Several years ago, I made a memorable trip to Nathiagali (hill station, Pakistan) with my friends. The trip included a seven kilometer hike in the precarious woods near our hotel, which was right at the top of the mountain that is home to Nathiagali. Our guide was a thirteen year old valley native who assured us that we were taking a road not taken (it was, not because of the mind-blowing beauty of the view it contained, but because it was frikkin dangerous.)
So anyway, bolstered by that invigorating experience, proudly accomplished by a group of women who had never in their lives hiked before, I recently goaded my nature-averse husband into a hiking included picnic in one of the parks by the Potomac.
Armed with our Chicken tikka rolls and smoked turkey and omelette sandwiches we set out to the Turkey Run Park, and within an hour, got hopelessly lost. Note: The preperations for the picnic were more fun than the actual eating, which had to be done during the hike and not on the pretty spread that I had packed.
Not surprisingly, my body gave up first and each muddy slope managed to killed me a little before we finally found a way back (absolutely no thanks to the park's map). Witnessing the punishment meted out to me already in shape of acute physical pain, my husband did not complain once and even repeated the experience as 'pretty good' to the family the next day.
And as for me, Nathiagali is a bygone memory to my ageing bones. Sigh.