I’ve been meditating a lot recently on how I can possibly write a post that sums up the last two and a half years and I’ve concluded that it’s impossible. There are already hundreds, if not thousands, of well-written posts on the Internet that explain the benefits and pitfalls and emotions of long-term traveling, so I’ll leave that research as an exercise for the reader.

I have to smile a little bit when I think back to all the conversations I had before I left where I was looking for justification or encouragement when faced with the terrifying option of abandoning a life I had carefully built for so long. The general consensus was “If not now, when?” and everyone who told me that was absolutely correct. I’ve experienced life moving at the speed of light and I have absolutely no regrets over how I’ve spent the last thirty months of my existence.

With that, I will leave you with a photo montage of the second half of my backpacking trip, which, I’m delighted to say, has a bit more production value than the first one. Nevertheless, both are very special to me, not only because they act as happy places that I can retreat to, but because they are the most accurate way to convey the extensive highlight reel of memories and feelings that lives inside my head.

This is perhaps a bit excessive for a “vacation video”, but I couldn’t care less. Want a better one? Go make your own.

Thailand

Ayu and I flew from Hanoi to Bangkok, picked up the blue duffel bag of souvenirs and gifts we had left in the airport, killed time for the rest of the day, and flew to Chiang Mai in the evening. We had really wanted to take the bus or train for the experience, but everything was sold out since Songkran was just around the corner. We spent two fun weeks in Chiang Mai, enjoying the four days of water fights of Songkran and lots of cheap Thai food and massages. As with last year, I didn’t dare take my camera out for fear of it getting water-damaged, but if you search YouTube, you’ll get a pretty good idea of what we were up to.

During our stay in Chiang Mai, we also went to Pai, a “chill, counter-culture, hippie mountain town”, to paraphrase the common sentiment echoed among Southeast Asia backpackers. My advice: don’t go to Pai. It’s overrun with the same types of people you’d find on Khao San Road in Bangkok, the tourist sites aren’t that great, and it’s a long, quasi-nauseous minivan ride to get there from Chiang Mai. Our 48-hour trip was, at best, completely forgettable; at worst, we wasted two days of our lives.

After Chiang Mai, we flew to Phuket, met up with another friend from America, and took a boat to Koh Phi-Phi, where we had four days of cloudy, but still awesome, beach and island time. I came down with tummy issues for the first time in about fifteen months, so I gave myself a small pat on the back for that. For about a day, I stayed within sprinting distance of the toilet and popped Pepto pills, activated charcoal, and antibiotics like candy.

We took a boat back to Phuket and spent three days on Surin Beach, a quiet beach far from the rowdiness of Patong, to savor our last few days in Thailand. There was lots of Thai food, sunsets, and bittersweet nostalgia (especially for me) before moving on to Indonesia.

Bali

We flew from Phuket to Bali by way of Singapore and once we landed, I left for Ubud for a few days while the girls went to Canggu. I thought Ubud would be a great place for me to be productive with a number of laptop tasks I had, but it turned out to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’ll explain.

It wasn’t anything in particular, but rather the classic “death by a thousand cuts”. I had to walk around town in the heat for an hour to find a new power adapter because mine didn’t fit in those stupid circular outlets. Every WiFi connection I tried was unreliable. My guesthouse room had one of those stupid one-handed showers and daily power outages. The local coworking space was full at 10:00 in the morning and charging $20 a day, as if this was San Francisco. The streets were a constant stream of motorbikes and noise, as usual, and the road construction in front of my guesthouse caused more congestion and air pollution than normal. The sidewalks were full of slow-moving, day-tripping tourists. About once a minute, a tout somewhere asked me if I needed a ride. And those little fucking ants that you find everywhere in Bali got into my Toblerone bar.

Seriously, I lost my shit after that. Those little fuckers.

I suddenly felt homesick and tired. Very tired. Really, really tired of everything and everyone around me. Tired of dealing with third-world bullshit. Tired of constantly dealing with logistics. Tired of packing and unpacking my stuff. Dare I say it, but I became very tired of traveling.

Before arriving in Ubud, I was hoping that it would be a familiar home away from home, like Chiang Mai. And while it did feel familiar, it also felt weird and distant, like I was in a place that I should have left in my past and not returned to. On my first full day there, I called Ayu after I ordered lunch and all I could tell her on the phone was: “I’m tired and I want to go home. I’m thinking of leaving tomorrow.” We talked for a bit and after we hung up, I sat by myself in the restaurant, ate my food, and cried.

I remember talking to a friend last summer about his Southeast Asia backpacking adventure and he told me about how and when and where he hit his breaking point. For him, it was Cambodia; he had a bad day, flipped a (metaphorical) table, and bought a plane ticket home. For me, it was Ubud that broke my spirit. I realize that it isn’t fair to Ubud or Indonesia to say that since it could have happened anywhere, but that’s where it happened to me. I’m convinced every long-term traveler will reach his or her breaking point eventually and that happened to me after 638 days on the road.

