This is Chapter 3 in a blog series. If you’re new to the series, visit the series homepage for the full table of contents.

Nepal, Day 1—The Arrival

The Katmandú Airport is a stark contrast to the last, warm inside and made of both red brick and green plaster walls. We sweat as we move through immigration, obtaining our 90-day visa, and march through the chaos that is their airport security. At one point two clear lines formed and all was well. But a spiritual-looking man possessing all the accoutrements of a shaman strides right down the middle of the two lines toward the metal detector. His actions confuse those in front of him and inspire those behind him. The lines collapse into a huge mess of a hundred people, leaving us in a much worse position than moments before. Everyone is now like cows, but luckily, we are in no specific hurry. When we finally make it to the X-ray machine, the security guy stares at his phone and the bags fly by on the monitor screen without so much as a glance. We shrug and reap the rewards of patience.

We are now in a different part of the same room and it is no less crowded. Each of those hundred people feel the need for luggage push-carts and the place erupts into an unwanted game of bumper cars. Everyone is at a stalemate. We weave through the carts and a sigh of relief follows the first sight of our backpacks standing upright by the carousel. Everything seems in good shape and in one piece. With some proper shoving, our larger backpacks devour the contents of our carry-on bags like the machine-societies in Mortal Engines and we’re off to use the bathroom real fast. I take a leak and then a small video of me brushing my teeth, in that order.

It’s early still, 8am perhaps, when we step out of the airport and are at once bombarded by Nepalese tour guides, hoteliers and taxi drivers. To them we must look like money. Little do they know, we are on a tight budget for what might last the rest of my life. 🙂

Bradley speaks to them as I try to contact our friends Ben and Sally with whom we hiked parts of the PCT in 2015. Sally had previously let me know they were in Nepal via Instagram, and I was excited to know someone in such a foreign place. Ben and Sally respond, recommend a few hostels, and say we should meet up later. We take our chances with the cabs and ride into the city accompanied by two gentlemen, a driver and a city guide.

The streets of Nepal are without rules, so it seems. Cars drive on the left side of the road, but also in the middle, and going both ways. This middle-driving causes problems. Motorcycles weave about the streets and I witness two near-wrecks. There are no lights, only the strategy of “honk and then somehow fit your way in.” Still, the driving is fairly slow, which is why our guide says not to worry when there is no seat belt accompanying my seat.

More pressing a problem is the fog, the pollution. The city of Katmandú is shrouded in a hazy grey cloud that blocks the sunlight and makes the air difficult to breathe. Passerbyers walk the sidewalks and middle of the streets—it is all one thing—wearing masks to lessen the pollution’s effects. Our guide explains this is the way it’s been due to the many vehicles. It doesn’t help that the city is settled in what feels like a canyon, allowing the haze to accumulate in the valley. I breathe but it’s noticeably unpleasant and I’m happy to be leaving either tomorrow or the next day into the smaller city of Pokhara.

Kamal and our driver guide us through the busy city.

Dropped off near the center of town, we tip our driver and thank our guide before seeking out a hostel. I guess we are our own guides now.

Ben and Sally text me through WhatsApp and say Zostel is a fine enough place to stay so we seek it out. Along the way, the streets are wet in places from previous days rain, stray dogs roam about here and there, and there are other backpackers too with whom we have an unspoken connection, especially those speaking English. But we don’t speak with them because there’s no need and to keep the foreign atmosphere alive.

On our way to Zostel, a few yards before it’s entrance, we stumble across Hostel Yog. The place is colorful and beckons us nearer.

There are three smiling faces at the reception counter, two guys and a girl who look to be in their mid-twenties. The girl gives us a quick tour of the bungalow and we accept. Downstairs there is a small shared kitchen with clean water and upstairs is a dorm room with six beds and lockers, one bathroom with hot water for showering and three WiFis to cover the premises. We accept, fill out paperwork and pay them $5 for the night. It’s remarkably affordable, even compared to the “costly” $15 hostels.

The rooms of Hostel Yog are named Pali words for various spiritual qualities like effort, wisdom and happiness. We choose wisdom and make ourselves at home in this new basecamp.

