I finally arrived in Ngawal on a day when the snow blanketed the valley, reducing visibility on the road to the next bend or so. It was a strangely exhilarating drive, with the narrow roadway disappearing ahead, a mind-stopping drop to one side, and snowflakes clustering thicker and thicker, the further up we climbed.

At some points, the road was so narrow that a curved groove was cut into the side of the cliff, just enough distance for a single vehicle to pass. On the rare occasions when a car approached from the opposite direction, both drivers would communicate via hand signals until one of them reversed up the road, tucked themselves into a curve in the road or up against the cliff, wait for the other to squeeze past.

From up high, the river flowing along the base of the valley looked like a small piece of green thread, and the drop over the side was an ever present nightmare. Yet also strangely calming, this knowledge that nothing could survive such a fall, but also an understanding that I had no control over this situation, that my fear was an irrelevance.