Rounding a corner, there was this barren, gigantic glacial cirque in front of us with no defined trail showing up. I looked at Peter and asked, "Are we going up there?" You know the answer was, "yes." Next question, "But, I don't see any trail, how do we get up there?" Peter blithely said that there were red dots painted on the rocks when you got closer to them showing the way...just use your hands... My heart in the pit of my stomach, I clenched my jaw and started up. I can get up almost anything. It's down that's my problem and there was no way I was even going to ask what was on the other side.

Terrorized, we worked our way up clinging to rocks until we saw the top of the ridge dead ahead...

...Eureka...on the top of this ridge, we sat down ...View image...and heaved a great sigh of relief...that we're not dead yet... The views were stupendous...and I was happy that the worst was over.

Catching my breath I asked Peter if we were going down there, pointing to a gradual descent around the ridge. He looked at me and pointed straight downhill...a ridge with steep drop-offs on either side! Oh...my...God! Hyperventilating and with cold sweat dripping off my body, I started taking teeny-weeny steps down the ridge, moving at a snail's pace. All of a sudden I heard behind me..."tsk..tsk...tsk...this is not good...tsk..tsk...tsk...this is not good...you are going too slow.." I came to a dead stop, turned and spat out..."too frigging bad (actually, my response was much worse than "frigging")...this is the fastest I can go and the fastest I will go..." Peter sped ahead of me and stopped every now and then to see if I was moving any faster. No...I wasn't. He finally gave up in exasperation, stopped muttering, and let me do my own pace and it wasn't I got off the ridge that my speed picked up.

It was still a long way through the valley, along a road until we came to Lysa Skalka, almost on the border of Slovakia and dropped into the van. Survived the day but now I'm really worried about what lies ahead...