Energy is high and we decide to do Yoga on the rooftop, a small space that is no larger than one of the dorm rooms, but it is only us up here. It feels good to move, stretch and challenge the body. Bradley and I have different strategies for movement and the sun peaks through the haze above as we sweat on the dusty floors of the rooftop.

Pigeon nesting atop the roof.

Workout complete, I join Bradley at the first floor outdoor lounge and speak to three different people. The first is Michael, a young man from Canada whose first day it is working at the hostel. He has hiked the Annapurna, the same trail we wish to hike, and just returned from a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat a few days ago in Nepal. We are excited yet not surprised. We speak about how more and more people are doing these retreats and finding value in them.

We then chat with Daniel and Nina, a newly met couple from South Africa and Australia, respectively. Daniel too has done a Vipassana and recommends it to Nina who’s excited to “break herself down and rebuild into something better.” These retreats are indeed a good way to do this. I bring up our considering a long thru-hike in Australia called the Bicentennial National Trail and Nina’s eyes light up. She urges us to attempt the feat. It’s unforgiving out there in the middle of the country, she says, as everyone who lives there stays at the edges by the beach, but it’s another opportunity to break-down and rebuild. I’m intrigued. Before they head out, we discuss the best places to live simply. Daniel brings up the tropics, and how easy it is to live in abundance where the fruit booms up like crazy.

It’s time to get moving so we shower in the bathroom and sit in the bunkroom. It’s been a long few days and late into the sit (it’s sometimes difficult to know how much time has passed exactly) I hear Bradley lay down and snore. I’m tired as well so I shift my posture then grab the phone, which is at :45 seconds remaining. The alarm sounds. I lay down and shut my eyes.

Sleep lasts longer than anticipated. It’s now 6:30pm. After two or three days of sleeping on airplanes, the bed, however firm, was a treat my body took full advantage of.

We roll out of the bunks and discuss the night ahead. The plan is still to meet up with our friends Ben and Sally from the trail, but they seem busy from our WhatsApp texts. Bradley and I decide to walk the streets to snag some grub until they are free and because we want to eat.

Approaching a restaurant in a tourist area is mostly the same anywhere I’ve gone. They reel you in and let you know you will be so happy with your choice. We peruse five or six different eateries before we turn around and walk back to the first one, BlueBell. The man smiles huge as he’s incredibly happy to see us again.

We are offered the WiFi password and order Dal Bhat, the staple dish in Nepal made of rice, curry and veggies.

Ben and Sally say they are at the Black Olive restaurant with their Nepalese friends, their guides during this trip. We’re weary but say we’ll meet them up after food. It was too good a fortune to hear from them to not give effort to see them.

Food eaten and $10 bill paid for the both of us, we depart onto the streets in search of the restaurant. On the way, Bradley and I are offered weed countless times, decline the offers, and laugh as a new offer approaches the next moment.

The Black Olive exists and there we wait for some time until Ben and Sally arrive. It’s wonderful to see them and we embrace. They introduce us to their friend Shree who is accompanied by his wife and their young, energetic son, Shreejan. We say hello, decide this place isn’t ideal, and walk the streets with our new friends to find a quiet rooftop.

Ben and Sally have stayed in Nepal for the last month and leave tomorrow. They’ve done lots of hiking and chilling and give us tips for the journey ahead. They are stoked we are spending eighty more days in Nepal. We catch up on life since the PCT. Shree recommends a new intriguing trail and after discussing Sapiens with Ben, it’s now 11:30 and time for us to head to bed. We snap a photo of our group and depart the rooftop back to the streets below.

Rooftop reunion.

Hostel Yog is quiet. I brush my teeth, hop in bed and write until I can write no longer. Bradley does the same. The day is done and tomorrow we seek shelter in the distant mountain town of Pokhara. Tomorrow will reveal details that decide the rest of our journey. I shut my eyes and think of what adventures await.

Nepal, Day 2 — The Unlikely Guide

I feel so rested and amazing when I wake even though it is only 6am. I smile, check my phone and pretty soon Bradley is awake too, and doing the same.

Hostel Yog Vista.

