The night is full of stars; bright eyed like a child at a fair. We sleep on the ground on thin bed sheets. I can feel the pebbles jabbing into my back. I can smell the vague fruity smell that sometimes comes travelling by with the breeze. I shut my eyes and I feel as if a bright light is closing in on my face, but when I open my eyes there’s nothing.

In the early morning hours, we wake up to start trekking. The stars are now moving away; they fall behind like the backward-travelling trees alongside the train tracks. The sky is pink. I pack up things into canvas backpacks. I drink water from a flask, trying to concentrate on every small action so that I can remember it later.

We start walking, heavy footed and uncertain at first. I turn behind, checking to see if I have forgotten to soak something up. I see the depression in the soft ground where we slept, roughly our size and shape. I look at it and walk away and soon enough the wind blows away whatever little of us was left there.

A backwards tumbling auto with six people and a driver who whistled. We smelled of sweat and mud and wet grass. The auto took us away from the spider webs and yellow crabs and muddy trails.

It was a long day; stomach cramps and treks means you're probably not going all the way to the top. I wished I had though.

We played with a dog and fed it Parle G biscuits. The dog wouldn't let you go when you tried leaving. It was the nicest of dogs and the nicest of moments.

If you close your eyes and want to relive the day, well then, you know it's a day well spent.