My Experience in a Camp

It was cold and dark passage; the walls were covered with a slimy film. My sneakers slid with each flimsy step, making me wish I had better brand sneakers with better grip. I reached for a support trying to keep my balance. As we entered a deep cave like passage we heard echoes of laughter and giggles. We had reached our destination for camping Ð'- Golconda Fort.

The large fort had dark rooms. Our guide pointed her flash-light into a murky passage followed by a small room. She shocked us by picking up the first girl and thrusting her into the room. The rest of the group followed her, wriggling and crawling on their stomachs along the dark, mildewed and narrow passage. As each daring student squirmed into the passage, I stepped back. It was the claustrophobia that prevented me from doing a simple thing like walking along the narrow, dark passage. Despite much goading and support from my leaders and fellow explorers, I refused to attempt what turned out to be a short, dry, well-lit tour.

Emerging from my cave, I sobbed at my weakness. I found it hard to believe that after completing a rock climbing activity at Goa, just days before, I had allowed fear to prevent me from finishing this mysterious expedition. My endeavor was on not to allow apprehension to impede my actions. The promise I made to myself was to perform adventures and have a smiling face for the rest of my trip. During the two-hour flight home, I cherished my accomplishments despite the rocky beginning.

Since that trip I have maintained a daredevil's sense of adventure both at home and abroad. Despite concerns about my previous understanding of such situations, my name was enrolled to many adventurous camps. I went to many hilly regions to practice rock-climbing. I ate "camp food" which I, in the past, felt uncomfortable eating. I had berries for lunch and relinquished my water bottle to a dingo, learned a new dance, slept in a ranch, and wiped out while street-lugging down a mountain in Northern India. I even dragged my acrophobic friend up to the mountains of Mahabaleshwar, Goa and Manali, only to leave her quivering halfway up while I persevered alone to the top.

I have continued to follow this new path. Now I record my camps in journals, scrapbooks, and over a thousand pictures per year. As much as I love to travel, the best part of a trip is often to return home and reflect all that I have seen, heard,

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