After a lazy, unproductive day (to minimize the chances of something else annoying me) and another night of sleep, I was able to shake off most of my freak-out. No, I didn’t go home the next day as I threatened, but I did feel very checked out. I started to let others make most of the travel arrangements and my camera rarely left its home in my daypack. The only photo I took during my time in Ubud was of my (admittedly phenomenal) view of the neighboring rice paddy. Sadly, that view was the only thing keeping me sane; I especially enjoyed it when a thunderstorm rolled through and I could watch the rain and lightning from the comfort of my patio.

I left Ubud a few days later and met up with the girls on Nusa Lembongan, a small island to the east of Bali, appropriately described by some as how Bali was decades ago. We had six really lovely, relaxed days on the island: two snorkeling trips, lots of swimming in our hotel’s excellent pool, multiple movie nights at the open-air cinema/restaurant down the road, multiple meals of the biggest and best nasi campur I’ve ever had in my life, and lots of sunsets and sundowners.

Nusa Lembongan single-handedly restored my faith in Bali, especially considering my disillusionment with the popular parts of Bali that are overcrowded and overdeveloped. I owe Ayu a million thanks for taking us there.

And speaking of said overdeveloped parts, I spent my last few days on the island in Seminyak, enjoying Indonesian food, some shopping, and a three-hour treatment at a local spa. For better or worse, that’s how I wrapped up my time in Southeast Asia. (For now.)

Hopefully I’ll feel refreshed and energized enough in the coming weeks to write a separate blog post that summarizes the last year of my travels. This post feels too informative (and a bit too depressing) to serve as the final chapter, so I’ll make an effort to write that chapter separately in the near future.

After a quite decent night of sleep, further extended by a multi-hour delay due to track maintenance, we grabbed our luggage, disembarked, made our way through the crowds, and were promptly scammed by a taxi driver while trying to get to the bus station. Clearly we didn’t realize we were being scammed at the time, but it happened. I hadn’t done my homework with respect to researching Hanoi public transportation (mistake #1), so when a driver approached us offering a metered taxi, I agreed without walking to the street first (mistake #2). In other countries in Asia, a metered taxi is worth its weight in gold, as the price will be much lower than the end result of haggling. As I learned later, some of the metered taxis in Hanoi have doctored meters that race through the fare at about ten times the normal rate. We didn’t realize this until we arrived at the bus station and since our luggage was being held ransom in the trunk, we had no choice but to pay up (almost $30 for a fifteen minute ride).

The one silver lining – besides learning a good travel tip the hard way – is that our driver got us to the bus station very quickly and, by complete dumb luck, we arrived just a few minutes before the next bus to Cat Ba Island was leaving. Still feeling the burn of getting ripped off, we triple-checked the posted bus fare against Lonely Planet and other online travel resources before buying tickets.

Tickets and seats acquired, our long travel day continued with a multi-hour bus ride to the coast, followed by a 45-minute boat ride to Cat Ba Island and a 45-minute minibus ride to Cat Ba Town. The boat and van rides were normal, but the bus ride was very aggravating. When the driver wasn’t laying on the horn or blasting Vietnamese variety shows on the TV or driving like an escaped convict, he was picking up packages or Vietnamese passengers from the side of the road. And since all the seats on the bus were full of tourists, the locals sat on tiny plastic stools in the aisle, filling up any remaining space until the bus became a multi-ton fire hazard on wheels. No doubt the money from all the locals bypassed the bus company entirely and went right into the driver’s pocket.

The pinnacle of irritation was that because of all the unscheduled pickups, the bus was running late, which meant no stops for food or water and one completely botched bathroom break. We stopped at a bus depot, where nearly a dozen people (myself included) got off to use the bathroom, but about one minute later the bus started to leave as the attendants yelled at everyone to get back on. One poor woman was in the restroom at the time and the bus actually left and started driving down the road without her. The driver had to pull over and wait for her to get a ride on the back of a motorbike to get back on the bus. Most everyone was pissed at the driver and the company by the time we arrived at the pier to catch the boat.

Cat Ba Island and Ha Long Bay

The main reason we were going through all this hassle was to get to Cat Ba Town, a small island town that serves as one of the jumping off points for tourists going to Ha Long Bay, the popular home of some of the most beautiful scenery in Asia. Once we were checked into our hotel, we explored the town and the waterfront a bit before booking a full-day tour for the following day.

Early the next morning, we were picked up and taken to our boat, which spent the rest of the day cruising Ha Long Bay and Lan Ha Bay as we admired hundreds of beautiful limestone formations, kayaked, ate a fantastic lunch, swam (or watched others swim), and took lots and lots of photos. It’s not easy to capture the magnitude and beauty of Ha Long Bay in photos, so I’ll include a number of them here in the hopes that enough quantity can somehow add up to quality. The photos aren’t spectacular since the skies were overcast the entire day, but the perpetual clouds meant the temperature was very agreeable and not too hot. Given that we were outside for almost eight hours, I was happy to sacrifice favorable photographic conditions for comfortable weather.

