High Above The Orient (eBook)

Ardem Tutunjian (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
224 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-7774-5 (ISBN)

Infos

Embark on a breathtaking adventure to the rooftop of the world, where one man's mysterious quest for discovery becomes a journey of the heart. In the majestic heights of Tibet, he encounters a mysterious woman who sets his soul ablaze. As their innocent connection ignites into a passionate romance, they find themselves entwined in a web of danger, gangsters, ancient magic, and hidden truths that begin in the streets of Yerevan, Armenia only to follow them to the peaks of Everest. With the shadows of the past threatening to tear them apart, their love becomes the beacon of hope that transcends the darkness. Prepare yourself to dive into a whirlwind tale of devotion, faith, magic, and the unbreakable bonds of true love, set against the stunning backdrop of Tibet's snow-capped mountains and mystical landscapes.

Ardem Tutunjian is a Chartered Professional Accountant residing in Canada. He lives in Toronto with his dog, Uggy.

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In the majestic heights of Tibet, a mysterious quest becomes a journey of the heart. When Andre encounters the enigmatic Sabina, their innocent connection ignites into a passionate romance. But as they delve deeper, they're entwined in a web of danger, ancient magic, and hidden truths. From the vibrant streets of Yerevan, Armenia to the snow-capped peaks of Everest, their love becomes the beacon of hope that transcends the darkness. Will their bond survive the shadows of the past, or will the secrets tear them apart?Dive into a whirlwind tale of devotion, faith, and true love and the ultimate sacrifice, set against the stunning backdrop of Tibet's mystical landscapes.

Textauszug

I

He arrived at the restaurant at half past nine that night. It had been a long journey from New York, and after nearly two days of traveling, André was relieved that the trip had finally reached its end. Now sitting up high in the Himalayan Mountains of Nepal in the middle of January, he found himself in the Malu, a quaint restaurant made of log that accommodated no more than twenty customers at a time. He sat patiently, waiting for his order to be taken.

André, a man of forty-one with a physique honed by years of discipline and dedication, sat wearily at a wooden table, his eyes struggling to stay awake. Though middle-aged, looking at him, one could not tell that he was a day older than thirty. He had spent the better part of his life dedicated to weight training and sports, eating healthy, and abstaining from alcohol, cigarettes, and junk food. While average at one hundred and seventy-seven centimeters in height, his thick muscle density had him weighing just over ninety kilograms. His white Armenian face and bright hazel eyes intensely contrasted the jet black hair he combed backward and beard, which ended at the pronounced cleft of his chin, giving the man an intensity that was uncommon to the part of the world he now found himself in. Once straight, his nose now carried a flatness to it that slightly whistled as he breathed, exposing a “time in the life” entanglement with competitive boxing some years earlier. Sitting at the table in a black leather jacket with a fur hood and black jeans tucked into leather boots, he tried his best to stay awake.

The grueling two-day journey from New York to this remote Nepalese town had taken its toll, and the thin air of the Himalayas seemed to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, luring him into a state of tiredness. His rugged features, chiseled by a life of adventure, seemed almost out of place in this quaint mountain town, where the wind howled like a chorus of restless spirits outside. The fire pit in the corner, a beacon of warmth and comfort, cast a golden glow on the wooden logs that seemed to rise up like sentinels around him.

André had boarded a seventeen-hour flight from New York to Delhi, India, and after a nine-hour layover, had caught a flight through the mountains to Kathmandu, Nepal. From there he had journeyed for twelve hours up the Himalayan Mountains through snowy blizzards in a private Jeep. His driver had barely been able to keep the Mitsubishi Pajero from slipping off the mountainside on the one-way road as severe snow conditions had made it nearly impossible to stay on course. At last, he had arrived at the town of Lobuche, situated in the Khumbu region of Mount Everest, resting at an astounding altitude of eight thousand eight hundred and forty-eight meters, the top of the world. With a population of no more than three hundred at any given time, most of whom were tourists passing through, the town was as isolated from the rest of the world as any town could be.

As he waited for the server, his gaze roamed the room, taking in the rustic charm of the Malu, a haven from the snow and ice that lay beyond its wooden walls. The restaurant, built of sturdy logs, seemed a testament to the ingenuity of man in this unforgiving landscape. The stone fire pit, the cobblestone bar, and the poorly insulated windows all spoke of a harsh beauty, a beauty that was both captivating and unforgiving.

André’s thoughts, like a wanderer in a strange land, roamed the room, seeking solace in the familiar rhythms of human conversation. The languages, a cacophony of sound, filled the air, a reminder that even in this remote corner of the world, human connection was still possible. And yet, as he scanned the room, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of isolation, the feeling that he was a stranger in a strange land, a man alone with his thoughts and his dreams.

