Vlado Rumenov
I wasn’t a good student.
Towards the end of high school, a new character with incredibly curly hair and also incredibly thick glasses having twelve diopters appeared in the neighboring class. He appeared because he–like me–wasn’t a particularly good student with particularly good conduct. We banded together on the principle “birds of a feather flock together”. Whole nights through we talked over “fundamental questions” and whatnot…
With time, it became clear that besides books, the main interests of Gerry–this is how this “bird of a feather’ was called–were mountains, rocks, and in general, travelling. In the name of travelling he chose the life of an immigrant. Despite narrow means and living on the verge of asceticism, he went everywhere. He only missed getting to Australia.
He was fascinated by the natural philosophy of the Tibetan world, which he was in love with. Several times we travelled for thousands of kilometers there. I usually walked behind him.
His figure and his gait–these slightly crooked legs, emaciated from undernourishment and over-fatigue in the Himalayas that confidently and rhythmically move the path backwards–are engraved on my memory like in a film.
Recently he embarked on the most important, inevitable journey of his life–the last one. He had been looking forward to it for several years. We had discussed it. He was completely prepared and calm.
I see him walking away with these slightly crooked legs emaciated from undernourishment and over-fatigue in the Himalayas that confidently and rhythmically move the path backwards while he approaches the light.
Farewell, Gerry! So long!