Moving away from home in my early twenties, Nepal always pulled me back. As someone who had trekked across the Langtang and Annapurna regions in my late teenage years, there were many days when the hauntingly beautiful images of the trek flashed through my mind. Sometimes, I would be on the train headed to work, and other days I would be shopping for groceries. Every time the flashes occurred, my heart would ache – and I would find myself longing to head back to the mountains. But a chance never arrived, and very slowly life happened – a husband, a kid, bills, a mortgage.
However, last year we decided to head back home during the Dashain holidays, and it so happened that we had a week to ourselves. We then began contemplating the idea of a trek. Being with a six-year-old meant we could not just pack our bags and leave. Still, I wanted my son to take with him a piece of Nepal, and my husband and I began exploring our options.
I had been to the Annapurna Region before but hadn’t had a chance to visit Poon Hill. After some research, we learned that if we paced ourselves, we could do the trek – and we would also get a few days in Pokhara. As we shared our plans with the family, our twelve-year-old niece also decided to join us.
So, one beautiful morning, we flew into Pokhara. Once in Pokhara, we settled in for the day by the lake, enjoying an idyllic afternoon. The next morning, we hired a jeep and headed towards Ulleri. Although people usually begin their trek from Nayapul, our driver informed us that we could drive a little higher up to Ulleri.
We reached Ulleri around 11, and after enjoying a warm lunch, we slowly began our trek. The children were excited, and we made our way out of Ulleri through the mud and stone trail. The trail was wide enough to prevent any worries about narrow passages and wasn’t too high or precarious. We were still cautious with the six-year-old and gently made our way through the dense forest, the river by our side. I silently wished it was the rhododendron season, for I knew this trail would bloom during spring, but autumn had its own charm. The kids were having fun so far, the six-year-old fascinated with every sight – especially when the long train of mules ferrying goods would appear. He asked if we could swim in the stream, but we had to say no. The elder one was fascinated too but had fewer questions. Both, however, continuously asked, “Have we arrived yet?” or “How far is it?” Finally, we reached Ghorepani. The trek was supposed to take four hours, but it took us six.
We settled into a comfortable inn, and the innkeepers were kind enough to give us a family room that would accommodate the four of us. Enjoying a warm meal by the hearth in the dining area, we settled in for the night.
The next morning, we woke up at five – well, at least the parents. The kids weren’t pleased to wake up so early but nonetheless got ready, and we began the walk. It was going to be a steep uphill climb, and we were prepared for some resistance. There was a line of trekkers making their way to catch the magical sunrise from Poon Hill, and we joined them. The walk was slow, and my husband had to carry our son during certain stretches. At other times, we cheered him on. Our niece was exhausted too and didn’t understand what hundreds of people were doing so early in the morning, climbing a hill.
It was already dawn when we arrived at the top, and the sun had just begun to rise, casting an orange hue over the snow-capped peaks of Dhaulagiri and Annapurna. We were just on time. The kids, who not long ago had been complaining, were spellbound, captivated by the panoramic beauty. The adults too were, along with hundreds of others, exclaiming, “This view is so worth it.”
A long time ago, someone had told me that poets make their way to Poon Hill to watch a sunrise just for inspiration, and staring at the view ahead of us, I understood what he meant. While words fail me now, the experience was surreal. We sat in silence for a while, taking in the majestic grandeur.
Surprisingly, there was a tea stall high up on Poon Hill, and my husband and I got ourselves a cup each. Rummaging through our small backpack, we found some biscuits and shared the meal. I looked at my husband, and I knew he too had fallen in love with trekking. It was his first time trekking, and now I knew he would understand what I meant when I told him about the beauty of a trek.
The children had found some sticks and were playing with each other as we beckoned them to head downhill. Slowly, we made our way through the stairs, stopping at times to take in the view of the valley ahead of us. Back at Ghorepani, we ordered our breakfast, packed up our backpacks, enjoyed a hearty meal, and pushed further.
Within 15 minutes, there was another set of steep stairs, and both children looked at us with a “Not again!” expression. The six-year-old ran to his father asking to be carried. Carrying him for a while, and with plenty of breaks and gentle encouragement, we continued forward to arrive at a plateau-like surface. Here, we sat for a while, taking in the view. From there until Tadapani, we crossed through dense forests covered with oaks. Occasionally, the forests opened to offer panoramic views. We had to be careful as the path here was mossy and slippery in places; otherwise, it was mostly gentle and downhill.
We arrived in Tadapani in the late afternoon and settled into our rooms. After an early dinner, both children, exhausted, were asleep by eight. The next morning, we took it easy, and both the children and my husband complained that their legs hurt. We debated staying an additional day to rest but decided to continue to Ghandruk.
Slowly, we moved forward, and in the denseness of the jungle, I found my thoughts wandering all over the place. It was so tranquil and reflective, it was almost meditative.
Around lunchtime, we arrived at Ghandruk – the picturesque village that everyone dreams of. Set against the backdrop of Mt. Machhapuchhre, Ghandruk is an internationally recognised village with stone-paved lanes, slate-roofed houses, and terraced hillsides. Here, all of us threw down our backpacks and sat in the garden, ordering lunch.
The rest of the afternoon, we didn’t get much done – just sat back and enjoyed our last night in the Annapurna region. The children were busy, the twelve-year-old niece taking pictures of the views that surrounded her, the six-year-old running around the garden, asking questions as random as how to climb the mountain that lay ahead of him, to what the firewood oven at the hotel was. I wondered if he had forgotten his legs hurt.
The next morning, we slowly made our way towards the bus stop where our jeep had arrived. With the Modi Khola by our side, we left the Annapurna Region and made our way back to Pokhara.
It’s been two years since we did the trek, and when I was asked by Mingma if I would write a travelogue about the experience, despite the hecticness of life, I found myself saying yes. Just another excuse to take me back to the mountains.
Reflecting on the trek, it was almost transformational. It reminded us that children are far more capable than we sometimes give them credit for. When people ask if trekking with kids in Nepal is possible, I now say: absolutely. It’s not always easy – there are tired legs and the need to adjust your expectations. But it’s also unforgettable. For us, the Ghandruk–Poon Hill trek wasn’t about conquering mountains. It was about discovering them together, through the eyes of a child, through the laughter of cousins, through the quiet pride of arriving somewhere as a family.