We sit and it’s very pleasurable in the early morning with the rainfall, birdsong and distant sounds of pounding metal coming from outside the open window.

After, we discuss from our bunkbeds the plan for today. As I write this, I am still here and writing and it’s noon, which means I spend 6 hours unmoved.

I can hear the hostel couple we had met yesterday of Daniel and Nina smacking lips in the bunk beside Bradley. They rise and continue to plant seeds of inspiration in our minds. Nina mentions a new trail that connects to the Annapurna called the Manaslu circuit and I wonder what it’s all about.

As I stop writing, it’s time to get moving. Check-out is at 11 and it’s passed that time, so we book another night at hostel Yog then depart to take care of our day’s agenda: buying sunglasses for the hike so our eyes don’t melt from snow staring, which we completely forget to do, figuring out the bus station so we can ride into Pokhara tomorrow, and most exciting—applying for a trekking permit to hike the Annapurna Circuit.

A short walk down the road and a couple of questions to idle locals confirms the tourist bus is close nearby and trips to Pokara push off both late night and early morning. Depending on how this permit process goes, we plan on leaving tomorrow morning to meet Sajana. She is the wise woman who is the reason, apart from trekking, we’ve come to Nepal in the first place.

We wait for ten minutes beside the road wondering when the local bus will arrive to take us nearby the Tourist Center for securing trekking permits. Minutes later we realize the buses are more like minivans and are flying by us each moment. We wave one down and hop in. Bradley is half sitting on a man’s lap and I’m pressed against the side glass. Room opens up as people exit and I find a pair of seats behind Bradley.

Kathmandu Lap Sit

The bus arrives and we pay the man whose job it is to spot people on the side of the road and pay him 30 rupees for both of us, a grand total of fifteen cents.

Bradley thinks he saw the Tourist Center on the other side of the park, but I check my phone just to make sure as he seems far too confident. I downloaded an app called maps.me at the recommendation of Nina and it’s game-changing. The map works offline, so I download a map in advance and access it without WiFi or data. I confirm Bradley’s hunch and we cross the park to find a bridge that leads us to the Tourism department.

Inside there are foreigners, mostly partners, filling out paperwork at small tables. As we begin filling out the paperwork, we have a hundred questions and realize we must make a commitment. Which trails do we want to hike? How long should we spend out there in the wild? How much will this cost us?

We speak to a woman in her office who is fielding tourist questions. Our options boil down to three trails: the Annapurna Circuit, a well-populated fourteen-day hike; the Tsum Valley, a fairly remote four-day hike; and the Manaslu Circuit, a remote ten-day hike.

Our questions are many. Do we really want to hike the Annapurna with so many people? What if we did the more remote Mansalu instead, but with the requirement of a guide? And what company do we use to find a guide?

At this moment, in the midst of our rising moments of confusion and helplessness, a man with a round belly and healthy laugh approaches. His name is Ganesh and he owns a guide company. We are shocked to see things align so quickly and he invites us into his office to speak.

Ganesh, about to change the game.

He asks how many more days we have left in Nepal. Eighty, we say. He laughs and says oh, plenty of time then, and continues:

You begin in Manaslu, work to Annapurna and end in Tsum Valley for a total twenty-one days trekking, Ganesh says.

It’s a much longer time frame than we had planned but we are intrigued to say the least.

He goes on to say:

For Mansalu, you cannot enter without a guide. There are many guides but I have a guide for you. I think you will like. He knows little English but knows the mountains like no one else. He is 50 and has led hundreds of treks for last 15 years. No one better. He eats vegetarian, no meat.

Perfect, we say. We’re veggie too and no worries. And an expert is good also.

Also, says Ganesh, he is Buddhist Lama, very serious meditator. He sits two hours a day, one hour in morning and one hour in evening. You must be okay with this.

Our jaws drop. We can’t believe what we’re hearing. It sounds like a dream that not even us could have dreamt up. We too have been sitting two hours a day and this is exactly what we want. We are on the edge of our seats listening to Ganesh and wondering about the next question—price.

Let’s talk—says Bradley.

—Price, says Ganesh.

