Nepal Annapurna Circuit

Nepal Annapurna Circuit: An 18-Day Epic Adventure

Coming Home from Nepal: After the Summit, the Silence

I’ve been home for two weeks now after spending a month in Nepal—eighteen days of it trekking the Annapurna Circuit with Deena and Tomer. It was a journey of altitude and inner depth, of footstep after footstep through silence, snow, and sacred peaks. We did something remarkable—not only physically, but emotionally. We stretched, we endured, we connected. To each other. To the land. To something wordless.

And now? I’m still processing. Still sitting with it.

As with all summits, a descent follows. And so, here I am—wrestling with the familiar companion of great experience: the quiet that trails behind. Post-adventure blues, they call it. The space after the crescendo. My challenge now is to find serenity in that space. To accept the stillness without rushing to fill it. To honor what was, and slowly shape what’s next.

Kathmandu: Wires, Absence, and Oneness

Wandering through the vibrant chaos of Kathmandu, I was struck by a curious absence: the monkeys. Forty years ago, they roamed every temple. Now they’ve vanished, as if quietly removed by unseen hands. In their place, a new kind of wildness: the tangled, mesmerizing art of electric wires crisscrossing above the streets—urban calligraphy, messy and magnificent.

We climbed the grand Monkey Temple, officially Buddhist in origin, but humming with Hindu visitors. That blend, that overlap—that’s Nepal. A kind of lived interfaith, a unity that doesn’t erase difference but holds it gently. I call it the oneness.

In Durbar Square, once the seat of royal power, we wandered through palaces, courtyards, and temples carved in time. In a quiet wooden courtyard, we saw the living goddess, the Royal Kumari of Kathmandu—a young girl believed to embody divine energy. No photos allowed. Just presence. Just reverence.

She is a living thread between Hindu goddess Taleju and Buddhist deity Vajradevi. A reminder that in Nepal, lines blur, faiths merge, and the sacred wears many faces.

Bhaktapur Streets and a Taxi Driver’s Divine Wisdom

We took a day trip to Bhaktapur—an ancient city nestled along the old trade route that once linked India and Tibet. Its narrow streets wind between temples that have stood for over a thousand years, their stone foundations worn smooth by centuries of feet and prayer. The air is dense with history.

On the way there, I asked our taxi driver a simple question: “Are you Hindu or Buddhist?”

Without missing a beat, he smiled and said, “I’m Hindu. But in Nepal, it’s all the same. God is one.”

I loved that.

👉 Watch a glimpse of Bhaktapur’s timeless charm

Traveling with the kids has been a joy. They’re seasoned adventurers now, wise with their budgets and flexible in spirit. But what moves me more than their travel savvy is their kindness. Their patience. Their deep love for one another. Watching them laugh, share, and move through this world together fills my heart with something deeper than pride—something like peace.

Kathmandu Joy: Deena and Tomer’s Engagement

From the heart of Kathmandu comes the most beautiful news—Deena and Tomer have just announced their engagement! I’m filled with joy and emotion as I write this, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Wishing them a lifetime of love, laughter, and shared adventure as they step into this new chapter together. May every dream find its path, and every hope take root.

They are truly the sweetest couple—and this moment, in this place, feels just right.

Manakamana Shrine: Wishes, Sacrifices, and Sacred Intentions

We set out from Kathmandu to Pokhara by jeep, with a driver whose skill—and nerve—would soon prove essential. Midway through the journey, we made a stop at Manakamana. A cable car lifted us to the mountaintop shrine dedicated to the goddess Bhagwati, an incarnation of Parvati.

The scene was moving. Devotees lined up patiently, holding offerings and hopes. Tradition calls for animal sacrifice—usually a goat or chicken—as a way to seal one’s wish. We chose otherwise. With quiet hearts and deep intention, we made our wishes in silence. Deena and Tomer even spoke, half-playfully, about the gender of their future child. I found it sweet. Grounded. Tender.

The road that followed was among the worst I’ve traveled. Thick with rain slush, under heavy construction, it was more obstacle course than highway. Slushy. Bumpy. Dusty. Chaotic. Every curve was a test. And yet, somehow, our driver—confident, unshaken—got us through.

By the time we reached Pokhara, we were exhausted and grateful. There’s nothing like waking up in a warm bed after a day like that—humbled, safe, and filled with quiet awe for the road behind us.

