The Love Affair

A strange thing happened to me the other day. A friend of the family sent an email out inviting me to a 17 day trip to Mount Kailash and Lake Mansarovar in September. Venkat, the sender of the email, is an avid mountaineer and participates in multiple treks every year. A couple of years ago I had expressed to him an interest in going to Lake Mansarovar and although there have been opportunities in the past, the timing was never right.

You’re probably thinking “so what’s so strange about being invited to a trek to the Himalayas?”.
I’m getting to that part in a bit.

As some of you may be aware, I am off to spend a couple of months in New York towards the latter part of April. I’ve always talked shamelessly about my love affair with the city, written several posts about it and probably bored many to near-death. It’s been 16 months since my last visit to New York and you would think that I would be euphoric about being there in a few days.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m definitely looking forward to it. I may even go to the extent and say that I’m excited. But the ‘strange thing’ is that (here it comes) I’m way more excited about spending 17 days in the mountains, 5 months from now. My mind has put New York into the back burner.

I had already decided that this time I was going to do things in New York that I probably hadn’t done before. I have no idea what they are but I’ll figure it out. Probably do ‘off-off-Broadway’ instead of ‘off-Broadway’ or ‘Broadway’. Find high-in-character, low-in-glitz, scrumptious-in-taste restaurants. Take photos in streets that have no name (corny I know). I’m starting off by staying in Flatiron, a location that is quite new for me. The rest, I guess, will follow. Oh and I have the Fine Cooking class that I’ve signed up for, friends and some family coming to visit me while I’m there. I know I’ll have more than a blast.

So maybe it’s the excitement of going to a new place, the serenity of the Himalayas, the being-one-with-nature that has got me more excited. I know I’ll be eating basic food, lugging my luggage, staying in tents, freezing my butt off. Doesn’t sound like too much of a holiday, does it? Then why is it that every time I think about it, my heart almost begins to pound? We all know the answer. I’m just playing with you guys!

Strange thoughts are now being processed in my mind. Thoughts such as ‘this could be my last trip to New York in a while’. It costs me a lot of money to visit the city that I love, largely because I choose to spend a significant amount of time there and renting a place in Manhattan is expensive. Maybe I need to channel those funds elsewhere and discover new loves (or hates). Until a few days ago, it was a given in my mind that I’d be making a trip to the Big Apple every year. I used to make fun of this friend in Chicago who, every summer, went with his family to North Carolina. Never went anyplace new because it was tried and tested and they knew what to expect. I could never understand it. And then I think that, am I really being the same way? Should I be making fun of myself now? I know it’s not the same thing because New York isn’t my only vacation of the year. But still.

Is my love affair coming to an end?
I have no idea. But I figure I’ll have the answer in a couple of months.