Freedom came back into my heart when I walked above the clouds.

No kidding. The fresh air (the coldness being intensified by the humidity of all my clothes, but well), the rocks, the climbers around me, the silence, the light of the dawn. My equipment. And this incredible landscape. Nothing above me but the dome of the sky. And under me, a sea of clouds.

A sea of clouds.

Welcome back, my friend.

My uncle Daniel and I got up, took our backpacks and got to the airport as the sun was rising. Ronald, the third member of our party, met us there. We took a plane to Kota Kinabalu, the coastal Malaysian city near Mount Kinabalu (4,095 meters above the sea level), a taxi, another taxi, a van, and arrived at the bottom of the Mesilau Summit Trail.

We spent one night there, and in the little morning, started hiking up the trail in the Malaysian jungle, followed by our invisible guide. Invisible because he was most of the time so far behind us that we were virtually alone on the way, which was actually pretty great, considering it is impossible to get lost when there is only one way up.

That was not too difficult, honestly; we saw an old woman and a 13-year old child climbing up. A tough child, alright. I am not sure he made it to the summit before the sunrise; and we also saw some people giving up, going down in the middle, or crushed by the altitude sickness. We made our way, slowly but steadily, up the trail, with less and less oxygen around us at every step.

After five kilometers of hiking, it started raining, just so that we could get wet on the last kilometer. We got our raincoats out of our bags and went on to reach the Laban Rata Resthouse, at 3,270 m in the middle of the afternoon.

At 2 am, the whole refuge decided we had had enough sleep and everyone got back on the trail, for the last two kilometers to the summit. We started hiking in the pitch-black night, slightly lighting our way with headlamps. We reached the point were the vegetation disappeared and let only naked granite rock under our feet, and started climbing with the help of ropes.

The last few hundred meters, on the Summit Plateau (which is only gently sloping), took an incredible time. That was the first time I was walking above 4,000 m – and I hope not the last – and I have to admit I had to catch my breath every few steps. That, plus the bone-chilling cold of the high altitude wind.

Fighting for every step was a delicious challenge – I discovered how the simple act of walking could become difficult, and a whole new world of brutality appeared before me. No need to jump, run, dodge and bounce up there. Just walking is enough.

We finished by climbing Low’s Peak, the highest peak of Mount Kinabalu. And reached the summit.

We waited for the dawn there with maybe two dozens of fellow hikers from all around the world, sitting on the top of the mountain, trying to stay warm. Mount Sinai came back in my mind. Only this time noone was there to rent you blankets or camels; and no tourists, only hikers. There was just us, the night and our equipment. And our energy was the only thing keeping us warm.

A bit after the sunrise, we slowly started to head down and could, as the landscape was unveiling before our eyes, be overwhelmed by the incredible and indescribable feeling you get when you walk above the clouds.

Take your time, you might be here only once in your life.
(Malaysian guide)

That was something. I mean, that was SOMETHING.

I cannot even write about it. The simple memory of that morning takes my breath and my mind away. Away from civilization, megalopolises and society, on the other side of the world from where I was born and raised, I was standing there…

Above the clouds…