Peaceful Pokhara: Lakeside Calm Before the Trek

Pokhara was our base camp—both the beginning and the return point of our trek. About 200 kilometers west of Kathmandu, it’s one of Nepal’s most beloved destinations. We stayed in the lakeside neighborhood, a pocket of calm and charm, where everything feels curated yet easy. The vibe is unhurried. Time stretches.

After the trek, Milan and Deepak—our porters and by then, companions—invited us on a hike up to the Peace Pagoda. Situated on a hill above the lake, the stupa was built in the 1970s as a monument to peace. Standing there, overlooking the city and the still water below, the name felt right. A place for breath. A place to reflect. A reminder that even after days of movement, some things are best met in stillness.

Holi in Nepal: A Gentle Splash of Color and Love

Holi is known as the “Festival of Colors” and also the “Festival of Love.” It felt especially fitting as the backdrop for Deena and Tomer’s engagement photos—a celebration within a celebration.

Traditionally, Holi is marked by tossing vibrant powders into the air and at one another, dancing, singing, and sharing festive meals. The colors symbolize the arrival of spring, the triumph of good over evil, and the joy of renewal. Water—often tinted with turmeric—is also part of the ritual, said to cleanse and purify.

I’d heard stories about Holi in India—about strangers splashing color freely—and I’ll admit, I was concerned about my “fine uniform” being ruined. But to my surprise, there was a quiet understanding. Boundaries were respected. It was clear who welcomed the color and who preferred to stay as they were. That small courtesy felt, in its own way, like another form of love.

Embarking on the Annapurna Circuit Trek

We’re gearing up for the Annapurna Circuit trek. Tomorrow, we begin our ascent to the dizzying heights of 17,769 feet (5,416 meters)—a journey that will call for grit, breath, and steady resolve. We’re well-prepared: the gear is in place, and we’re joined by two trusted porters who will walk this path with us.

It’s been four decades since I last hiked this route. That journey in 1982 remains etched in memory—raw, untamed, and transformative in ways I only began to understand years later. I won’t pretend I’m not feeling a swirl of emotions—excitement, yes, but also a quiet apprehension. Do I still have what it takes? Will I be able to keep up with my kids? These questions hum softly in the background as I ready myself.

But one thing I know: this will be a journey to remember. A trail of high mountain passes, raw beauty, and shared silences. Moments that etch themselves into memory—not just for the views, but for what they awaken in us along the way.

👉 More about my 1982 Annapurna Circuit journey here.

Across Steel and Sky: Nepal’s Suspension Bridges

The narrow suspension bridges are the only way to cross the roaring rivers that cut through the mountains. Forty years ago, these bridges were made of wooden planks—shaky, creaking with every step. Today, they’ve been upgraded: metal grating underfoot, suspended by thick steel cables stretched from one cliff to the next. They sway and bounce with each footfall. Deena and Tomer love it—the thrill, the exposure, the drop below. Me? I keep my eyes ahead. I avoid looking down or to the sides. The rushing water has a dizzying pull. So I breathe and focus on the next step.

Building the Future: Roads, WiFi, and Hope in the Himalayas

Nepal ranks low on the global poverty index, yet everywhere we go, I see people working—building, carrying, connecting—striving to improve their lives. Accessibility is one major area of change. Roads are being built, carved into the mountains with rudimentary tools and raw determination. They’re often treacherous, but they’re opening up the country. Another quiet revolution is happening through internet connectivity. Almost every tea house we stayed at had WiFi. It was unexpected. It was also hopeful. In these remote mountain outposts, people are logging on—learning, exploring, dreaming.

Walking Meditation: Mantras, Mountains, and Mindfulness

Chame, elevation of 2670 meters (8760 feet), is our chosen resting place after a five-day hike. The magnificent scenery is awe-inspiring. Everywhere you look, there are majestic mountain peaks and lush, forested slopes.

Houses are blended seamlessly into their natural surroundings, like gems nestled in the rugged terrain.

The gushing river provides a constant soundtrack. While my companions find the suspension bridge crossings thrilling, I just want to reach the other side.

The gravel road that makes up most of the trail is suitable for motorbikes and jeeps. While Nepal’s road infrastructure is under construction, and the methods used may seem rudimentary and risky, they now allow remote villages to be accessible. With readily available WiFi, the locals can access the internet and develop their aspirations and dreams, adding a touch of modernity to this otherwise rustic paradise.