The day after our spectacular outing was a free day, so we did some travel planning, got massages, rented bicycles, and went to one of the local beaches for a bit in the afternoon.

The following day (our last in Cat Ba), we went on a half-day hike through Cat Ba National Park, which essentially meant getting very hot and sweaty as we climbed stairs through the warm, humid jungle. The big payoff was reaching Ngu Lam peak, which offered breathtaking views of green, jungle-covered hills and mountains in every direction. Again, photos won’t do the scene justice, but here they are anyway.

Hanoi

On our last full day in Vietnam, we took the five-hour, minibus-boat-bus-bus combo back to the Hanoi bus station, where we successfully dodged the unscrupulous fast-meter taxi drivers and found a proper taxi company (Mai Linh, the one with the green taxis) to take us to our hotel in the Old Quarter. With only one night in the city, we went out immediately and wandered aimlessly, grabbed beers at a local watering hole, took a pedicab ride around the lake, had snacks in a small restaurant, smoked shisha in a lounge, and had an excellent Indian feast for dinner.

The next morning we made our way to the airport for our flight to Bangkok, again noting the massive difference between Hanoi city traffic (crazy!) and highway traffic (none!).

I can admit that I was ready to leave Vietnam after spending a few weeks there, but I definitely had a great time everywhere we went. For reasons I can’t explain, Vietnam was never on my radar when I was making my Southeast Asia travel plans, but Ayu’s desire to see the limestone islands of the north was enough reason to encourage me to go and I’m really happy I did. We met a lot of very friendly people, had a lot of great coffee and cheap breakfasts, and saw some of the most beautiful nature I’ve seen on my travels.

Since we were rapidly fleeing Cambodia because the heat and humidity were too much to bear, we decided to skip the similar climate of southern Vietnam, start in the middle of the country, and finish in the north. Our Vietnam travel plans were thrown together at the last minute (again, because of our sudden intolerance of the weather), so we paid a travel agent in Siem Reap to handle our Vietnamese visa, then flew from Siem Reap to Da Nang, a mid-sized city home to Vietnam’s third largest international airport (after Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi). Our arrival was one of the smoothest and most painless airport experiences I’ve ever had: no crowds or lines (partially because we arrived late at night), a clean and modern terminal, and a friendly, English-speaking associate to sell us SIM cards.

The muggy weather in Cambodia followed by a sudden change to a much cooler climate was clearly not appreciated by my body, as I woke up with a cold the following morning. Lucky for me, we were staying in a hotel in a quiet, sparsely populated neighborhood that was almost reminiscent of a beach town, except without the people.

In fact, Da Nang as a whole baffled me with its apparent lack of residents. After multiple drives and walks through town, we had seen many multi-lane roads and barely any traffic. At first, I thought it was because we had arrived very late at night, but then I noticed the same absence of vehicles during a daytime taxi ride. In fact, I noticed this same phenomenon in multiple places throughout Vietnam, a country that’s infamous for traffic so chaotic and dense that Westerners have to relearn how to cross a street. While we did eventually see some classic Vietnamese traffic, we saw just as much non-traffic. My best explanation is that the Vietnam War – called the “American War” in Vietnam – gave the country a clean slate for construction, as the old roads and towns and bridges were destroyed. Given this clean slate, they rebuilt things with future expansion in mind and the vehicular population simply hasn’t caught up yet. Is this actually true? I’m not sure, but it sounds reasonable to me.

Given my illness and the rainy weather, we mostly took it easy in Da Nang for a day and a half: massages, some laptop work, trips to Vietnamese cafes, and the first of many breakfasts (throughout the country) of eggs, French bread, and strong coffee. After a couple nights, we left for the next destination, making sure to include a quick visit to the massive Lady Buddha statue, one of the big tourist sites in the area.

Hoi An

After a 20-minute van ride, we arrived in Hoi An, a very popular tourist destination on the coast. Besides the waterfront location, the city is famous for its Old Town, a historic part of the city with architecture that incorporates Vietnamese, European, and Chinese influences. The old buildings have been converted into restaurants and shops, mostly selling clothes. In fact, one of the must-do activities in Hoi An is to go to a tailor – by some estimates, there are upwards of 500 of them – and have clothes custom made. I sprung for a pair of “jeans” – the material is stretchier than denim – and a pair of shorts. Though I’m sure I could have shopped around or haggled more, I was happy to pay $40 for two perfectly-tailored pieces of clothing. Ayu and our new travel friend Kimberly got similarly excellent prices on several pretty dresses.