We laugh and he dives in with some math, with much help from Bradley. The price of permit fees, food and lodging, paying the Buddhist Lama, taxes, etc. The total comes out to $1K per person.

Bradley and I glance at each other. It’s a much steeper budget than what we had imagined at $250 for trekking the Annapurna alone, but we are still shocked by the proposed guide and know it is meant to be. This is why we came here.

Everything for $1,000, says Ganesh. I take care of everything, nothing else needed from you. Okay.

We nod and think about it together. It now seems incredibly affordable for what we are getting out of it. After a short talk, we stand and shake hands with Ganesh. Depending on how fast he can submit the government paperwork and contact the Lama, we could begin the journey as early as Monday or Thursday. Today is Friday.

Come, Ganesh says, we go to my office and handle everything there.

We follow Ganesh, thinking he is going into a room down the hall or even a nearby building, but he keeps walking out to the street and on down the road. Bradley and I turn to each other. Where is this guy going? Bradley asks.

Ganesh hops in a taxi and we follow. I guess we asked for an adventure, I say.

Ten minutes later we’re dropped off in an alleyway with Ganesh and enter into a building passed a tall gate.

Is this your office, Ganesh? Bradley asks.

Yes, right this way. Upstairs.

We climb a couple of flights, slip off our shoes by the rug and pass through the doorway. Inside is a small office room with large photos of Nepal’s mountain ranges and some printed-out awards lining the walls. A young man with a bright smile sits next to a desk. We plop down on the couch and shoot the breeze with Ganesh as we fill out more paperwork.

You have health insurance, yes? he asks.

Yes, I do, I say. I handled this last-minute the day before leaving the States.

It’s on its way, Bradley says. Processing but not quite done.

Yes, good then.

Ganesh leans back in his chair after some paperwork silence.

I’ve given you good deal, you know this. And I’ve been thinking. Other customers pay much more. Yes, I know your age and trekking and meditation but I now think the deal is too good. $1,100 for each. I’m so sorry but…”

He goes on but we wave it off and say no worries. It’s still a great deal.

Okay then, you can pay now.

We nod and reach into our wallets but we only have a few hundred dollars and rupees between each of us.

We can pay 400 each now but we’ll need to swing by our hostel to pick up the rest and also an ATM for a bit more too.

Okay, he says, Ishur will drive you. This is the young man sitting by the desk, and he gestures to him.

Great, we say.

Then Ganesh continues: I will need to keep your passports to fill out and submit applications.

Our eyebrows go up.

Give you our passports? Bradley asks. I feel uncomfortable handing it over, why can’t you just use a paper copy?

The government will need to see for permits. No worries. It will be safe with me. I know and understand. Nothing to worry. Everything will be good.

I’m hesitant and so is Bradley. To lose your passport in a distant country is risky business. But if we want a done deal, we have to trust him. We surrender our passports, trust our intuition, and get Ganesh’s business card and WhatsApp number.

I will see you here Tuesday, he says. Then you meet Lama, I give passports and we talk more.

We shake hands one last time and head outside with Ishur to walk to a nearby ATM. There’s no hitches at the machine and surprisingly our cards work on our first transactions since arriving in Nepal.

Next we cab over to Hostel Yog, count the stacks of cash in the dorm room, and the payment comes out to only 100 rupees short of the $1,100 per person asking price, which is 10 cents. We grin. It was meant to be.

Ishur thanks us and walks out the dorm. We sit back, laugh and soak in what just transpired. If all goes according to plan, we will be trekking in the Himalayas with a Buddhist Llama for twenty-one days, meditating, and experiencing Nepal’s beautiful nature. If all fails, we are down $1,100, with no hiking and no passport.

Nepal, Day 3 —The Wise Woman

My eyelids peel open at 5:00 am. We wake early because the bus to Pokhara leaves at 6:30 and we must sit before our departure.

Today is the day we’ve long-awaited. It is here in Pokhara, a distant small city settled beneath the Annapurna mountains, that we will spend two months meditating at the residence of a wise woman. Her name is Sajana. I have not met her and know nothing about her, apart from what Bradley has told me. The whole thing is a mystery to me. But she sounds nice, spiritually inclined, and I’m curious. I’m hoping she’s real and hold out hope as we’ve staked two months of living in Nepal on this working out. It’s far too late to go back now.

