Driving to a friend's house on a recent evening, I was attracted by the sight of the full moon rising just above my friend's rooftops. I stopped to watch it for a few moments, thinking about what a pity it was that most city people, myself included, usually miss sights like this because we spend most of our lives indoors. My friend had also seen it. He grew up living in a forest in Europe, and the moon meant a lot to him then. It had touched much of his life. I know the feeling. Last December I took my seven-year-old daughter to the mountainous jungle of northern India with some friends. We stayed in a forest rest-house with no electricity or running hot water. Our group had campfires outside every night, and indoors when it was too cold outside. The moon grew to its fullest during our trip. Between me and the high mountains lay three or four valleys. Not a light shone in them and not a sound could be heard. It was one of the quietest places I have ever known, a bottomless well of silence. And above me was the full moon, which struck me deeply. Today our lives are filled with glass, metal, plastic and fibre-glass. We have televisions, cell phones, pagers, electricity, heaters and ovens and air-conditioners, cars, computers. Struggling through traffic that evening at the end of a tiring day, most of it spent indoors, I thought: before long, I would like to live in a small cottage. There I will grow vegetables and read books and walk in the mountains And perhaps write, but not in anger. I may become an old man there, and wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled and measure out my life in coffee spoons. But I will be able to walk outside on a cold silent night and touch the moon. What impressed the writer most in the mountainous jungle of northern India?
The nice moonlight Complete silence. No modern equipment The high mountains