The journey began in Pokhara — the lakeside city shimmering under the gaze of the Annapurna range. Phewa Lake reflected the snow peaks like a promise of what awaited ahead. Gear packed, permits ready, hearts full of anticipation. As dusk fell, the mountains glowed pink in alpenglow — a silent blessing for the road ahead.
A scenic drive led to Nayapul, the true starting point of the trek. From there, stone steps and winding trails carried us through terraced fields and rhododendron forests. The air turned crisp, filled with the laughter of schoolchildren and the scent of pine. By afternoon, Ghandruk emerged — a beautiful Gurung village nestled on a ridge, facing Machhapuchhre’s (Fishtail’s) silver blade. Evening tea with honey warmed both body and soul.
We descended into a deep valley only to climb again — the rhythm of the Himalayas. Steep stone stairs tested endurance, while every turn offered a new perspective of Annapurna South. Chhomrong greeted us in clouds and prayer flags. The village felt alive — chickens clucking, porters laughing, trekkers resting. Dinner of dal bhat never tasted so good. A chill wind carried whispers of higher trails.
Today’s path led us away from villages into the heart of nature. Bamboo groves, cascading waterfalls, and the symphony of river and wind became constant companions. The climb was steady, meditative. Dovan appeared like a quiet hermitage surrounded by dense forest — no phone signals, no noise, just the rhythm of one’s own breath. The Himalayas began to feel closer, almost sentient.
The forest thinned and the air grew thinner too. Streams crossed by wooden bridges, icy winds brushed our cheeks. Deurali (sometimes spelled Davroli) rested beneath towering cliffs where avalanches sometimes rumble. We spent the evening watching clouds drift like spirits through the valley. Stars appeared brighter, as if we were already touching the heavens.
Before dawn, we set out. The trail climbed steadily past MBC (Machhapuchhre Base Camp), the sacred mountain watching over us. Snowfields gleamed in early light. As we reached ABC, the amphitheater of peaks — Annapurna I, South, Hiunchuli, Fishtail — surrounded us in silence so vast it swallowed words. 4,130 meters. Tea steam rose in the thin air, hearts full of awe and gratitude. Sunrise painted the peaks gold — a moment beyond thought, beyond self
Leaving ABC felt like leaving a dream. The return through Deurali and Dovan brought us back to the green world — the forest alive again with birds and sound. Legs weary but spirits light, we reached Bamboo, the dense grove where everything smelled of moss and rain. The altitude dropped, but the memories stayed elevated.
A long descent through Chhomrong’s stairs and terraced fields led back to civilization. The first sight of roads and jeeps felt strange after days of footpaths and silence. By afternoon, Pokhara welcomed us again — the same lake, the same mountains, but something inside had changed. The journey had carved its own quiet path within.