Nepal Trail Notes

Kanchenjunga Circuit

Kanchenjunga was a different kind of quiet.

In October, I walked the circuit. Both North and South Base Camps, and up to Drohmo Ri at nearly 6000 meters. On a map, it is just a line. On the ground, it is a slow, freezing world where your only job is to breathe, walk, and stay respectful.

I was not always alone. There were guides, porters, and locals who live in these valleys like it is normal life. But there were long stretches where it was just me and the dirt. No voices. No music. Just footsteps and wind.

Those silent sections do something to your head. You cannot fake strength at altitude. You cannot hustle your way through thin air. You just learn to be steady.

I also did something stupid. I went in with clothing not suited for 5000 meters. The local porters wore more layers than I did. I felt entirely underprepared. I laughed at myself, but it was a sharp reminder. The mountain does not care about your confidence. It only cares about reality.

What stays with me is the rhythm. Early starts. Small villages. Kitchen smoke. Tea that felt like medicine. Standing on Drohmo Ri was heavy. But what stayed was simpler. I learned how to move without drama. One breath, one step, one layer at a time.

Mardi Himal

Mardi Himal started simple.

I went with just one traveler from China. I thought it would be a quiet week with a steady pace. But trails write their own stories.

Over the next few days, our group grew naturally. By the time we were deep in, we were seven. Nepali, English, French, Israeli, Chinese, and me.

There were no formal introductions. No forced bonding. It just happened over tea houses, shared climbs, and shared fatigue. We just fell into the same rhythm.

A joke when everyone is exhausted. Passing a packet of biscuits. Warm rooms, wet socks drying by the fire, and laughter you actually earned.

Then came the bad idea.

A fellow traveler from Israel and I decided to push past the usual safe point. We headed toward Upper Base Camp, into a zone where most people turn back. There was no proper trail. Just steep, loose ground. The kind of climb where you stop talking because every step takes total focus.

At one point, she thought we were going to fall. She told me later she was already writing the news report of our accident in her head.

But we made it. We stood there with Machapuchre towering right in front of us, massive and unreal. She just laughed and said it was the best and worst decision of her life.

Pikey Peak

By February 2026, Nepal was my winter base. I decided to do two treks back to back.

First was Pikey Peak. I went with a mixed group of new connections. Nepali, Indian, and German.

There were endless stairs. The kind that make your legs burn and make you question why you are doing this instead of sitting in a warm room.

But then I got my first clear view of Everest.

I kept turning back to look at it. I even joked to myself that I had never turned my head so many times for a beautiful woman. It sounds funny, but it was true.

Despite all the hype, Everest is Everest. You can try to act casual about it. But when you are standing there looking at it, your body knows the scale of what is in front of you. You just go quiet.

Jugal View Point

A few days later, I was on the trail to Jugal View Point. This was a different beast entirely.

Snow covered everything. The trails were buried. We had to carry a cook with us, which tells you how remote it was. I walked with a group of young Nepali guides who are now friends. I was the only non-guide in the group.

I stayed quiet and watched how they moved. Fast, calm, and completely sure of their footing even in deep snow.

It was steep. My lungs worked hard and my mind shut up completely. There was nothing to think about except where to place my boot next.

When we finally reached the viewpoint, the sun started to drop. The snow turned a soft, pale pink. We stood there in the freezing air, just watching the color fade out of the ice.