Travel Diaries – Page 8 – Footloose Diary

When I was a little girl, I lived for the days my big brother returned from his travels, especially after his journeys through faraway corners of Asia. On one visit, he placed a small, unusual ring in my hand, telling me it came from a place called Nepal. Etched with the sacred Buddhist mantra Om mani padme hum, it quickly became one of my most treasured possessions until, at last, it broke. Yet that fractured ring left more than just an empty space on my finger. It planted a quiet vow within me: that one day, I would set foot in the mystical land that had stirred my childhood imagination.

Upon arriving in Nepal, I was welcomed by a lively symphony of honks, fragrant incense, and bursts of colour all around me. The Himalayan breeze wove its way through Thamel, where strings of prayer flags painted the sky in reds, blues, and yellows above winding streets filled with bookstores, trekking shops, and inviting eateries. Within this joyful chaos, I felt an immediate sense of belonging, surrounded by the openness and warmth of the Nepalese people.

After a few days of rest and exploration, we set out into the foothills of the Himalayas with Manik as our guide. The trek around Kathmandu, punctuated by nights in rustic tea houses, was awe-inspiring in every sense. Yet it was Manik’s story that gave the journey its deepest meaning — a humble man with a boundless heart. On our final evening together, we shared dubious rice wine and nibbled on curious dried fish, a simple ritual that blossomed into a profound exchange of life stories.

After completing our 45-kilometer trek, we returned to Thamel, where Manik graciously invited us into his home. The next morning, we learned that his entire family—his wife and three sons, shared a modest 8×9 room. Yet within those simple walls, Manik’s generosity overflowed. He welcomed us with lessons of Buddhism, served a meal prepared with care, and, as a blessing of respect and good fortune, draped white scarves around our shoulders. Carrying these tokens of kindness, we set out on the next leg of our journey—across the border into Tibet, China. The challenges ahead loomed large, but Manik’s warmth and wisdom stayed with us, a quiet beacon of strength and inspiration.

We left Agra (home of the beautiful Taj Mahal) at 10pm for a 15 hours train ride to Gorakpur. A long journey with the indian railways, we were glad we chose the 3rd class instead of the sleeper class. Arrived in Gorakpur, we transfer to a local bus (budget option) to make our way to the Nepalese border. A horrible sweaty, packed and absolutely annoying honking 4 hour ride. Exhausted from our 20 hour trip to the border, we arrived in Sunauli where we clear customs and enter Nepal. Not quite there yet. We jump on an other local bus, a 9 hour drive to final destination, Katmandu. We had no idea that we were about to step in the most memorable ride of our lives. Everything was supposed to go smoothly until the engine broke. Being the only english speaking in the bus, we had no idea of the next steps. We followed people outside, jumped on the roof of the bus to get our bags, then wait. And wait. And wait. We waited for about 2 hours in the darkest night of Nepal, with 40 Nepalis, in the middle of an empty road. Few buses drove by, but all full. Finally, one stopped and seemed like our fellows were rushing to it. Riot in front of the entrance. People climbing in the windows. We were the last one to get in, with our bags, stucked in the stairs of the bus. No more room. Really: no more room. We squeezed ourselves on the floor of the bus, tight between others stucked on the ground, amongst pee and sweat running down the alley… for 10 hours! On top of that, music playing all night! Definitely the worst ride of my life. We arrived slowly but surely and safely in Kathmandu. What a ride!