Every day, I remind myself many times over, especially when I catch my mind drifting, the mantra my beloved Danna suggested: “You are here, right now, right here!”

And with every step, it becomes true.

This is no longer just a trek. It’s a walking meditation.

Upper Pisang Winter Spell: A Day Inside a Snow Globe

I woke up a couple of days ago in Upper Pisang—elevation 3,300 meters (10,826 feet)—to a world transformed. Outside the window: a deep, quiet carpet of snow. For a moment, I wondered if we’d be staying put, bunkering in. But after checking the weather and consulting with Milan, our head porter, we decided to continue.

It turned out to be a magical hike.

The sun warmed our faces, while snowflakes floated down like blessings from the pine trees above. It felt as if we were walking inside a snow globe—suspended in time, cradled by light, silence, and the crunch of fresh snow beneath our boots.

Manang to Ice Lake: High Altitude Lessons in Breath and Resolve

Manang, at 3,519 meters (11,545 feet), is where we’ve paused to rest and prepare. Yesterday, we took a side trek to Ice Lake—4,600 meters (15,100 feet)—part of our acclimatization plan: climb high, sleep low.

The trail was steep and demanding, made more difficult by the recent snowfall. I was grateful for my crampons; without them, the slick path would have been treacherous. Every step upward felt like a conversation with my breath.

But the views…

When the skies opened up in the morning, the Annapurna range revealed itself in full splendor. Annapurna II stood luminous against the blue, watching over us as we made our slow, deliberate climb.

Challenging as it was, the trek felt like the right kind of preparation—for the altitude, for the days ahead, and for the final push to Thorong La Pass.

Buddhist Monasteries and Mindful Practices in the Annapurna Highlands

As we made our way through the upper reaches of the Annapurna region, Buddhist monasteries and sacred symbols became more frequent. Colorful prayer flags fluttered in the high mountain wind, each strand carrying a quiet intention, a whispered wish for peace. We passed weather-worn stupas, stone mani walls etched with sacred mantras, and small clusters of prayer wheels—always spinning, always in motion.

Local people walked by, their hands gently turning these wheels, repeating age-old mantras. No urgency, just presence. Their quiet devotion infused the trail with a sense of calm. Watching them, I found myself slowing down—matching their rhythm, absorbing their peace. Here, mindfulness isn’t taught. It’s lived.

Manang to Upper Camp: Snow, Grit, and High Desert Beauty

For two days, we trekked from Manang to the Upper Camp, a section of the region safeguarded from monsoon by the towering Annapurna range. This protection shapes a dramatic, high-altitude desert, where vegetation thins and silence deepens.

However, this seemingly barren terrain holds a special place in my heart, owing to its breathtakingly beautiful and striking colors. The primary tones of gray, brown, and white dominate the landscape, while sudden bursts of vivid beige, dark pink, burgundy, and deep green add a touch of vibrancy. This combination of colors in its raw and untamed form creates an awe-inspiring and stunning sight, that stays with you long after you’ve left it.

The final stretch of this walk, from the Lower Camp to Upper Camp, a 500 meters (1640 ft) elevation gain, was quite the challenge. My body was pushed to its limits, as the ascent became steeper and more strenuous. I felt my nose running uncontrollably, my legs becoming increasingly heavy, and despite sweating profusely, a cold sensation crept over me. The temperature hovered just above freezing.

My lungs burned, and the air thinned. I had to pause often just to breathe. Beneath my feet, ice glazed the trail. Snowflakes twisted and spun in every direction.

This was no longer a trek. It was grit. Breath by breath, step by step.

And then—arrival.

Not triumph, but gratitude. Quiet, humbling, overflowing gratitude.

Thorong La Pass Ascent: Frozen Air, Fiery Joy

I’m struggling for air, awake in a cramped room at Upper Camp. Three narrow beds. That’s it. My mind tells me it’s the altitude, but my body doesn’t listen—it’s in panic mode. “Breathe,” I whisper to myself. “Deep and slow.” I lie flat on my back, afraid to turn, not wanting to wake Deena or Tomer, who sleep soundly beside me. I wait. For sleep? For the 4:15 alarm? Maybe both. The night drags on.

At 4:15, the alarm pierces the stillness. We spring from our sleeping bags, throw on layers, gather our gear, and shuffle into the packed dining room. Black coffee. A bowl of porridge. By 5:15, we’re out the door.

