Trekking through the blue.

I overlooked Phewa Tal in Pokhara while holding a stranger's hand, the lake that seemingly flowed into infinity was, now, an abyss of black as the night reflected it's darkness onto it. My mind was confused, the difference between the recent past to this cityscape was surreal. I had to go back to Kathmandu the next day, the ultimate city.
With that, I remembered how mere days ago, I had stood at an elevation of 3,210 metres waiting for the crown of gold and orange on top of Machhapuchhre, Fishtail Mountain, to climb the sky. I had been waiting for the sun to rise. All trekkers who come to Poon Hill expect a panoramic view of the Himalayas, refurbished with a magnificent sunrise. Unfortunately, nature isn't as predictable as we like to think it is. The fog had covered the mountains, and only snippets of the Himalayas could be seen. But when the sun first peeked in, like a shy lover looking in through the door, people cheered. It's strange, the sun is the source of all life, yet no one thinks to applaud for its arrival on a daily basis. But there, after hours and days of walking through lush forests, and past white streams, our appreciation towards life had heightened. We had woken up at four in the morning, and walked uphill for more than forty minutes in the cold, in the dark, just to see the sun ascend over the murky mountains. And it was the most beautiful sunrise most of us had ever seen. It made a neat, clean entry. No longer shy, up in the sky; tinted a blood red, it looked like a bold lover instead. Sometimes, I would get lost in the white fog as it wrapped itself around my body tightly. At rarer times, I would see the blue Himalayas kiss the sky blue as well, as they both merged into one entity.
The mountains stood naked and tall, the grandeur of their scale dwarfed the hills that we thought were as tall as time; anywhere else in the world, every one of those hills would be mountains, in Nepal, they go unnamed. But their anonymous status doesn't deter away from their importance. The locals live on their slopes, unafraid of their scale, but aware of it.
But the city isn't alight with the ubiquitous sound of the mountains' streams, and as I looked at the dark night, wishing for the sun to rise soon, I hoped that the night would wrap itself around me like the fog had done so many times.
The man finally sobered enough not to jump in the lake."I still have Everest to see" he said. I wondered why I had ever made the descent down back to the city.