The rain was sporadic over the next few days, which thwarted our attempts at any real excursions, so we filled the time with shopping trips to old town, delicious food, a tea tasting, and a one-hour boat ride along the river.

When the rain finally stopped and the sun came out, we went on a gentle afternoon bicycle tour (with Heaven & Earth Tours) through the countryside, admiring local villages and homes, villagers showing us their crafts, traditional bridges, waterways, and the gorgeous green rice paddies Vietnam is known for. We capped off the day with an amazing dinner at Morning Glory, probably my favorite restaurant in Vietnam.

The next day we rented bikes from our hotel and set out on our own, riding through more rice paddies and villages before grabbing a late lunch, then riding to the coast for a well-deserved beer on the beach. We spent the evening, as usual, in Old Town, enjoying dinner, live music at a quiet garden bar, and the narrow lanes and strings of lanterns that make the quarter so atmospheric.

Hue

After our unexpectedly long six-day stay in Hoi An, we took the bus to Hue, the old capital of Vietnam and a city with a lot of historical significance. However, my first impression wasn’t so great, as the bus ride there was awful. Instead of seats, we were each given inflexible, plastic half-coffins to slip into. Needless to say, sleeper buses in Vietnam aren’t built for someone who is 6’2″, so I spent most of my time readjusting my legs to find that perfect, least-terrible position. Once I had mostly accomplished that, the bus’s air conditioning started to drip disgusting, black water on a select group of individuals on the left side of the bus, myself included. At our half-way rest stop, the bus attendant switched me to a seat in the very back of the bus, which turned into a sauna when the aircon was turned off, so I was wet with sweat too. It was a shitty four-hour trip.

For our first full day in Hue, we booked a daylong sightseeing tour, which included several ridiculously expansive and ornate mausoleums, the ancient city, a “dragon boat” ride on the river, and displays of martial arts, incense-making, and conical-hat-making. By mid-afternoon, the heat and humidity had drained all of our energy, so we called it a day and bailed on the last hour of the tour.

The weather hadn’t changed much by the next day (our last in Hue), so we all scattered and had personal days; I worked on photos on my laptop, had more delicious coffee and veggie food at some local spots, and got massages with the girls in the evening.

The following day was our 16-hour train ride to Hanoi, so after a leisurely lunch and some window shopping, we took a cab to the station to catch our mid-afternoon train. The three of us booked beds in a sleeper cabin and the fourth bed remained unoccupied until a train employee hopped up there in the final part of the journey to catch a few hours of sleep. It was a pretty standard sleeper car experience, with the occasional noisy stop as passengers shuffled on and off the train and food vendors shouted on the platform. The food sold onboard the train wasn’t vegetarian at all – which we had been warned about in advance – so we were very thankful we had brought with us some takeaway from our favorite Hue restaurant. Most of the time on the train was spent sleeping or reading, but we did make sure to savor the incredible view; from our western-facing side of the train, we had a picture-perfect orange sunset over the lush rice paddies of the countryside.

• Day 1: Beng Melea, Preah Ko, and Bakong
• Day 2: Angkor Wat for sunrise and a good portion of the morning
• Day 3: Angkor Wat for sunrise only, Phnom Bakheng, Angkor Thom’s south gate, Bayon, a drive-by of the Terrace of the Elephants, and Ta Prohm

The only real item of note is that we scheduled our trip to align with a friend who wanted to see the sunrise over Angkor Wat on the equinox, which is evidently significant. Honestly, I didn’t notice anything markedly different other than the fact that there were several thousand people more than usual, creating a massive line, which is absurd given the size of the place.

With that, I’ll fill up space here with some of the better photos from this (my third) trip to Angkor. This was my first time really using HDR photography to my advantage and I think these are some of the best Angkor photos I’ve ever taken. Enjoy!

Before arriving in Kathmandu, we were already amazed by Nepal simply from the view from the plane during our approach to the airport: massive green hills, rivers lining the floors of valleys, terraces cut into the lush countryside, and homes sprinkled throughout the landscape. Once on the ground, we realized just how different the weather was going to be as we walked across the tarmac to the main airport building. Goodbye to wearing shorts and tank tops in the sunny heat; hello to wearing jeans and multiple layers in the cloudy cool weather.

We went through the usual immigration/customs/ATM/currency exchange/SIM card process, made surprisingly modern by the touchscreen kiosks for getting our visas on arrival. After we got into our ride from the airport and started making our way through the streets of Kathmandu, the culture shock started to set in a little bit, made worse by the long travel day and the less-than-usual amount of sleep the previous night. The cold weather, unfamiliar surroundings, heavy traffic, and darkness were disorienting enough, but also many of the streets in the city were muddy and unpaved due to lots of active road construction. And then there were the power issues: Nepal doesn’t generate enough electricity to meet demand, so there are planned power outages every day for many hours, sometimes for half the day.

