I’ve been walking for nearly two and a half hours now and I haven’t seen a single living thing since waving a bye to Sonam at the village.
The only thing that resembles life is the wind, which every now and then blows fiercely across the sky and floor. I can feel the cool dryness of it through my shemagh, before the sand hits me. Millions of little dots of grit, expertly weaving their way through fabric and pockmarking my face.
This turn in the road. From where I sit, I see it run flat for the two kilometres or so and then rise and rise until only sand is visible on the horizon. The altimeter on my phone says 14,821 feet.
Porridge and water and more sand. Breakfast.
It’s only when you are here do you really understand how the scale of things both makes you feel alive and intimidates you.