Finally managed to locate some bottled water for the team in this wonderfully cosmopolitan capital city. 'Thanks, Gunga Din,' was Owen's typically Owen reaction. Just my job as regimental water beastie. 'No, but really. You don't need to do this anymore, Ianto. You don't need to fetch us drinks or what not.' Was his not so typically Owen response this time. If I don't, who will? 'Well… probably no one… Helpless gits. We'd probably all die of thirst and all, I'm just saying…' I know what you're saying. Thanks. Owen just nodded once and left, clearly embarrassed by this outburst of emotion. He was back a minute later for the bottle of water.
So now we're all ready to head out… that's it, is it? Go to Tibet and find Shangri-La. Simple. Well if it really were that simple, people'd be doing it all the time. Someone would have built an all-inclusive resort, a spa. So why haven't they? Could it be because it's a myth? Doesn't exist? In any case, why the rush? The myth's been around for years (thus the whole 'myth' status and not just book-of the-month standing.) So, it comes down to the question: does Harold Saxon want us out of the way for some reason? Or is he just plain crazy as a hatter? Rest of the team thinks I'm being paranoid. They're all choosing to assume that there's something to this 'mission.' Exactly what, we'll just have to wait and see. So until then, here we are in a rather cramped rental vehicle, heading up into the misty heights of the Himalayan Mountains. Owen is driving and the rest of us are trying not to look at how close the tyres are coming to the edge of the road (and thus, the edge of the mountain, and further thus, the edge of our very lives.) Tosh is up front, scanning (hilarious, considering that we have no real idea why we're here, let alone for what we should be scanning. But at least she's up next to Owen, so she's happy.) That leaves Gwen and I squashed in the back with our guide with an unpronounceable name. We're calling him Phil. Phil is a little on the creepy side. He has a tattoo that's just barely visible under his collar. Get the distinct impression that seeing the rest of the tattoo would make me glad it keeps itself hidden. He looks at you only when he thinks you're not looking back. While his English is understandable, there's something about him that makes me feel there's more he isn't saying, a lot more. (And that it's probably all things we wouldn't be happy about hearing, anyway.)
Stopped for lunch on the road. Wasn't much, just sandwiches and a thermos or two of coffee, but it was nice to stretch for a bit. Owen asked me, 'You're never going to stop this, are you?' Stop what? 'Fetching drinks and food… looking after us.' Nope. Can't have you all getting de-hydrated, dropping dead and the like. It's not proper. Just not done. Besides, if I let you all fend for yourselves and you did drop dead, who'd be left to save the world? Anyway, it's already getting colder than I think I've ever been in my life. Shudder (quite literally) at the thought of how it'll be, further up. The hamsters in their dog kennel are doing fine and enjoyed their lunch as well. They say they like the cold air, and the scarf I put in with them is 'warm and snuggly.' Gwen was complaining that the scenery was all starting to look the same and she was getting bored. Mentioned to her that it's coming-up on time for annual employee reviews, she could always start working on those. She got that bug-eyed look of her's and said she didn't want to do them. Told her she had to, pay raises depend on it. She asked me to do them, or have everyone write their own. Told her she's our leader, she can do this. Just to be honest. Really, is there anything THAT negative to say about anyone? (Aside, maybe, from Owen shooting Jack, us all opening the Rift, Tosh and her pendant-alien girlfriend, not to mention that whole Cyber-basement thing of mine.) On second thought, maybe I should have taken her up on her offer to let me write my own. Think we're probably getting back on the road (well, 'road' being a relative term) in a few minutes, so I'd better get the lunch-things packed-up.
Phil was sorting around in the back of the SUV, right near the hamster carrier, until he saw me watching him. Then he ducked away. Really have a bad feeling about this guy. Finally figured-out who he reminds me of… that guide in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. So, later on, if he betrays us and we find him stuck to a wall with spears poking through his head, I'm on the next flight to Cardiff.
The landscape is changing steadily as we ascend. Phil says that where the road ends, so does the day. While at face value, that could just be a way of saying he isn't sure in miles or kilometers, from him it sounds much more ominous. Get the sense the others are finally starting to see what I mean about the guy. Just plain creepy. Wonder if he's a caretaker somewhere… when there aren't tourists in need of an escort. In any case, crammed in the back as we were, Gwen and I started-up a chorus of "Are we there yet?" just to annoy Owen. It worked.