For our four days in Kathmandu, we stayed in an Airbnb flat in Sorhakhutte, the neighborhood just north of Thamel, the main tourist neighborhood in the city. While Thamel is built on restaurants, bars, and shops catering to Westerners, Sorhakhutte is a local neighborhood with Nepali families, local shops, and small eateries. We loved staying in a more authentic place with a Nepali family (with a four-day-old baby!), but we found ourselves missing the convenience of Thamel. Normally, Thamel would have been an easy 10-minute walk, but with the construction and traffic, it might as well have been an hour away. Our dinner every night was takeaway Indian/Nepalese food eaten in our flat by candlelight, partially for the ambiance but mostly out of necessity since the power was out.

The next day was our outing in Thamel for shopping and errands since we had to buy cold-weather clothes for our respective excursions: a five-day trek in the mountains for me and a six-day yoga retreat for Ayu. All of the shops in Thamel sell knock-off cold-weather clothes, North Face being the most popular. I was able to get hiking pants, a lightweight down jacket, long underwear (top and bottom), two pairs of socks, a wool hat, and wool gloves for under $90 total. In fact, between all the cold-weather clothes we bought and the clothes we bought for the wedding party in India, we had to buy a knock-off North Face duffel bag to hold everything since they didn’t fit in our regular backpacks anymore. When we got tired of shopping and walking around the narrow, crowded streets, we made a point of seeking out one of Kathmandu’s many rooftop cafes for some snacks and masala tea.

Wednesday was our big sightseeing day, so we hired a car and a driver and had him take us to a few of the big attractions in the area. First was Swayambhunath, a religious complex on one of the many hills in Kathmandu, also referred to as the “monkey temple” due to the monkey population that entertains/terrorizes tourists. The stupa, prayer flags, prayer wheels, and other Nepalese visuals were certainly beautiful on their own, but the view from the very top was unbeatable. As we sat on the patio of the local cafe, we had a spectacular view of the city and the mountains behind it.

Next was Bhaktapur, one of the medieval villages just outside the city that is also a UNESCO world heritage site. After hiring one of the many guides that wait around for tourists to arrive, we bought a ticket and had our guide take us around the village for a few hours so we could admire Durbar Square (the general name for any royal palace square in Nepal), old architecture, temples with intricate stone carvings, small shrines, and a labyrinthine network of courtyards and narrow alleyways.

After leaving Durbar Square, we walked to Pottery Square, where the locals specialize in creating, you guessed it, pottery. There were lots of coin banks drying in the sun as well as other clay vessels for transporting water. As we walked down one of the alleys leading away from the square, we came across a potter and his wheel, so Ayu decided to try her hand (pun intended!) at making something.

For another hour or so, our guide took us through more alleys and courtyards until we arrived at a local painting school. A couple of the rooms were filled with students working on pieces with bright colors or gold and a couple more rooms were filled with finished art for sale. The more inexpensive pieces were painted by students, whereas the pieces made by masters command higher prices.

After finishing our walking tour and locating our driver, we made our way through the heavy Kathmandu traffic to Boudhanath (a.k.a. Boudha), the largest stupa in Asia. The stupa and the circle of buildings, shops, and restaurants that surrounds it feels like a small town unto itself. Thousands of tourists, locals, and monks flock to the stupa and join the crowds making their clockwise pilgrimages around the massive religious site. The grey clouds, cold weather, large crowds, and palpable energy in the air gave the whole place a subtly exciting feel. The Buddha eyes on all sides of the spire atop the stupa heightened the scene even more. My mind settled on a comparison to a cold Manhattan evening during the Christmas season; it felt energetic, like you were at the center of the universe.

After having a late lunch at one of the rooftop restaurants overlooking the stupa and the people, we joined the crowds for our own circumnavigation.

The next day was Holi, one of the more important and notable Hindu festivals; it’s celebrated mostly in India and Nepal, but also anywhere with a large Hindu population. To Westerners, it’s known as that holiday where you throw dyed powder and colored water on each other. We wanted to play too for a bit, so we donned our dumpiest clothes – some of the dyes they use don’t wash out – and walked to Thamel. I had to take care of one order of business (visiting the office of my trekking agency to pay for my trek), but before and after that we joined in the colorful fun for a bit.

An unfortunate tradition for Nepalese Holi is that women, especially foreign women, are often the targets of barrages of water balloons. Thankfully, that tradition is slowly dying year by year, but since we ran into one particular group of pre-teenage boys multiple times, Ayu got soaked. Wearing drenched clothes in cool weather isn’t what I’d describe as pleasant, so we grabbed a ride back to our place and spent literally the rest of the afternoon washing our dye-stained clothes by hand and drying them in the sun. I have a feeling Holi is much more fun in India, where the weather is actually hot.

