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Chapter Nine. The Girls' Club of Punkhung |
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setting off from Wakching |
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It was pouring with rain when we started from Wakching. Our porters went ahead, next came Tsampio with his umbrella and wine-red wool cap, while Nlamo and I followed at a distance. The path to Tanhai had not been cleared since July, and we had to wade shoulder high in wet grass, often hardly able to discern the track. Even the greatest enthusiast, delighting to praise the pleasures of (84) walking in rain through autumn woods or summer fields, could have found little charm in such a march through the dripping jungle and wet grass, on a path full of small rivulets. Nlamo was my only comfort, for he thought it horrible too, and was not one of those unbearably optimistic companions who go on assuring you with forced gaiety that "it could be worse." For my part, I did not think it could be much worse. |
