A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush
Ratings3
Average rating4.3
15
Ratings3
Average rating4.3
For more than a decade following the end of World War II, Eric Newby toiled away in the British fashion industry, peddling some of the ugliest clothes on the planet. (Regarding one wafer-thin model in her runway best, he was reminded of "those flagpoles they put up in the Mall when the Queen comes home.") Fortunately, Newby reached the end his haute-couture tether in 1956. At that point, with the sort of sublime impulsiveness that's forbidden to fictional characters but endemic to real ones, he decided to visit a remote corner of Afghanistan, where no Englishman had planted his brogans for at least 50 years. What's more, he recorded his adventure in a classic narrative, A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush. The title, of course, is a fine example of Newby's habitual self-effacement, since his journey--which included a near-ascent of the 19,800-foot Mir Samir--was anything but short.
Reviews with the most likes.
Do we live in a world that has lost the capacity for wonderment?
Imagine.
After a good few years in the printing industry I had had enough. I had been worn down by the daily grind. One day it was actually all too much, and I thought enough was enough! I rang up a mate and his phone went to message bank I blurted something stupid like let's climb a mountain in the middle of nowhere or or or or! ........any ideas?
Not expecting anything more I get a reply. All arranged, off we go, ............!
Imagine that.
Eric Newby by perchance had, in real life, something similar happen to him in 1956. He had had enough of the rag trade, talked to a great mate, Hugh Carless, and next minute they were off to climb a little hill in a nearby county. Something like that anyway.
The witty narrative that is the first chapter had this reviewer enthralled and with that I was looking for words that were to describe my thoughts as to the magnificent adventure that Newby tells us. About how he and Carless do what to me is the unthinkable, walk to and then climb a mountain in a place that few Europeans had ever ventured at the time, the Hindu Kush.
Words?
How about a word, wonderment.
With Nuristanis racing “.....over the grass towards us at a tremendous pace, dozens of them” in what was then described as them giving “...an extraordinary impression of being out of the past” Newby tells of them finding Carless' telescope. He writes that “In a world that has lost the capacity for wonderment I found it very agreeable to meet people to whom it was possible to give pleasure so simply.” After various trials and tribulations wittily told about retrieving his watch from one member of the tribe Newby sadly writes that as they leave it was “.....characteristic of these people that their interest in strangers was exhausted as quickly as it was born.” An unfortunate turn of phrase it could be suggested because I could add that he may have described humanities condition in general; cheap thrills and then a quick loss of interest.
But then there maybe just those such as Newby who do find a permanent sense of wonderment in the world we inhabit. That is why we read their travel writing, to get that sense of amazement and bewilderment about the world that once was, is now and maybe even what could be the future.
This is a great travel book that has stood the test of time. At 248 pages it never overstays it welcome. It has a little of everything that anyone would want, jaunty self-depreciating wit, superb geographical descriptors' and a little of the local history.
Highly recommended to anyone looking to see or seek wonderment.
Will I get out of my office and do anything as impulsive as Newby and Carless?
Will I hell! I'm far too much of a pansy.