With that, our few days in the capital came to an end, which was probably for the best as the traffic, air pollution, and seemingly ubiquitous road construction were getting to us. We were up before sunrise the next morning to pack and get a taxi to the bus station, where we bought some masala tea from one of the street vendors and hopped on our 7:00 bus. The ride through the valley offered stunning views of the countryside as we, along with countless other tourist buses and trucks with colorfully designed fronts, chugged along the winding two-lane road that connects Kathmandu and Pokhara.

Pokhara

The main reason for me going to Pokhara was a five-day trek through the Annapurna mountains, which I’ve put in a few separate posts. As a result, there’s not much else to say about Pokhara since most of the rest of our time was spent relaxing and eating, both before and after our respective excursions. When we weren’t doing that and I had some free time, I was feverishly developing and editing the nearly one thousand photos I took during my trek.

Pokhara was a very welcome change from Kathmandu, as there was far less traffic, pollution, noise, and people and a beautiful lake and mountain range to look at. If I were to summarize the town in the form of an answer to an SAT question, it would be something like: “Pokhara is to Kathmandu as Chiang Mai is to Bangkok”.

The one notable activity we undertook was (tandem) paragliding, which is an incredibly popular thing to do in Pokhara. It’s immediately easy to see why: the roughly twenty minute ride was both pleasant and exciting and offered incredible views of the greenery and villages and lake below. There are usually many dozens of paragliders in the sky at the same time, all circling and catching thermal drafts in the same clockwise direction to minimize accidents. The coolest part was seeing hawks and other birds of prey flying at the same altitude as us, often astonishingly close to the paragliders. I’m still surprised that all the foreign, colorful flying contraptions populating the skies day in and day out haven’t scared the birds away from their home.

After a few days in Pokhara, we caught a tourist bus back to Kathmandu the day before our flight out of the country, again admiring the beautiful views of the valley while marveling that our bus driver’s cavalier driving style didn’t land us (or some other vehicle) in a ditch by the side of the road or worse.

Patan

For our last night in Nepal, we opted to stay in Patan, a village outside of Kathmandu proper that is almost like a suburb, though with all the people and traffic, it didn’t feel that different from Kathmandu itself. Patan’s Durbar Square is the main tourist attraction, so we bought tickets and spent some time there that evening and a bit the next morning.

After the late morning sightseeing, we finished packing and made our way to the airport, which had just recently returned to (relatively) normal after a Turkish Airlines accident. As we boarded our plane to Bangkok, we could see the disabled plane in the distance, its body stripped of all identifying markers or logos, probably as a PR tactic.

And with that, we left South Asia to meet up with a friend before journeying to Cambodia. Our time in Nepal felt short as we really only saw two cities, but the trip was densely packed with culture and nature. The trip to Nepal happened almost by accident, more due to its proximity to India than anything else, but turned out to be one of the highlights of all of my Asian travels. I have a good feeling I’ll end up here again someday.

The morning of the last day left me with a lot of bittersweet feelings. I was growing a bit weary of the trail after four days and was very much looking forward to going back to a proper hotel in Pokhara. But I had also grown accustomed to the routine and found myself feeling very attached to Ghandruk, if only in a I-wish-I-could-spend-two-more-weeks-here way. It’s probably for the best that the trek was only five days though, as my clothes (and my body) were starting to smell a little funky; I could smell my feet while standing. I enjoy making fun of foul-smelling Western hippies in South Asia and I’ll be damned if I become one of them!

After our 7:30 breakfast, we were on our way, heading down, down, down stone staircases for hours, descending about 1,000 meters that morning. Once we were finished with the stairs, we found ourselves on much less interesting dirt trails and roads for the rest of the way back to Nayapul, where we had one last dal bhat lunch before getting a ride back to Pokhara.

The five-day Poon Hill trek was perfect for my fitness level and trekking desire. It felt really good to be active and exerting myself again, especially with an elevated heart rate for extended periods of time. The meals were much more delicious and satisfying than usual because my body was craving them so much more. And though I thought I would be tired at the end, I found myself quite invigorated! Maybe that’s not such a big surprise at all, given that I was well-rested, well-fed, and well-exercised, with lots of clean, fresh mountain air.

Although this trek pales in comparison to the other treks Nepal has to offer, I still found it to be a life-affirming experience and I think my photos show that. The scenery – mountains, valleys, rivers, rocks, forests, rhododendron trees, snow, people, and animals – was some of the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen in my life in one place. The experience was beautiful and satisfying in many ways and I would definitely consider – perhaps after upping my fitness level – another trekking trip again in the future.

This day’s trek was relatively short – only three hours – but we moved quickly to avoid the large, loud groups of European trekkers that apparently need to roll a dozen deep to enjoy nature. Though short, the trek was very engaging: as I inhaled the cold, crisp mountain air and crossed rivers via stepping stones, I noticed the fragrant aroma of flowers in the forest while listening to singing birds, rushing water, and the sounds of our footsteps on the dirt trail. Some parts of the trail were covered in dead leaves, emitting that satisfying crunching sound under our feet as we walked; that and the cold weather reminded me of autumn back home.

