The mountains don’t rush you. They don’t try to impress you either. They open up slowly.
I could feel it happening as we drove in. The road curved without warning, lined with oaks and cedar, light slipping through in patches. Every now and then, a burst of rhododendron broke through the green. The air smelled faintly of damp earth. A chai stall appeared out of nowhere, then disappeared just as quickly. Nothing stayed long enough to hold on to, I just kept moving through them.