After a drowsy and dull sit, I feel balanced and ready. We pack, leave Hostel Yog, and stroll down the early morning streets toward the bus station where huge tourist buses are lined up one after the next. We pay in rupees what is $8 each before finding a couple seats.

Ready to Rumble.

It’s an eight-hour bus ride winding through the bumpy gravel roads along the terraced mountains of Nepal. Everything is green and there’s usually a wide river running along the valley below. On both sides of the narrow road, tourist buses make turns at incredible and concerning speeds while simultaneously trying to pass each other. Everything shakes as we power through mile after mile of close-calls and near-crashes, activity that is now the norm. I recall a story told to us by our Australian friend Sally two nights ago—that one of her friends had returned from a long-distance bus ride in a local bus with a bloodied and blackened face. When asked what had happened to him, he says the bus fell off a cliff, injured many and killed two. My forehead sweats and I wonder why she told me this story. As time passes, I adjust to the chaos and it becomes order.

The ride offers more than enough time for Bradley and I to talk about anything and everything. We speak about our family, friends and loved ones and the necessity to accept them as they are and surrender trying to change them. We are all exactly where we need to be. We daydream on our shared desire to meet soulmates, or to find someone to love in this lifetime. This is something I seek and will one day find. I think of a girl who I left behind and wonder if she thinks of me too.

I am surprised by how much there is to talk about. We share our visions of the future, our worldly desires and our spiritual goals. We aim high with lofty intentions and then surrender to the moment. There’s a need to specify our goals—what are they exactly and why? The more specific, the better. I’ve done this many times before but it’s again time to reevaluate.

I think about this for some time. I want to be of use to others, to live a self-examined life filled with creative projects and loved ones and to leave the world in better shape than I found it. I want my parents, brothers, family and friends to be happy and to support them in cultivating their happiness. I want to earn a livelihood by pursuing my interests and one day never again worry about finances. I want the freedom to fly across the world to see friends and attend their events and weddings, many of which I’ll miss because I chose this journey. I feel bad in my efforts to please others and hope they know I love them. Whether or not they understand my choices, might they at least respect my decision to follow my heart.

Every couple of hours the bus stops at a village town and we break for restrooms, stretching and nutrients. Bradley snags some locally grown bananas and an apple for the ride ahead.

Tourist and his bus.

Snagged some gems.

The drive is endless, our destination is far from sight and yet we progress. I am anxious and excited to reach this house and meet this woman. Who is this Sajana? What will the accommodations be like? If she has advice, what will she say to me? What do I ask of her? Am I even ready to meet such a person?

This last thought makes me laugh. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that if we’re experiencing, we’re ready.

And as for the prior questions, my mind is boggled, curious and glued to the future. Only time will tell, and near with every passing moment.

Part II: The Arrival

We step down from the bus hours later and into Pokhara, where a herd of hoteliers and taxi drivers swarm us once again. We have a place, we say, but we do need a cab. One of the locals says $4 and we’re off.

Bradley pulls out his phone and reads the most recent email sent by Sajana with directions to her house. There is no address, she says, but offers step by step instructions on its location. It is like following the clues of a treasure map.

Begin at Amar Singh chock, she says, one of the earlier bus stops where we forgot to get off. Even though our taxi driver speaks no English, he recognizes this name and takes us there.

We step out of the taxi and I’m flooded with feelings. We are alone in a foreign town and I wonder if we’ll find our destination or if we’re forever lost. It’s a dramatic thought but I feel the adventure, and the search begins.

We walk north, as the directions say. It’s nice to walk with my backpack, the weight pulling me down and making me feel strong. Fifteen minutes north and take a right at Seva hospital, say the directions. We didn’t start a timer but have a good feeling for walking and distance.

A hopeful northbound road walk.

The street is long and we take it nearly all the way to the end passing small shops. There are likely but a handful of westerners here, and stares follow our walking. A small boy smiles and waves from the steps of his parent’s shop. Despite our appearance, everyone is friendly.

