So, despite my preferred mode of existence resembling something like being glued to my girlfriend Indira and never letting go, some weeks past we arrived amongst the highest peaks of the Apennine Mountains with differing intentions. While I had tied the laces of my sturdy boots, Indi had only brought her white sneakers. While I had filled my backpack with water, dates, and sandwiches, she merely threw in a copy of A Picture of Dorian Gray, and left it at that.

Suffice it to say, she would not follow me up the mountain, but instead preferred to find some sheltered spot amongst the golden green rolling hills that most of all resembled the backs of eternally sleeping beasts, only ever visited by grazing sheep and their shepherds. There somewhere sunny she could read while sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes as I tried to ascend the mountain.

Not just because evening fast approaches, but also because I do not want to make her wait, I hurry along the trail and hastily arrive atop my destination after about an hour of intense hiking. Before starting the descent I call Indi to notify her about my progress, but instead she only replies with ‘Oh, don’t hurry! Maybe pick a longer trail? I saw a goat and now I’m climbing my own mountain.’

What does she mean, ‘Climbing her own mountain’!? And what has a goat got anything to do with this!? Continued communication falters as I soon lose connection, and most of the mystery remains unsolved. Instead I try to calculate where she might be, and where she might be heading.

Fifteen minutes later I have almost arrived atop another peak, pretty sure this is where she should turn up. After a message reading ‘Almost there. Maybe three minutes,’ I ran up the path as fast as I could, wheezing and almost coughing up my lungs, but standing two and half thousand metres above sea level while the sun sets, I can’t see Indi anywhere.

But leaning over the edge, staring down in the direction of our car, I suddenly spot her about halfway down a massive and incredibly steep slope, steadily climbing up using both hands and feet.

Night has arrived and darkness approaches, with both of us high up this mountain built from loose ruble, sending pebbles down in tiny avalanches with every step. Instead Indi is ecstatic, having climbed almost a thousand metres straight up a forty five degree slope, having brought neither water nor food, only wearing her white sneakers, in pursuit of a herd of wild mountain goats.

I give her credit for her impressive display of ‘I felt like it,’ and walk in front as we try to descend this unsteady mass of rocks as fast as possible. At points we slide down a metre or two with each step, mastering this risky technique to reach the car sooner. By some miracle neither of us destroys an ankle or knee, although we do need both our phone’s flashlights to see where we’re walking for the last half an hour on the mountain.

We arrive home by midnight, marvelling at the incredible display of stars during this cloudless night away from civilization. Through sheer luck we lie down in some field to gaze up during the peak of the Perseid meteor shower. In fifteen minutes we spot six shooting stars, thinking up as many wishes before heading to bed.

It will only be the next morning while we are packing our luggage and preparing to drive home that Indi will realise she has lost her wallet, somewhere along her improvised hike away from any path or trail.