Lake Garda, Italy.

I went hiking for a week in some mountains.

There was only one week left of the summer holidays before the continuation of sixth form (and thus the descent into complacent monotony) when I made the last minute decision to accompany my father to Lake Garda in Italy. He was going there to partake in a sailing tournament, and my myopic reasoning made me initially decide against it, because I believed I would be left to the wayside with nothing to do to alleviate boredom, but then I came to the realization that that was already the exact situation that I was in. Furthermore, I needed to rid myself of the feeling that everyone gets once in a while; the feeling of ‘I need a holiday’. I craved foreign lands and new experiences, and that most wonderful thing of all: adventure.

 

Back home the curtains kept opening to reveal a grey day, exhaled breath would linger in the form of mist, and you could taste desperation in the stale air. Growing weak in body and mind, and growing increasingly subservient to the day to day whims of existence, I sought relief from a choking stranglehold, simply trying to distance myself - attempting to induce temporary respite from a smothering normality; a life that was beginning to stifle me, forcing out air from my lungs, smothering me until nothing remained besides ugly submission. My very being felt almost completely prostrated, my cognitions oppressed, and my mind encumbered by an anchored tonnage of weight. I needed the space, the empty space and the negative space. Lake Garda was perfect for me; a wilderness in which to roam was what I had pined for, I could lose myself in the mountains and retrieve myself 10 hours later. There was no depletion out there, no fumbling, no relentless clenching of mortality, no trace of people, and no notion of humanness. Welcome solitude. Welcome peace of mind.

 

It was as if time passed slower in this place; my own personal Garden of Eden, lapsed in inactivity, softly subsisting and detached from the misery of decay. It couldn’t have been any more different to what I had previously called home, and yet it felt so homely. Relishing the perceived disparity in habitat and engaging with surroundings thoroughly separate from the ones I had become too familiar with (and far too settled in), I sought to imbue my consciousness with this much needed breath of fresh air, enriching myself with clarity of thought and renewed sharpness of intellect. The pine-fresh aroma, the bright but bearable sun glare interspersed with a myriad of dappled shadows, the plaintive birdsong, and countless further subtleties all led to a general feeling of foreignness, but also an overwhelming sense of belonging. I experienced wonderment in regard to the natural world, basically an appreciation of everything untamed by man’s reprehensible ruination of innocence and equilibrium, going so far as to be an austere reverence of everything wild and everything  balanced. The isolation was probably the catalyst for these insights - I was undisturbed and therefore more attached.

 

True mountains have no manmade barriers so I had freedom of movement with no-one to impose artificial limitations on me. Of course there were paths and forest trails, but I possessed the power of choice and I could stray from the paths at my discretion. Alone with my thoughts I never actually applied much consideration to my direction and just let my legs take me where they willed. This may sound like a reckless approach because I was always lacking a plan, but plans are restrictive and they introduce the possibility of failure. I just kept searching for a way through. Every upward step made me a freer man, putting one foot in front of the other and making positive progress of some description, yet always being fully aware that there was no identifiable goal. This hiking business was not easy though; the sultry atmosphere was a hindrance to movement - the air felt thicker here, more viscid and more defiant. In short, this environment was hot and the days sucked liquid from my body. Nevertheless, I chose to keep walking, climbing up, running away and rising above, until I was satisfied with the panoramic view of the terrain around me, crumpling beneath my feet and obstinately stretching to the furthest corners of the horizon. That beautiful image still resides within my head, limned behind my eyelids.

 

Evenings were spent cycling up and down the tranquil lakeshore, watching the sky turn crimson over the mountain tops - a sight that was mirrored in the placid waters. Then, in the fading light I would wait for my father to emerge from the sailing club, always looking every bit as weary as I felt. As darkness gradually crept into the valley we would settle down in a bar of choice with a pizza and too many beers, reminiscing about times gone by. I want to be there again. By the time we returned to our tent the stars were peaked in their brightness and I would smile, pulling the whole universe over my eyes before eventually falling victim to the exhaustion born from the day’s excursions, finally allowing sleep to claim me. A return to balance.