Our local guide would point to the instructions floating in mid-air above our heads. at them. We would read and memorise them, whispering along the words as we trailed our way to the top of the mountain.  

Occasionally, our guide would throw in his own musings: 

When we reached the peak our lips were dry from all the whispering.

We found a man there, standing taller than any person we had ever seen, both arms extended horizontally. His face was sheltered in a glass box, his eyes withholding their blinking.

Gold and lilac textiles hang from his arms. He looked distressed — perhaps by the low oxygen pressure, perhaps by our presence.

Cans of coca tea laid at his feet along with a handwritten note:

Our local guide advised us not to fall into temptation easily. Instead, he delivered his own allegory: