Adieu to K2

Eve, Desmon (the pastor's daughter and one of our best friends in the village) and Pastor
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A day or two later and it was time for us to leave. The pastor's wife, Eve, hugged me and cried as we said goodbye (she adopted me as her daughter after I told her my mum died when I was young). I'm still bowled over by the ability of almost every culture except Northern Europe to form deep relationships over such short periods of time. No wonder everyone else thinks we're cold.

As we pulled away from the village in our pickup truck, I felt the same sense of loss you get when you finish reading an incredible book. I'd miss the landscape, the thatched huts, the way you could grow a foot in height walking from one end of the village to the other because of the mud caked to your feet, the fresh sugar cane in the afternoon heat, eating the sweetest pineapple off banana leaves, singing in the quiet stillness of the bush.

You could grow a foot in height walking from one end of the village to the other because of the mud caked to your feet

Rosemary, the oldest person in the village, with Manasseh, one of the youngest.
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And even if I read the book again, it wouldn't be the same. I guess that's what memories are for.