This was the first day I felt any soreness in my body, a huge surprise to me since the first day alone was more exercise than I’ve had in weeks. I felt a subtle soreness in my calves from the previous day’s significant descent, but it was easy enough to ignore, especially given our periodic breaks.

We easily reached the lodge in Ghandruk (Hotel Gurung Cottage) by lunchtime and were delighted by how cute it was: stone walls, a huge patio overlooking the terraces and homes down the hill, flowers of every color decorating the fronts of the rooms, and several of the Annapurna peaks serving as a beautiful backdrop. Beyond being adorable, I was overjoyed by the presence of an outlet in the room, which, by that point in the trek, was a ridiculous luxury.

Another lunch, another fantastic spread of dal bhat (on brass flatware, a first on this trip). This seems as good of a time as any to mention the excellent service we had everywhere on the trail. We would order dinner and breakfast in advance and specify a time to eat, and everything would be ready exactly on time, with no mistakes ever. It’s obvious that these lodges have become well-run operations, probably because every day is the same for them as hordes of trekkers pass through. Sandip was an excellent host for us the entire time, making sure that we always had enough food, drinks, and, of course, masala tea.

After lunch, we visited a small museum about daily Nepalese life, the local monastery, and the visitor center, both to watch a documentary and to enjoy the phenomenal mountain and valley views from the edge of the cliff. Ghandruk easily became my favorite village of the trek, not least of which because I felt like I was wandering the Shire: stone walls, streets, and staircases, rickety wooden fences, simple houses perched on the hillsides, and green fields and gardens. Add to that constant reminders of Nepal: trains of donkeys carrying supplies and schoolchildren playing basketball or volleyball or walking home.

By the end of the day, I found myself wishing I had a reason to spend a couple weeks there. Perhaps I should write a book? Or maybe just read a few books? The stunning mountain views and peaceful village life were certainly conducive to doing something literary and introspective.

After walking around the village in the waning daylight taking some photos, I ducked into the lodge’s restaurant for dinner, where I was greeted by the sight of half a dozen Nepali men and a handful of tourists watching TV. And not just any TV, but WWE wrestling, which is evidently very popular in Nepal. Yeah Murrika! As I waited for my dinner and explained the finer points of “sports entertainment” to the Danish girls, I decided to try a glass of raksi (Nepalese rice wine), which “runs the gamut from smooth-sipping schnapps to headache-inducing paint stripper”, according to the very talented writers at Lonely Planet. The raksi I had tasted like slightly-watered-down Japanese sake, pleasant enough but lacking a good punch of flavor. And speaking of punching, once the hour of WWE reached it’s exciting, sweaty, table-breaking, suplex-ive conclusion, I spent a little while longer in the dining room, watching a ridiculous Bollywood movie with all the trekking guides before retiring for the evening.

Normally this would mark the end of my writing for the day, but one small anecdote remains. I woke up in the middle of the night with a full bladder, so after putting on my shoes and walking outside in the cold towards the shared bathroom, I stopped in my tracks and marveled at the mountain range towering over the village. With minimal lights on in the town, the snow-capped peaks, illuminated by the mostly full moon, were perfectly visible. Even a pee break in the middle of the night in Annapurna is an amazing visual experience.

After spending a little more than an hour at the top, we descended in the early morning light and warmth back to Ghorepani for breakfast at the lodge. After checking out, we started our journey to the east, first by climbing a ridge with more spectacular mountain and valley views, then by descending through a cold and quiet forest. The trail in the forest was initially covered with snow and ice, which led to some slow trekking, lots of slipping and sliding, and a few close calls (i.e. almost completely biting it). Eventually we descended far enough that the snow and ice gave way to mud and water, which made for slightly safer trekking conditions. As the sun rose and the day warmed up more, even the mud and water disappeared from the trail and we easily made our way down the stone stairs through the forest. The trail followed a river for much of the way and the forest canopy kept us cool from the blinding sun.

Though the snow, ice, mud, and water had disappeared from the trail, the large and frequent quantities of donkey poop still remained, posing a humorous, but legitimate, slippage threat while we climbed down thousands of steps. I couldn’t help but notice all the varieties, ranging from deposits of two dozen chocolate donut holes to massive piles of fudge. (Photos intentionally omitted.)

For lunch, we stopped at a lodge in a small village dwarfed by towering mountain walls on either side of the river. As we ate our lunch on the stone patio by the water, I enjoyed watching the chickens and donkeys wandering around town, carrying out their daily errands just like anyone else. They were by far the most popular (domesticated) animals on the trail, with the occasional lazy dog or maybe even a cat thrown in for good measure.

After eating, we trekked up and down through the forest and then around the valley until we reached Tadapani, where we were spending the night. We even caught a glimpse of a few languar monkeys in the rhododendron trees having their own lunches shortly after we finished ours.