When we glance to the right there is a hospital called Sewa and we assume that even though it’s spelled slightly different than Seva, it’s the one we’re looking for.

Turn left behind the hospital, take a slight s turn and move left onto the next street, say the directions.

It’s as clear as mud and after asking around, we end up back at the Sewa Hospital. It is a veterinary hospital and a man sits guard by the doorway. Bradley asks if there’s WiFi and if we could use it for a second. He speaks a bit of English and says yes, come.

Thankfully, it works. The email contains a link to a Google Maps pin and Bradley clicks it to reveal our destination a couple of blocks away. I login too, and we laugh as we check Instagram for one minute, then head out with rising anticipation.

The street boasts larger houses than what we’ve grown accustomed to seeing in the country. Bradley and I glance at each other with wide eyes. It all seems promising.

Arrival.

The house is at the end of the road, the second to last house on the right. We approach the golden gate and push a button. Maybe it’s the doorbell, I say. Time passes, no one answers, and our loitering outside the gates attracts attention. Neighbors working outside their houses stop doing so and stare at the foreigners with huge backpacks standing in the street. It begins to rain. We look at each other and shrug. Now, things feel confusing and tense. I wonder if someone may call the police on us or if we’ll just end up rain-soaked and homeless.

This is interesting, says Bradley.

I laugh and nod.

A woman peers over her second-story balcony from the home across the street.

What you want? she asks.

We turn around and wave.

Sajana? we ask.

Eh?

Mrs. Sajana?

She nods. Ah, come.

Bradley and I exchange nods, approach her gate, and we’re invited up to the balcony. She brings plastic chairs for us to sit and we watch her mother weave a woolen blanket. They speak little English and occasionally beckon for their daughter, who pops out the door to translate single words. They smile lots and the grandma cackles at us trying to speak our ten words of Nepalese.

We have no idea where Sajana is. I’m still concerned what’s going on, but it feels safer to be taken in by strangers than be left wandering the streets.

Call? the woman asks.

Bradley shakes his head. We don’t have her number. WiFi? he asks. I can email her.

She shouts something in Nepalese and her daughter reappears to show Bradley the password. He sends an email as the rain drizzles onto the world below. I ease back into my chair and smile. Now we wait, I guess. My life grows simple in this moment, which happens the more I surrender.

Ten minutes come and go and from across the street, a young man wearing a black helmet pulls up on a motorbike scooter and opens the gate of the house we think is the correct house.

The woman beside us yells some words and the man turns. He takes off his helmet and smiles brightly.

Come, he says.

I look at Bradley and we smile. I can’t believe it. It’s happening.

The man is Sarod, Sajana’s younger brother, and he’s sorry no one was home because everyone was at the temple instead and will soon return.

Who is everyone? I wonder. I had no idea there’d be others here too.

No worries we say, and he leads us through the gate to the back door as a huge golden German Shepherd named Sahor licks our hands.

Sarod pushes open the door and we are inside the house. I nod and smile. It is a nice, clean, functional place, by no means excessive or extravagant. Granite floors line the house, and everything is modern. There is a kitchen with many appliances, a cozy carpeted living room and numerous bedrooms spread across three stories. From what I’ve seen, it is perhaps one of the nicer homes in the country.

Sarod shows Bradley and I to our room and we make ourselves at home. It’s not long after that two others arrive, friendly young German guys named Christian and Tim. They are both meditators and smiling. We exchange names and handshakes and they move about the kitchen preparing dinner. They joke and laugh and they seem so light compared to me but I am still absorbing the implications of this whole situation.

Then, she enters. Bradley and I glance over our shoulders. The door opens and a woman steps into the house. She is Nepalese with black hair, dark skin and a gentle smile.

Sajana.

We greet her and she welcomes us kindly. She has an endearing smile and bright brown eyes but it’s time to eat and so many questions remain unanswered.

As we eat a delicious dinner, we chat and learn that Christian, one of the two German guys, is leaving tomorrow. We won’t know him long but he seems to be leaving happy and in high spirits, which feels like a good sign to balance my growing confusion.

