In October, I went to Nepal with a friend. We did some volunteering at an orphanage in rural Chitwan, near the Indian border. After our short stint at the orphanage, we headed north into the mountains near Pokhara for the Ghorepani/Poon Hill trek.
Poon Hill is one of the most popular short treks in Nepal, generally done over four to five days. We did ours in four, and hired a guide and a porter to save us the trouble of organising transportation, accommodation and meals along the way. I won’t go through a shopping list of the places we stayed at or the villages we passed along the way. Photos speak louder than words.
But looking back, it’s amazing to consider how far I’ve come this year. I’ve never been an outdoors kind of person. Never had a great appreciation of nature. And yet this is my third trek of the year, a personal record.
Despite all physical challenges along the way, I found myself enjoying the simplicity of waking up every morning with nothing to do but walk. I loved the mindless physicality of the act, the ability to really think and hear yourself as you walked, and the fact that happiness can be nothing more than arriving at your destination each night, taking a hot shower (where possible), eating dhal bhat, and writing your travel journal in the kitchen with a hot cup of masala tea.
The village of Nayapul, starting point of the trek.
In the warmer parts of the country, rice harvest was already in full swing. But here in the cooler mountains, the terraces were still fields of gold.
Our room at the guest house: non-sound proof, no blankets, no fresh linen, no phone reception. One couldn’t look at the pillow too closely without feeling a sense of revulsion.
But after our stint in Chitwan, we were just grateful for a flush toilet.
Oh. And the view wasn’t too bad.
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