Thirty or forty of us—hikers, porters, guides—move silently into the dark, headlamps flickering like stars on a slow migration. There is no scenery to behold, only the sound of crampons crunching into snowy white powder and birds chirping.

By 6:30, light begins to touch the world. Everything is white, still, breathtaking. We find a tiny teahouse—someone lives and runs it here, against all odds. A cup of hot lemon tea tastes like gold.

The trail rises steadily, a 500-meter (1,640 ft) gain. The grade is moderate, but the cold and thin air make it feel steeper. I move slowly, sometimes passing others, sometimes letting them pass me. Everyone walks in silence, wrapped in their own effort. I stop to take off my gloves and snap a few photos—thinking, if not now, when?

Tomer waits patiently. I like to think he’s making sure I’m okay. I haven’t asked, but I’m sticking to that story—I like it.

At 8:30, we spot Deena. She waves, phone in hand, capturing our approach. We’ve reached Thorong La Pass, 5,416 meters (17,770 ft). We embrace—each other, our porters, the sky. This moment—long imagined, long hoped for—is here. I’m flooded with joy. Deena selects a tune, and Milan joins me in a dance.

Then it’s time to descend—fast and unforgiving: 1,700 meters (5,770 ft) down. The slope is slick. The trail treacherous.

Deena glided ahead like a mountain gazelle. Tomer stayed close, steady and watchful. Our porters moved between us, navigating the descent with quiet determination. The sunny window we had enjoyed at the pass gave way to a steady snowfall—light at first, then thick and blinding.

Our porters were struggling. They had only one functional pair of crampons between them. The other pair was useless. Worse, they weren’t wearing sunglasses. The glare off the snow disoriented them, making every step harder. Deepak, in particular, was unsteady. But they stuck together, leaning on one another—moving with quiet grit. At one point, Deepak slipped and fell. Milan caught him, helped him up, and they pressed on.

I worried for them. I worried for us. My knees screamed on the descent, the terrain slick and unforgiving. Snowflakes swirled in every direction. Tomer stayed near—his presence grounding, a quiet anchor in the storm.

Eventually, we stop for a bowl of hot vegetable noodle soup. It warms me from the inside out. At 2:00 pm, we arrive in Muktinath.

We made it.

We did it!

I’m filled with joy and awe—completely overwhelmed by the intensity of this experience I’ve dreamed about for so long. The path, the altitude, the silence, the sheer effort—it all comes rushing in. And then it breaks open into something else. Something luminous.

Hafiz, the 13th-century Persian poet, said it better than I ever could:

“The Beloved has gone completely wild—He has poured Himself into me!

I am blissful and drunk and overflowing.”

That’s exactly how it feels. Wild. Sacred. Beyond words.

Muktinath: Where Hindu and Buddhist Paths Converge

Muktinath is more than just a destination—it’s a sacred threshold, revered by both Hindus and Buddhists. Every year, countless devotees make the journey here, seeking something beyond the physical: redemption, blessing, peace.

For Hindus, Muktinath is one of the 108 Vaishnava shrines, where Lord Vishnu is worshipped as the supreme deity. It is believed that bathing in the icy waters of its temple can wash away one’s sins and bring liberation—moksha—freedom from the endless cycle of suffering, death, and rebirth. Vishnu, they say, resides in the sacred streams that flow through this high mountain sanctuary.

For Buddhists, Muktinath holds a deep connection to Guru Rinpoche (Padmasambhava), the great sage who brought Buddhism to Tibet. It is believed he meditated here and attained profound insight. The site carries the stillness of that spiritual memory, and for many, a sense of awakened presence lingers in the air.

Here in Nepal, the lines between faiths dissolve. Pilgrims walk side by side, offering prayers in different languages but with the same reverence. In a world often divided by dogma, Muktinath quietly reminds us: the path to the sacred doesn’t belong to one tradition alone. It belongs to those who seek with sincerity. And that, perhaps, is its greatest teaching.

A Family’s Bond on the Trail: Annapurna Circuit Reflections

Just completed the unforgettable Annapurna Circuit trek in Nepal with my incredible son, Tomer, and my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Deena.

Their presence made every step more meaningful. We laughed, we challenged ourselves, we stood in awe before towering peaks—and through it all, our connection deepened.

Thank you, both, for your steady spirits, your care, and your companionship. This journey has carved itself into my memory—not just for the beauty of the trail, but for the love we shared walking it together.

Love you both.

👉 Watch a glimpse of the Annapurna Circuit Trek here.

March 2023