After dinner, we clean up and meditate in the temple. It is a small dark room behind the house filled with candles, shrines and altars. I find a spot and begin. Nearly instantly, the sit is one of the more powerful and interesting sits in my life—focused, rested and dissociative—and I wonder what the heck is going on here. There’s something about this place, I think to myself.

Finally, after the sit is through, we have an opportunity to talk to Sajana. There are so many questions but it’s important first we deliver our intentions for coming and the details of our upcoming hike.

Yes, you can ask, says Sajana with a laugh.

Bradley clears his throat: We begin trekking as soon as Thursday, he says, and we’ll be doing so for twenty-one days. We want to tell you we’re excited about returning here after the hike, and that we wanted to meet you, stay for a couple of days, and show you that we’re committed.

She peers down at Bradley from atop her sitting chair and a confused look spreads across her face.

I’m afraid this won’t work, she says.

Bradley and I glance at each other and perk up. I feel my stomach drop. What does she mean it won’t work?

I leave on May 30 to visit the States, she says. If you trek, you have only 10 days to spend with me. It’s not enough time. Better you spend more time with me while you’re here. Stay now and hike later. I recommend it’s best to call and cancel, if it is possible.

She gives a compassionate nod and my heart sinks. Cancel the trek?! The implications are vast and thoughts swirl in my mind.

For one, we have already paid. Secondly, we must return to Kathmandu to reclaim our passports. Thirdly, I’m unsure if the weather permits us time to hike if we cancel now. Does this mean we aren’t hiking at all anymore? My world is flipping upside-down, my visions of hiking in the Himalayas with our unlikely guide shattering, and I’m growing dizzy.

Bradley nods. He is also struck by this information, turned to stone. I’ll have to contact them as soon as possible, he says.

Yes, good.

Bradley remembers: they have our passports, too. Do you know of any way we can get them back without returning to Kathmandu?

Sajana nods. Yes, there’s a way. I may know some people. It will work out. The most important thing is just to stay here.

At that, we thank her and we head back to the bedroom to discuss.

It seems we have no other choice but to cancel entirely and stay if she’s leaving in June. Bradley is here in Nepal to see Sajana and if she says to cancel, then that’s what we do.

But then, a new idea arises. Maybe we can just delay the hike until June? Bradley asks.

But what about Monsoon season? I ask. I remember hearing monsoon season begins after April, making it impossible to trek the Himalayas.

Bradley shakes his head and his eyes grow bright. Word on the street—early rain year, brotha. It’ll lighten up by then. No monsoons.

Oh really, I say. For real?

Yep, that’s what Ganesh said too.

A thousand tons of emotion leave me instantly. So we just swap the dates of our original plans?—stay here in Pokhara to meditate now and hiker later? I ask.

Bradley shrugs. Yep, so long as Ganesh says it’s okay.

It’s a tall order and I wonder about this, as Ganesh has likely already booked the Lama and finalized the trekking permits with the government.

Worth a shot, says Bradley.

Immediately, Bradley is texting him. Something has come up, he explains, and we need to move our permits back to June and keep the Lama. Is this possible?

Waiting for a response is unbearable. We are sweating and hoping for the best. At this point, we have no other options.

A text comes in. It’s Ganesh—

Yes sir, he says. That is fine. We will do this. Thank you.

I exhale my worries once more, knowing there are still more layers to confront, and we smile. We are here to stay, the trekking is now in June, and we deliver the news to Sajana who is pleased and assured we’ve made the right decision.

For me, it’s a dramatic shift and my mind is still in pieces from shattered expectations. I still know so little about this environment and the woman who has taken us in, and I have a feeling this whole trip will continue to be nothing like what I imagined.

For the next thirty days, we will be here, learning from the wise woman in Pokhara.

I hope you enjoyed the read. If you did, please share it with a close friend and consider following the journey:

Wishing you well.

Love,

David

PS — please check out Bradley’s side of the story on his blog. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy seeing the journey through his eyes.

PSS — thanks to my patrons who support my work.

PSSS — you can purchase my hiking memoir, The Trail Provides, on Amazon today.

Read the next Chapter in the Nepal Series: