BY: RONITA
The trek that reminded me that the best adventures are the ones shared.
I’ve always felt at home in the mountains.
Maybe it’s the crisp air, the endless greenery, the sound of rivers flowing through the valleys, or simply the peace that only nature can offer. Whenever life becomes overwhelming, I find myself looking for another trail to walk. Over the years, I’ve been on a few hikes and treks, but one journey remains closest to my heart.
Not because it was the highest mountain I climbed. Not because it was the easiest.But because I experienced it with sixteen people I call my friends.
It all began when we unexpectedly got two consecutive holidays. Within hours, the plan was made. Two jeeps were booked, backpacks were packed, and off we went from Baglung to Birethanti—the starting point of our adventure. The ride itself felt like a celebration.
Music echoed through the jeep as everyone sang at the top of their lungs. Some danced while sitting, others teased each other endlessly, and every bend of the road revealed another breathtaking view of rivers, hills, and forests. It didn’t feel like a college trip.
It felt like travelling with a family of cousins.
The journey wasn’t without surprises. A landslide blocked part of the road, forcing us to leave the jeep, climb downhill, cross a shallow river on foot, and hike back uphill before continuing.
For some of my friends, it was their very first trek. Watching them carefully cross the rocks, encouraging each other with nervous smiles, made the adventure even more exciting. By the time we reached Birethanti, it was already around 3 PM. Many of us hadn’t eaten anything since morning. We were hungry, but time wasn’t on our side. If we stopped for lunch, we’d be trekking in complete darkness. So we filled our water bottles, took a deep breath, and began walking.
The trail started gently. We laughed, clicked hundreds of photos, and stopped every now and then just to appreciate the view.
As the trail became steeper, the real challenge began. Some friends had packed far more than they needed. Without anyone asking, others simply picked up their bags. That moment reminded me that trekking isn’t about reaching the destination first. It’s about making sure everyone reaches together.
Halfway through the trail, we met a middle-aged man walking alone. Some of us walked beside him, chatting along the way. To our surprise, he turned out to be the owner of the hotel where we had booked our stay. He wasn’t just walking home—he was making sure every guest arrived safely. He even helped carry my bag for part of the journey and kept asking whether anyone felt sick. His kindness felt like a warm welcome before we had even reached the lodge. As evening approached, the climb became tougher. The altitude started affecting many of us.
Some friends became so exhausted they simply sat on the trail, unable to take another step. Others stayed beside them, encouraging them to continue one step at a time. Just when we thought things couldn’t get harder, one of our friends suddenly collapsed. Being public health and medical students, panic quickly turned into teamwork. We laid her down safely, checked her condition, gave her medicine, and stayed with her until she felt better. Soon after, another friend experienced the same problem.
For a few moments, the mountain felt frightening. Darkness was approaching. People were exhausted.Altitude sickness had become real. Yet nobody was left behind. When we finally caught sight of the hotel glowing in the distance, it felt like seeing the finish line after running a marathon.
The cold no longer mattered. Neither did the aching legs. We had made it. Nothing has ever tasted as comforting as that first cup of hot water after hours of climbing. That evening was magical. We gathered around the heater, shared stories, sang songs, danced, laughed until our stomachs hurt, and enjoyed a simple dinner that somehow tasted like the best meal in the world.
The night, however, wasn’t easy. Altitude sickness kept several of my friends awake. Some developed fevers, while others struggled to breathe comfortably or simply couldn’t sleep. Again, we became caregivers. Medicine was shared. Friends stayed awake with friends. Someone was always checking if everyone was okay.
Looking back now, I don’t remember the discomfort as much as I remember the care we showed one another. The next morning made every difficult moment worth it. We woke up before sunrise and walked to the viewpoint. Standing there, watching the first rays of sunlight paint the Annapurna range in shades of gold and orange, I forgot every step that had made me tired the previous day. Nature has a beautiful way of rewarding patience. We laughed, took countless photos, wrote our names in the snow, and simply stood in silence, appreciating the view.
Moments like those don’t need filters. They become memories all on their own. The journey down had its own adventure.
Five of us chose to descend slowly, stopping to admire blooming rhododendrons, taking photos, and soaking in every moment. The others accidentally followed the wrong trail towards Ulleri after trusting Google Maps instead of the trekking route. They eventually reached the road safely—but only after climbing many more stairs than they had expected. By the time we reunited, they were completely exhausted and not particularly happy about their unexpected detour.
Today, we laugh about it. Looking back, I don’t remember the sore legs. I don’t remember the hunger.I don’t even remember the difficult climb. I remember sixteen friends becoming a team.I remember strangers becoming helpers. I remember laughter echoing through the mountains.I remember kindness. I remember trust.
And I remember standing among the Himalayas, realizing that sometimes the most beautiful destinations are not the mountains we climb—but the people we climb them with.
That weekend wasn’t just another trek. It became one of the most unforgettable memories of my life. Some mountains give you breathtaking views.
This one gave me lifelong memories.
