Nepal

On the first day of the trek, we departed from Pokhara, heading to our starting point in Nayapul. My nerves were through the roof—the idea of eight days in the mountains made me literally nauseous from excitement and anxiety. Together with my guide and a porter, we got into a taxi towards Nayapul. I quickly noticed how much the temperature had dropped compared to Pokhara, but as soon as we stepped out and I inhaled the crisp mountain air, all that tension slowly melted away. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we started walking alongside a gently flowing river. Soon, all those extra clothing layers were no longer needed, and I felt strong and reborn.

The first few hours, we walked up stone steps through terraced fields, lush forests, and past cascading waterfalls. Around midday, we arrived at a teahouse for lunch. After previous experiences with Asian dishes that didn’t sit well with my stomach, I played it safe and ordered a vegetarian noodle dish. The food gave me fresh energy, and I enjoyed the sunshine, even though the cold wind quickly sent chills down my spine again.

Just before sunset, we reached the village of Ghandruk. I was exhausted and longing for some comfort, but the teahouse turned out to be more basic than I had hoped. The room was cold, and since I was the only tourist, they didn’t light the stove. Thankfully, I could order some hot water to warm myself up. After a long wait, my meal arrived: a fantastic thali dal bhat with a surprising dessert of apple, pomegranate seeds, and a Snickers bar. It gave me the energy I needed for the days to come. After dinner, I retreated to my room, trying to stay warm with my thick thermal underwear and a -20 mummy sleeping bag.

The next morning, after a lovely breakfast of oatmeal with fruit, my guide told me that there was avalanche danger on our planned route. We decided to take an alternative path toward Poon Hill—a safer choice, because I’d like to live to tell this story.

With renewed motivation, we packed our bags and continued our journey. The trail led us over suspension bridges, past bamboo groves, through green valleys, and up endless steps, taking us higher and higher. And then, suddenly, there she was: Machapuchare, the magnificent ‘Fishtail Mountain’. The sight gave me goosebumps, despite the sweat and my freezing back. It was one of those moments you never forget. That evening, the teahouse had a stove, and I soaked up the warmth all night long—a true gift at that altitude.

On day four, we finally reached Poon Hill. We left at five in the morning, armed with headlamps and bundled up against the cold. After an hour of climbing, we stood at the top, face to face with Annapurna I, Machapuchare, Himchuli, Annapurna South, and Dhaulagiri. As the sun rose and I stood there with a warm cup of coffee, the heavy journey faded away, replaced by pure joy and euphoria.

That was the high point of the trek, and we now had to prepare for the descent. Mentally, that was a comforting thought. I had to hold myself back from going too fast—I wanted to stay present and enjoy the walk. And oh, how I did. Meanwhile, snow had fallen in the Himalayas, so we had to put on snow spikes, which made walking a bit more of a challenge. My guide even lost his balance a few times. Eventually, the temperature started to rise as we descended, and before long, I was back in my T-shirt, walking in the sunshine.

I felt grateful and fulfilled, surrounded by the grandeur of the mountains and the awareness of all that I had experienced.