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Here, I can finally be at peace with the Universe.
Here’s another classic narcotouristic misadventure by our friend Kevin Fedarko, in which he travels to a remote hell-hole in the Indian Himalayas called Malana renowned for its potent local vegetation and “good vibes”. Enjoy! — CDB
During any extended rainstorm in the foothills of the Indian Himalayas—the kind of biblical-grade deluge that pounds so hard and so long that the sky itself seems saturated with despair—you eventually reach a point where your wheels, both real and metaphysical, start to come off. Your parka suffers catastrophic failure. Your skin takes on the color of uncooked tripe. And the molecules of your brain seem to liquefy, slide down your spine, and collect at your tailbone in a pool of ooze.
I call this the I’d-Rather-Be-Dead Moment.
My five companions and I weren’t sure when exactly we’d hit this point. It may have been during our wretched struggle up the 12,000-foot pass—an ordeal that took most of a late winter’s week to complete. Or maybe it was on our hellish descent down a 45-degree avalanche chute on the pass’s opposite side. Or perhaps it had crept up on us amid the tempest of hail laced with snow peppered with freezing rain that we’d endured the previous night… (more…)

