Diving into the Himalayas

Today, I land in New Delhi. No plan but one direction: the mountains of the Himalayas.

It's been over 6 months since I left the grayness of Paris, leaving my fears and doubts behind, in favor of a scorching Australian sun and the firm intention to dare everything, no matter the cost. Only 24 years old and already the feeling of having lived a whole contained life, under pressure, like a pressure cooker ready to explode. A life tamed by the needle of the clock, and the breakdowns of the Parisian subway. A story where my excess energy, my passion, must be channeled, controlled, restricted. The feeling of being a caged animal, a Ferrari in the middle of Paris. It's time to let go of the brakes, to push the pedal of this damn accelerator. It's time to dare.

After all, why not? ?

Here I am on the road to the Himalayas, riding a Royal Enfield Bullet 350 negotiated with a rental company in the north of the city. A bike as powerful as... my lawn mower! Ironical for someone who wants to let loose, isn't it? My adventure, punctuated by honking horns, splashing water, and engine noises, began not without difficulty.

But at what cost? I remember it as if it were yesterday, the environment was aggressive and my outfit was completely inadequate. Night fell, plunging the surrounding white-tinted mountains into complete darkness.

I see myself there again: "It's been over 10 hours since I've been riding at 5000 m altitude, and all this... in boat shoes! What foolishness! My feet are frozen from crossing small streams caused by snowmelt. The cold burns, no, it bites! A pain that I discover. I cling on, gritting my teeth... just a few more kilometers before reaching a refuge. But the situation gets worse, the wind rises as quickly as the sun sets. Little by little, I lose all sensation in my feet. It is with two real blocks of ice in place of my feet that I struggle to shift gears. Suddenly, in the middle of this storm, in the center of this vast expanse of rocks and ice, hidden between thick walls of piled stones, a shop appears, a yellow plastic tarpaulin serving as a roof. Like a mirage in the middle of the desert, I can't believe my eyes. On site, I stop and ask this man with a face weathered by the cold to take a look at my feet. His welcoming gaze decomposes. He tries his best to hide his panic and orders me not to move. My frozen feet oscillate between gray and white, and the fresh flesh visible through large blisters turns violet. It's decided, it's over for today".

This stage ended around a fire soothing my aching extremities, sheltered between him and his son, under four heavy traditional quilts, protecting us from the surrounding icy cold. A reassuring break in a context that was as extraordinary as it was uncertain. Under the stars and thick layers of wool, I thought, "The Himalayas will chew me up... let's see what I'm made of!".

Yet I was far from knowing what awaited me. In the following weeks, I crossed frozen expanses, climbed gigantic walls of ice, faced deserts and sandstorms, zigzagged along steep dirt roads that made Mont Blanc seem like a simple countryside walk, skirting crevasses and cliffs, risking my life several times, just a few centimeters, a few seconds of inattention away from disaster. Step by step, night after night, tea after tea, I managed to rise above men and problems: to the summit of the Himalayas.

Back in France, the motorcycle in the closet, I continue to keep my adventures alive. I share my learning and my passions. I dream of being a storyteller, an explorer, an actor in an exciting life. But the inevitable alarm reminds me to come back to reality. Next to my motorcycle, I lay down my dreams. But deep down inside, I aspire to more, I am capable of more! It is by looking at my feet in a Parisian subway train that I finally understand: "Life will chew me up... let's see what I'm made of!"