a friendly sort of town, I must say.

The kids in this town ironically, weren’t quite as amicable. Kids often hung out in groups; where membership was exclusive and open only to those who fit into their construct. Uzi didn’t care for these groups; while I was an outcast. Let me explain.

Uzi’s family, which comprise of his mother and father were liberal folks who loved people and often held evening dinner parties in the front yard for the neighbours. Uzi was like his father: nonchalant, witty and worldly with an endearing youthfulness. He always hung out with the adults. I had seen him sipping wine on some of these evening affairs. Uzi wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but he had a kind of unique and boyish face. His athleticism won him the admiration of the boys and stirred the imagination of just about every budding dame ready to blossom.

I, on the other hand, had a pleasantly cute face. However, it was offset by an eye disease that occurred when I was three, by which I had to wear thick plastic glasses. I also started to develop a somewhat strange facial expression. I would squint my eyes and pucker my face every time I needed to concentrate my view upon anything over thirty metres. My personality at that time started to develop around this physical condition. I became shy and reticent, avoiding contact with other kids and any rigorous physical activity. It was also for this reason that I became a target of much taunting. Loud kids hounded quiet kids.

I had been getting my weekly dose of bullying for several months now. After school, kids would catch insects and put them in a box. Once a week, they would wait for me along my route home from school, round me to a corner and drop the insects all over me as I whimpered quietly. On one of these days, Uzi passed by and saw what happened. He let them finish their ritual; then called them over. They disappeared behind some bushes. I never found out what had been said or done, but that was the last time the kids picked on me. Instead, the next week, Uzi was waiting in the usual spot, with a bicycle. I put my head down as I passed him, peeping cautiously sideways for any attack.

“Hey there” Uzi called out “Need a ride?”

Well, the rest is history. As if under a magic spell, we connected, and became fast and steady friends. Years went by. Life drifted us to greater distances apart. Different schools, different cities, new people and new experiences. But we always kept each other informed of our lives. Firsts, the crazy people we met, just about anything funny and interesting under the sun. He became a photographer for a major design book publishing house. I started to re-design my physical construct, and in that process also became an industrial designer, for new technological consumer products. We led busy, urban lives.

Then, three months ago, in the middle of the night, I received a call from Uzi.

“Hello?”

“How’s it going, kiddo?”

“Who is this?”

“Take a freaking guess, love"

“Is this Uzi?”

“Good guess.”

“Uzi! How are you?! What’s doing? I haven’t heard from you since you were in London. Must you always call so late?!”

“Hah. Take it easy, chick. Hey, I am in a rest house in the Gobi Desert. Can you believe it?! I met desert people, not excluding beautiful exotic women born of the desert. The folks here keep camels like the folks in suburbia keep dogs. But listen, I am heading out to the Himalayas next. I want you to meet me there.”

The Himalayas
And here we are, in Nepal, embarking on our Himalayan trekking adventure. Our main goal is to ascend Poon Hill. We had chosen to trek in November, about a month after the monsoon season, when the weather is often most optimal. Jampa, a Nepalese, is our trek guide. Our route started from Nayapul, to Tikhe Dhungha, Ghorepani, then to Poon Hill. We covered about fifteen kilometres each day. The weather was kind to us. Every now and then the sun disappears behind a mountain peak, by which the temperature drops rather drastically. But aside from that, we had clear skies and beautiful weather. Our trek was fantastic. We passed along forests, waterfalls, valleys and lakes. By the first day, I felt convinced then that a human being can only do themselves justice to experience nature of this magnitude face-to-face, and no way else. Every night, we would set up tent. Jampa would start a campfire, and we’d sit around the fire for dinner and long conversations with Jampa, mainly about the Himalayas, Nepalese tradition and culture. Jampa was a seasoned guide, and conversed with us in heavily accented English. He had a face and skin that was rugged like the mountains. We never asked, but we figured he’d be in his late thirties. He told us many stories; there was one about the myriad of ways his mother used to invent for cooking yak meat and how they’d still taste the same to him because all they had was salt for seasoning. There was still another about an ‘eccentric’ European trekker with big, bright red hair that he thought was a fur hat and wondered why he was always washing his hat instead of his hair. Jampa quickly became our cool mountain friend.

On the sixth day, just before sunset, we ascended to the top of Poon Hill. The sun, viewed from a certain position revealed an unobstructed view of the peaks of the Himalayan Mountains. To be surrounded by beauty like this, was extremely touching. I sucked in every ounce of air as far and deep as my lungs could take and shouted to the mountains,

“WOOOOOOO.”I was filled with joy.

I turned around and looked at Ulrich. He was sitting with his left leg stretched straight, right leg bent, with arms on right knee. He was staring out at the mountains, smiling. The sun was gentle. His hair caught the rays, and played off his dark sand beige hair. He had an unusually serene expression.

“Uzi?” I went over and sat next to him.

“Hmm, love?”

I slapped his thigh in jest. “How have you been, man? We’ve been so focused on this mountain we haven’t really caught up with each other. What’s been happening?”

Then, I caught a strange look in his eyes. They seem to look old and sad all of a sudden.

“Well, I, I haven’t got much time left. I am at the terminal stage of prostrate cancer. I am going to die sometime soon kiddo. That is why I wanted to make it up here. It is one of the few places I wanted to visit before I die.”

With that, he kissed me gently on my cheek, smiled slightly and laid calmly down on the rock, returning his gaze into the mountains. It was so matter-of-fact. He didn’t even seem to ponder about the heaviness of what he had just said. But I felt that there was no other way to tell someone you were going to die. That night, we hugged each other closely to sleep. The starry sky was our blanket. We kissed for the first time; for the longest time ever. It was a beautiful kiss; one borne not out of animal desire but of spirit; of friendship, understanding, honesty and sadness.

6 months later

Uzi had always brought me to places I’d never thought I would go. This time, he has brought me to his final resting place. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Dear Ulrich, I will always remember you. And I will always love you. So long Ulrich.”