After my usual hot shower and change of wardrobe, we hung out in the lodge with a new Canadian friend, chatting and playing cards – Presidents and Assholes, a game I hadn’t played since high school! – until dinner time. Before even reaching Nepal, I had read in my Nepal guidebook that apple pie has become a trekkers’ favorite on the trail, so I decided to try it for dinner. I had heard from the girls that the portions were pretty big, so I ordered only a bowl of soup and apple pie for dinner. (Ah, the joys of being an adult.) After I finished my soup, the slice of pie came out. Oh wait, did I say “slice of pie”? I actually meant “entire pie”. Yes, my dinner that night was an entire apple pie. The pie was cut into four slices – can you call something with a right angle a “slice”? – so that I felt somewhat like a human being and not like a barbarian that eats baked goods for sustenance. All that said, the crust was very savory and the gooey innards weren’t overwhelmingly sweet, so it didn’t feel like I was eating a massive dessert in lieu of a proper meal. I devoured the entire thing.

Sandip joined us for dinner too, something he didn’t normally do since he usually ate with the other guides or the family running the lodge. His mealtime manners were overly polite and adorable; I’m still not sure if they reflect his personal beliefs or Nepalese culture in general. He wouldn’t start eating his food until he asked us for permission first; likewise, he wouldn’t talk shop (i.e. the next day’s itinerary) unless we assured him that it was quite acceptable dinner conversation.

We left Hile at our usual starting time of 8:00 and began the hardest day of the trek: ascending 3,500 steps (1,360 meters) to Ghorepani. Climbing stairs for hours actually had a quasi-meditative effect on me; once my body got used to the elevated heart rate and the muscle memory of constantly lifting my legs, I was able to get into a groove and let me mind wander. Occasionally, the stairs would get much steeper and we’d have to stop for a rest. Sandip had provided us with walking sticks that morning – which I had intentionally not purchased when I was provisioning in Kathmandu a few days prior – and I was surprised to experience firsthand how much of a difference they make. When climbing stairs or just an incline, the stick allowed me to use some of my upper body strength so that my legs didn’t have to exert as much; when descending, especially on stairs, the stick helped me maintain my balance and slowed my body to save my knees from lots of extra strain.

We passed lots of trains of donkeys on this day, traveling in both directions, including one particularly murderous one. As we were walking along a narrow trail on the edge of a cliff, several donkeys came around the corner at us and we were caught awkwardly with nowhere to go. One of the donkeys forced one of the Danish girls slightly over the edge of the cliff and she had to fall to her hands and knees and hold on so that she wouldn’t go tumbling down into the valley. One of the other donkeys did the same to me, though I had about a foot of space from the edge to stand in. Though it was extremely dangerous and almost disastrous it that moment, it quickly became a running joke with the girls that the pleasant jingling of the donkeys’ bells was the ominous, terrifying sound of impending death.

Trekking up the side of the huge hill offered us beautiful valley and gorge views the entire day. The trail was initially packed with a lot of trekkers, but as the day wore on and differences in everyone’s pace became more significant, the crowds thinned out, which was great since we had passed some very large groups (a dozen people or more) who were also very loud.

We trekked for about four or five hours, taking rests (and an obligatory masala tea break) as necessary, until we stopped at a lodge with a glorious sun-drenched patio, perfect for drying our sweaty clothes. The weather changed quickly though; after lunch and a relatively short trek, we reached Ghorepani, already grey and somber in the gloom created by the predictable mid-afternoon clouds. In fact, the clouds opened up and showered the area about ten minutes after we checked in. Thankfully, our rooms had attached bathrooms, so I could have my hot shower without venturing out into the rain, though the biting cold and glass-less window in my bathroom made getting undressed a real test of determination.

Ghorepani was easily the coldest location of the entire trek (there was snow on the ground), so after my shower I put on almost all of the clothes I had brought with me. The electricity was out (classic Nepal), so without much else to do, I ventured out with my camera and tried to capture some photos of daily life in the mountain villages. I was quite amused by the local basketball court and the group of boys using it appropriately. I found out later from Sandip that basketball and volleyball are popular in Nepal because they take up the least amount of space, an important consideration in a country that is dominated by hills and mountains and generally uneven terrain.

With no electricity and no heat in our huts, most everyone staying at the lodge – Westerners and Nepali alike – huddled around the fireplace in the main building, swapping stories, warming their hands, sipping masala tea, and listening to Nepali music. The most humorous and eventful part of the evening was the moment when the electricity came back on, at which point no less than ten people – again, Westerners and Nepali alike – made a mad dash across the room to charge their phones in the power strips on the desk. After bringing my phone back from the dead and charging it for about an hour, I turned in, fully clothed to combat the cold, and set my alarm for 4:45 in preparation for our early start to Poon Hill the next morning.