We've made it to the end of the first day and despite Owen's mountain driving skills, we're all still intact. Our creepy guide was right; the road did end just before the day was ending. What he failed to mention, however, was that the road ends where there used to be a bridge. Bit of a plunge there. Luckily, Owen had managed to see it and slam on the brakes just in time (or more to the point, luckily Tosh looked-up and screamed, causing Owen to do the aforementioned actions.) In any case, we're here now. This is where we set a base camp for tonight, and it is from here, that tomorrow we'll set out on foot. Just keeps getting better and better. Brilliant.
Phil says he doesn't read or write English, but I've found him with my diary. Hope he got to the part about spears through his head.
Splitting up to explore around the new camp area, Tosh asked me to help her out with some scans. Owen negated that, saying, 'Nah, Tosh. Ianto's on my team.' Team Owen was apparently responsible for gathering firewood. But at least it was nice to feel wanted, fought over. And speaking about feeling wanted, at least I've spent an entire day without thinking about Jack. (That one doesn't count.)
The cold here… I finally understand what people mean when they say chilled to the bone. The sun has been down a while now, and there is nothing to suggest that it had ever been here, or that it will ever return. The cold and the dark, it's like they combine, make things worse than either alone. All I want to do here is sleep.
As we sat around the fire after dinner, Tosh and Owen got into an argument over who is more observant/detail oriented. They took turns asking questions, trying to 'stump' the other, the prize-winner receiving the last of the cookies. Tosh asked what colour was Jack's coffee mug (ouch, more thoughts of him, but not my fault.) Owen answered: 'White. No… blue.' Tosh: 'Well, which one is it?' Owen: 'Oi! It's a trick question, isn't it? Its stripes. Hah! Okay, my turn. How many stripes?' Tosh: 'You're kidding. Who on Earth would know that?' Seven, I tell them. Four blue and three white. Wasn't looking at them, but I could tell they were all staring at me. That's when Owen asked how I would know that? Was there something going on between Jack and myself? Between Jack and me? No, there's nothing. Making coffee… I just stare at the mugs too much. Gwen has 18 stripes. Owen: 'Sad, Ianto. You lead a sad, sad life.' You don't have to tell me. But, there is one bright spot in the darkness that is my life. Owen: 'And that is what, precisely?' I win. I get the last cookie.
Gwen asked me if there really were 18 stripes on her mug. No idea, but at least I stopped the argument. And I really wanted the cookie.
Creepy Phil is off in his own little tent, for which I am immeasurably glad. Tosh asked if we should invite him to sit with us. Three voices in unison answered a resounding: No. The conversation eventually turned to tattoos. Gwen wondered if Jack had any… anywhere. Said "No" before I'd even thought. Think I followed quickly enough with a plausible justification for my rapid answer: if you we're to live forever, would you go putting permanent marks on yourself? They seemed to agree and the conversation moved-on. At least I know now, that Jack and Gwen had never…
Early morning in the Himalayas is colder than late night. The sun has come-up again, but begrudgingly, it would seem. It's not making things any warmer. Regardless how it may sound to the others, I'm going to suggest that the four of us share one tent from here on in (If it gets any colder, may even suggest four of us in one sleeping bag.) Really couldn't be sure it'd make a difference anyway. Just too cold. Feeling more than a little out of my element here. And I don't like it, not at all. Never liked camping.
Back in Lhasa, when she couldn't sleep, Tosh had borrowed my book (and when that hadn't worked to cure her insomnia, she'd borrowed my cards… and me) in any case, appears she's left my book back at the hotel. (Now I'll never find out if Frodo can ever destroy the One Ring.) So, for the rest of the trip, that only leaves me my Selected Poems of Dylan Thomas. Owen keeps threatening to use it as a fire-starter (apparently not a fan of D.T.) in response, told him Gwen's asked me to write his yearly performance review. He just scoffed and said a few expletives in a generally negative context. Think he asked Gwen about it later, while I can't be sure what she said, he hasn't threatened to burn my book since.
Put on another layer under my anorak. Think that must be an even dozen by now, but I'm still cold. When I came out of the tent again, Owen just laughed and asked if I'd brought along anything I wasn't currently wearing. I said yes, but as soon as I figured-out how to put it on, I'd be wearing the coffeepot as well. Really still don't like camping. I stood there, arms held-out by the layers of clothes, "I can't put my arms down!" Gwen burst out with a peel of laughter and asked if she should triple-dog-dare Owen to touch his tongue to a metal flag-post. Sure Gwen, if you've got any idea where to find one out here. Suppose I should document, this was the first movie reference Gwen has recognized… ever. We're proud of you, Boss. No, really.