One hour earlier, he had checked into the Bilhana, just one of the two hotels in the small mountainous town. He had come to have a meal at the Malu, located a hundred feet away from his hotel, before going to bed after being awake for over forty-eight hours.

Waiting for the server, he scanned the room. Half awake and sinking into a state of delirium, he felt as though he was in a movie. The reality of being here where he knew no one, so far from his life in New York, had started to settle in on him. What’s more, the reason he had come this far, though once seemingly lucid and sane, had, for the first time in many months, begun to feel absurd to him. Momentarily embarrassed, he wondered whether anyone else around him knew of his plans and reasons for being so far from home. But having realized his plans were his own, he took comfort in the confines of security his own mind afforded him, allowing his thoughts to take shelter in a place that no one else could go.

Brushing off the delirium, his attention now began focusing on the room, letting his surroundings sink in for the first time since he had departed New York two days earlier. The restaurant was half full, with customers sitting at each table, deep in conversation. Most spoke English, though André could make out the chatter of German, French and Italian as well, all languages of the tourists who were passing through the quaint town on their journey to scale the heights of Everest.

At last, André saw a waiter enter the room from the kitchen. A thinly built young man of no more than twenty three years of age draped in black from collar to shoe entered the dining room from behind the black curtain nearest to the bar. André waived his hand, inviting him to approach. The young man had a complexion of yellow and brown, not uncommon to the region which sat high up in the mountains above China and India. He had slanted eyes and a buzzed head like a “Muay Thai” fighter, and though he stood no more than one hundred and sixty-five centimeters in height, his slender frame and neatly dressed uniform made him appear tall. On the breast pocket of his shirt was his name, “Bishal.”

“Have you decided, sir?” asked the young man.

“You speak English?” André replied, surprised.

“Yes,” laughed the waiter. “Everyone here in Lobuche speaks English. It’s a tourist town”.

Relieved to have heard that he would be able to communicate with ease over the course of his stay, he scanned the menu one more time. “I’ll have the Dal Bhat,” said André, pointing to the picture of what appeared to be rice, lentils, and chicken. “And water to drink, please.”

“Thank you,” said Bishal. “I’ll get that for you right away,” as he took the two menus from the table and headed towards the kitchen.

André remained seated, gazing around him. Hunger and the need for sleep had set in, and he was looking forward to going back to his room and jumping in bed. The thought of unpacking would be something he would worry about tomorrow, he thought. As he leaned forward and held his head in his hands, fixated on the flames emanating from the fire pit, he suddenly felt a presence in the room, watching him. Like a strong shadow that had just appeared without casting any shade, he felt the presence of eyes scrutinizing him from a distance. Scanning the room, his eyes finally made their way to the entrance of the kitchen beside the bar.

In front of the dark curtain, there stood, dressed in the same black uniform worn by Bishal, a young, dark-skinned girl of what appeared to be no more than twenty-five years of age. She was unusually short and roundly shaped, with surprisingly bright green eyes. Along the left side of her face was a long scar, apparent even in the dimly lit room from twenty feet away. Her black hair was tied up neatly in a bun, and in her left hand was a tray full of glasses of water. Her rolled-up sleeves revealed whispers of ink on her wrists and forearms. The tattoos, like hints of a secret life, peeped out from beneath her cuffs, a subtle defiance of convention. As the two connected eyes, André felt an intensity in her gaze that pierced through his skin, raising goose bumps on his arms and neck. Her stare had sent a jolt through the young man, arousing him from his state of somnolence, making him forget that he had not slept in nearly two days. Something about her had captivated him, and he had lost all focus of everything else. Just as he had begun to gather himself to make sense of what was happening, she abruptly turned around and hurried into the kitchen, disappearing through the black curtains.

André sat perplexed, puzzled at what had just happened. He wondered how long she had been watching him and what it was about him that made her run away that way. He had heard that the culture in Nepal was unlike North America and that women were more conservative. Could it have been that, in his tired state, he had looked at the young woman in a way that had made her uncomfortable? Her stare and the feeling it had invoked in him had taken an unsettling toll on the man, and he couldn’t shake it off. His confusion was interrupted by Bishal, who moments later had entered the room with the tray of water. He passed them around the tables, finally coming to André. In his other hand was another tray with André’s order.

“Enjoy,” said the young man as he left the food and water in front of André and headed back to the kitchen without a moment to speak. Though the smell of steam rising above the freshly cooked meal soon captured the young man, his attention remained fixated on the curtain near the bar,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 30.9.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-7774-5 / 9798350977745