Veiled in mist and rain, the forest whispered calm. Earthy scents and soft silence—a gentle exhale from the world.
After what felt like a lifetime of exams—and before the next academic assault could begin—I desperately needed a break. Not a Netflix-under-the-blanket kind of break, but an off-grid-foggy-hilltop-wind-in-my-hair type of break. So I made a bold plan: Sailung, Dolakha. Then, of course, my body betrayed me. For a moment, I considered taking a raincheck. But then a little voice in my head whispered: “Maybe the hills can cure what paracetamol can’t.” And so began my questionable, half-sick, fully determined journey to Sailung.
The trip to Sailung wasn’t just a getaway — it became a moment of self-realisation. I met a girl my age, a complete stranger, yet so independent and mature. It made me quietly question my own journey. While I still lean on my parents for so much, she seemed to walk with a strength I admire. Maybe this trip wasn’t just about the views — maybe it was a mirror.
While travelling a lot, one skill I unknowingly picked up was photography. But over time, it started to feel like a burden. I noticed people rushing to every viewpoint just to capture photos, rarely pausing to simply breathe, watch, and feel the place. Sometimes, the best moments are the ones not posted. I took 212 shots at Sailung, but the most important lens was within me. For a year, I paused blogging, drifted into comparison, regret, and cluttered thoughts. But this journey reminded me—life is not for overthinking every scene, but for simply being there, breathing it in. Sometimes, the soul just needs hills, clouds, and silence to realign.
Chapter 1: Bus Rides & Bitter Pills
The bus ride was... an experience.
You know you’re on a Nepali road trip when the journey itself feels like a 4D rollercoaster. It reminded me of my previous trip to Kalinchowk—the same unpitched, dusty roads. This time, a light rain had blessed the route, which meant less dust, but also wet, slippery roads. The stones beneath made the bus wobble unpredictably at times.
As we moved ahead, the scenery outside began to change. Dusty towns slowly faded into mist-covered hills. That’s when I knew—I had made the right decision to go. We were travelling as part of a group tour with my mother's friends, and the package included an electric vehicle. Initially, I was thrilled. Eco-friendly travel through nature? Yes, please.
But that excitement didn’t last long.
Midway, the vehicle got stuck—completely sunk in mud. One downside of electric vehicles became crystal clear: they’re not built for off-road struggles. Not only was the mud a problem, but the battery was draining fast as the bus tried to free itself. We were stranded in the middle of nowhere, no houses nearby, and no help in sight.
A dozer had passed by earlier, but our confident driver believed he could manage without assistance. That decision didn’t age well. Other vehicles passed us with ease, none stopping to help. Finally, a local from Sailung stopped and tried to assist, but even with his help, the vehicle wouldn’t budge. He mentioned that Sailung was just an hour’s walk away. We were about to start walking when, thankfully, a jeep showed up and helped us out. It was a lifesaver—I was starting to feel unwell by then. One good thing that came out of this mess was discovering that Dudhpokhari lies on the same trail where our bus got stuck. Now it’s on my list for the next adventure.
On our way back to Kathmandu, everyone was anxious that we’d face similar problems. But thankfully, we passed without any major issues—except for the road near Dhulikhel, which was so rough that my body ached for days afterwards.
Chapter 2: Fog, Forest, and Feelings
Sailung greeted me with fog so thick, even my thoughts got lost in it. The air was crisp, and the silence? Delicious. No honking, no exam stress, no “Have you studied this chapter?” kind of questions. Just the soft crunch of boots on damp grass, the earthy perfume of rain-soaked soil, and a mind that—despite the peace—still wouldn’t shut up.
So I did what any half-sick, overthinking, semi-nomadic soul would do: I started writing. In the bus. On the hills. During breaks. This is what you're reading now. My Nomadic Journal—a chaotic blend of fever dreams, road dust, and poetic attempts to feel alive again.
The trip was wrapped in fog, forest, and gentle rain. The earthy scent of the woods brought a quiet kind of peace – a small but soothing escape. No camera can do justice to what my eyes saw in Sailung. Every corner felt like a painting, and I couldn’t stop trying to capture it all, even though the real beauty was in simply being there.
Chapter 3: High Altitude, Higher Realisations
Up in Sailung, I realised two things: The best therapy is a long walk in clouds (followed by hot tea ), you can take a break from everything, except your own mind.But that’s okay. Sometimes you don’t need silence; you just need a change of scenery to listen to your thoughts more kindly. I wasn’t magically healed (spoiler: the cold didn’t magically vanish), but I felt lighter. And that mattered more. It’s okay to feel upset when plans don’t go smoothly, especially if you value comfort or control. Being materialistic isn’t wrong in itself, but it can lead to dissatisfaction when things go off track.
As I stood there giving directions on how to get the EV out of the mud, a girl my age quietly stepped in and helped push. I’ve always disliked people who only give advice and never act—and somehow, I became one of them. A quiet, sad realisation of how I’ve changed. Even amidst nature's beauty, I found myself caught up in worry. Our electric vehicle got stuck in the mud, and instead of enjoying the moment, I was anxious. Maybe this was a quiet reminder from Sailung—to slow down, let go, and trust the path, no matter how muddy.
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