TAKTSANG

That speck in the distance -- would I make it?

Sonam -- the man who made it possible. At the first stop

Almost there -- the second stopover

A few minutes away -- cool water to keep us company

... And we're there!

I was hanging on to hard luck as I saw Taktsang cling to its sheer rock face in the distance.

Our guide Sonam hadn't sugar-coated it for us, either, the day before we were to undertake the climb: "It's steep, and there are people who've had to rush back with altitude sickness." Gosh, I hadn't thought of THAT. I was too busy checking if my knees would unlock after the previous two days' walks through monasteries and hillocks in Bhutan. At a sheer drop of 3,000 feet above the Paro Valley and an altitude of 10,000 feet, there was this to consider, of course.

So this was it, girl: Either you do it or you chicken out. But whatever you decide, don't look down. Or up. Dizzy up there, and dark in the depths of the forest that line the trekking path.

In 747 A.D., Guru Rinpoche or Padmasambhava flew down to Taktsang from Tibet in the form of Dorji Drolo on a flaming tigress. He meditated here for three months in a cave and converted the Paro Valley to Buddhism. Taktsang is the Bhutanese word for 'Tiger’s Nest' -- at 2,950 m, the most famous and sacred hanging cliff monastery in Bhutan.

Tashi Delek (good luck), I told myself. Guru Rinpoche rode a tiger, you've gotta walk -- or limp -- the whole way up.

The first stop, after an hour of trekking, was the best feeling I've had in years. However, the tough part had just begun. The air was getting rarer, the climb steeper. But just when you think you're plodding alone, life sends you support. I crossed paths with people on their way down, and they all had just one thing to say: "It's worth the effort."

The second stop, after another hour's trek, was bliss. The monastery was withon striking distance now. But I'd exulted too soon. There were steep steps leading up to the goal -- nearly a thousand of them, and they weren't in a straight climb either. We weren't even sure if we'd be allowed in -- we didn't have government permits to enter the monastery.

But we weren't meant to make peace with half-measures. We were simply destined to go the distance, to test our limits. Sonam met another guide, who by sheer stroke of luck, had permits for his group. And we latched on.

Legs felt like logs of wood, and at many points, refused to carry us further. We were hungry and dizzy from the climb, our hearts pounding away furiously. When we reached the top, all we could really do was muffle the gasp that tried to escape us -- the Himalayas lined up majestically in front of us, snow melting in thin streams on the peaks, and prayer bells chimed gently behind us. Not a single barrier between us and the mountains. For the hour we spent at the monastery, bowing before Guru Rinpoche's statue or taking in the beauty of the wall murals, we stayed with the silence.

There was beauty in here. And collective determination. We saw people of all hue make their way up -- senior citizens, seasoned trekkers, and even an obese woman. Not all of them coursed through; there were many who returned from the second stop.

But for all of us, it was as much a test of physical strength as spiritual. If we conquered fear and overcame mental blocks on our way to serenity, the many gurus and lamas who meditated at Taktsang perhaps went through the same troughs and peaks in their pilgrimage to inner peace.