Packed-up the part of camp that's coming with us, leaving some of the heavier items behind with the vehicle. A consensus has been reached, one tent from now on for the four of us (Sorry Phil, creepy tattoos in a tent of their own. It's not that cold.) A few miles from where we had spent the night, we've met-up with the rental llamas we arranged for in Lhasa. Wonder if CDW insurance is available on pack-animals. In any case, at least they make it easier to haul the equipment. Why does it all have to be uphill?
As I've had some time to think, hiking through this untracked frozen hell (that is my life as well as the landscape) I think sorting out how I feel isn't as complicated as it seemed back home. Jack is gone and there's nothing I can do about that. He's gone and I still love him. Also really nothing I can do about that. (As D.T. wrote: 'Though lovers be lost love shall not,') But in the midst of it all, I can't be lost, myself. Think I did, for a while, loose myself. Lost in Jack. And it was wonderful, but it was also sad and a little lonely. For a while, after Lisa, I existed only as a part of him, it was easier that way. Might be there still (and still happy) if he'd been at least a little committed, if he'd been interested enough in me, enough to stay. But I seemed to be a part of him that he could live without.
'I have been told to reason by the heart
But heart, like head, leads helplessly
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And when it quickens, alter the action's pace.'
Think maybe it's time for a change of pace. One things for sure, Jack had a way of quickening my pulse. If it is true, what they say, if it really is darkest just before the dawn… as dark as I've felt, as of late, I'm due for one hell of a sunrise. On the bright side, found I've quite a talent for being able to write while wearing ski gloves. While not the most brilliant of talents in South Wales, it has saved me from some rather illegible diary entries (or at least frost-bite.)
Stopping only for short breaks and a short lunch, we've spent the day on the trail. That's a problem here, you're tired and want to rest, but if you sit down, you immediately feel colder. Get up, move-around, build-up body heat, and you might as well have just kept hiking. This is all a metaphor, isn't it?
We've made it to our second camp, but there is no joy… as we have experienced a tragic loss. Can hardly bring myself to write about it, even now. As we traversed the steep and winding trail, the ravine fell away to our right, dropping steeply and quickly into the misted depths below. Owen, flustered by his ever-spitting llama, yelled, startling it. The frightened creature backed away from him and into the one Gwen was leading, which in its own turn, stumbled and almost fell. Its pack, twisted by the encounter, shifted and opened, spilling its contents down into the bottomless crevice. Was it the food? The water? Tosh's tech kit? If only. No, it was something more vital to the Torchwood mission, more tragic. How can we bear this devastating loss and not turn back? Gwen and Owen are still arguing who is responsible for the loss of the expedition's entire supply of coffee.
Phil tells us that tomorrow we'll reach a village where we will be welcomed for the night. Somehow, when he says it, 'welcomed' sounds ominous. In any case, the thought of sleeping in something other than a tent does hold some amount of appeal.
We're up in the clouds and mist completely now. It makes for a foggy-grayness that reminds me of mornings back home. Can't see that we're up on a mountain anymore. All perspective and relationship seems lost. There is nothing in the distance to see, only what's in front of me. There's no sunrise, only a hazy glow marks the horizon. The Lost Horizon. Lost in thoughts of old movies. Think it's the one I remember. Find Shangri-La, find love, but you can never leave… (No wait, isn't that Hotel California?) In any case, makes me wonder, would it be worth staying? Stupid question. Of course it would. I would.
Maybe it's the old paranoia again, but I don't think that's it. The others seem to have been discussing me while I was out gathering firewood this morning. They stopped talking as soon as they saw me. Tosh started moaning about all the work she could be getting done if we we're back in Cardiff, 'bout how that Rift predictor program won't write itself. Seemed a little like one of those 'Shhhh, there he is, talk about something else' moments. Then again, maybe it's just a lack of caffeine. Owen and Gwen seemed desperate to get me to promise that I'd find some coffee for them. Not just that I'd get them the coffee, but that I'd specifically 'promise' to do it. Don't make promises I can't keep. I can't guarantee coffee here. Seems Tosh understands that… unless her 'Told you!' was in regards to something else. Could very well just be the altitude messing with everyone's heads, mine included. Hey at least there's still no real appreciable headache! (For a want of anything better, they should put that on the brochures: Come to Tibet, it'll help your headache.)
We've arrived at the village, the people we're very friendly, right off. Must not get a lot of excitement, if a handful of travelers illicit such a response. Several young girls latched-on to me within moments. They seem to like stroking me. Strange local custom? One of them looks a bit like Alesha. After a little while, the girls' mothers arrived and have been trying to feed me. Overheard Owen complaining to Tosh that he never gets welcomed like that. Almost told him it's the snarl he does, but thought it better to just let it go. Found that with the locals, just a little smile and they start to coo and grin. Must be a Tibetan thing.