Roadtrip

“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It is lethal.” – Paulo Coelho

We all gathered at the breakfast buffet at 6:30, an all-you-can-eat spread that felt almost luxurious, knowing what lay ahead. True to form, we were the first ones there—oops again. Slowly, the others trickled in, plates in hand, sleepy smiles on their faces. That’s when we finally met Sienna from Australia, lively and chatty, who instantly lit up the group with her energy. Looking around the table, we realized how diverse and kind-hearted our little trekking family was. While stuffing myself with food and drinking enough coffee to keep a group of people awake for a week, I couldn't help but feel lucky that these are the people we'll be sharing the road ahead with.

Sienna explained that her flight was delayed and she only arrived in the early hours of the morning. We learned that she loves diving and surfing - a true Aussie.

Bibek soon signaled it was time to go. The duffel bags were weighed, and we all piled into the van. A couple of weeks before our trip, heavy landslides had hit Nepal, meaning flights couldn’t leave from Kathmandu’s airport. So instead of a quick hop, we had a 13-hour drive to Ramechap ahead of us—a “van-day,” as Bibek called it with a grin. On the road, we got a first preview of Nepal's beauty: picturesque landscapes and dramatic mountains.

The journey stretched long but never felt empty. While outside the windows, Nepal unveiled herself in layers: terraced rice fields carved like stairways to the clouds, deep valleys where rivers shimmered, and hills rising toward misty mountains in the distance. We got better acquainted with each other. Telling stories about past travels, what our hobbies and interests are, and what everyone does for a living. Our first stop came after a few hours, where we snapped a group picture against this staggering backdrop, our smiles framed by fields the color of emeralds.

Two hours later, hungry and in dire need to relieve ourselves, we all queued for the bathroom at a small roadside stop. That’s where things went sideways for me. The rusty lock wouldn’t cooperate, and when I tried forcing it, the sharp metal caught my hand. Blood. Not much, but enough to make me wobble and lightheaded - 'like a real man'.

I had to lie down on a bench dramatically while Sienna—thank goodness she’s a nursing student—patched me up with practiced ease. My ego hurt more than the cut, but it broke the ice, and soon the whole group was laughing about it. Luckily, the food was delicious and really helped me regain energy.

Later, with the sun high overhead, we sipped Nepali milk tea at another stop. Its sweetness was comforting, warming our tired bodies. Three little girls from the village joined us, eager to practice their English. Their giggles were infectious, and we all waved them goodbye as we continued our journey.

By the time we reached our final stop—Hotel Alina—the sky had already begun to dim. We slumped onto the couch on the first floor, ordered food for later, and gratefully accepted room keys. Dinner was simple, but the dhal bat tasted heavenly after such a long ride.

Over plates of steaming rice and lentils, Bibek briefed us: all flights to Lukla had been canceled due to bad weather. Hundreds of trekkers were already stranded, waiting.

The alternative? A helicopter ride into the mountains—at a painful $500 a person. We’d have to wait and see if the skies would open tomorrow.

Later, as the cool night air settled over Alina, we gathered on the rooftop with mugs of tea in our hands. The stars blinked faintly through the haze, and our laughter drifted into the night as we joked about helicopters, landslides, and my near-death experience with a bathroom lock. Despite the uncertainty, there was a quiet contentment. We were together, in Nepal, on the edge of an adventure we’d been dreaming of for months.