Common! Don't be so paranoid.

“You can’t make it in one day, even if you start very early,” he said reclining in his chair. Having complete belief in the incompetence of our clogged lungs we didn’t doubt his words. At 2,827 m, Triund is a good 10 km uphill trek from Mcleodganj and reaching Ilaka, where one could find snow, meant further 5 km of steep trekking—which means about 30 km of trekking, up and down, in one day. Sipping on steaming cups of horrible tea—the Punjabi resort owner’s generosity towards curious journalists—we knew his statement had eliminated the most adventurous and enthusiastic of us from the next day’s trek. She had to return by evening and we couldn’t take the risk.
It was her curiosity that had brought our tired feet dragging till here. A resort sprawling on about half-acre meadow with tents put in line and hills surrounding it looked great from above, from the road connecting Mcleodganj and Bagshu village. Save for the tea and the owner’s unfounded ranting against uncouth Israelis, which one of my semi-neo-Nazi friend seemed to enjoy, our reluctant walk down to the resort had been largely disappointing; for me it never promised anything. After a careful perusal of the entire resort, interiors, exteriors, the tents, the loo, the smell of timber… dismissing his offer of a 50 per cent discount, she had declared: “He has failed to capitalise on a great idea.” May be, but could we please return to our hotel now, was all I wanted to say. Too tired with a useless quest for a Parsi House, some local’s residence mistaken for a Bawa guesthouse, that evening, all I wanted was a nice sleep now.
And by the time we retired we had chucked the idea of the next day’s trek with an apparent we-won’t-make-it refrain but in actuality for an extra hour of sleep in the morning. There is nothing more blissful than a goodnight’s sleep. Cavorting around the whole next day in and around the Bagshu waterfall with her and another friend, I silently patted my back every time I conquered a boulder. That was rock climbing for me; and I was definitely very good at it. In the evening when she nearly missed her bus to Delhi, she blurted out what most Jews, who form the majority of tourist fraternity frequenting Mcleodganj, would immediately identify with: “Why does it always happen to me?”