in ladakh, no matter where you want to go, even if it's at a low altitude, you always have to climb to a really great height and then come all the way down. the mountains make you climb them. and not just climb them but go all the way into them, get lost in them, wander in what seems like circles, see the roads you just crossed look like nothing but thin wrist slashes. and the mountains change color, and shape, and form. they go from brown to green to purple, flat to rounded to steep, sandy to rocky to landslide-any-second-now-y. and no matter how long you climb, there's always that one mountain peak way in the distance, standing tall with snow on it so white it's as if no one's ever touched it, and it seems to say, you'll be climbing all your life, you will. and you want to climb all your life. and one day, early at five am in the mountains, on the way to a lake that looks like someone polished the sky and laid it on the ground, with the moon on one side and the sun on another, someone turned on radiohead. and not just radiohead, but ok computer, radiohead. so i prepped myself for all the jaded non-reactionism i have with ok computer. i couldn't even remember the last time i had listened to or been affected by ok computer. those days of affection were gone.
but i obviously underestimated the mountains. because something happened in the mountains that morning. the song started. everyone fell silent (which really means something with us). three of us started singing along. the mountains stood on the sides and watched. and pressed the song like a silver fern into our mind. and deeper and deeper. gently. and we remembered all the words. we sang like we were listening to the song for the first time. the goosebumps came out under our fleece jackets. and we whispered the words. and the mountains listened and echoed them back to us. gently. i knew then i'll love them forever. the mountains and radiohead. together, they could start a fucking religion.
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