Even the trip to Nusa Lembongan was a scene of astounding tropical beauty. Turquoise waters shimmered in the morning light and the sun lit up forested hillsides with bright shades of green. Wide, shallow bays ended in a number of sandy coves, proving that we had arrived in another relaxing tropical destination.
A small island off the Southwest tip of Bali that is home to rugged coastlines, jaw-dropping scenery, and mesmerizing beaches, Nusa Penida is quickly surging as a popular destination for adventurous travelers. It was soon clear why: we had found a largely undiscovered slice of paradise.
I returned to Bali 3 years after my original trip there. Stefje and I spent 5 weeks in Canggu, an exploding village on the island of Bali. Life in Canggu is the easiest it has ever been.
At the nearby Boat Quay neighborhood, we found a relaxed bar with an outdoor pool table and posted up with PBR’s, happy to watch the endless parade of pedestrians come strolling by. While locals and western expats brushed shoulders in the bar, it became apparent that Singapore is a true melting pot of cultures. Reflecting on the day, Stefje and I noticed that we had see books written in Mandarin, Muslim women shopping for produce in headscarves, Indian construction workers, and massive Christian churches in just a small slice of the city.
We stared in awe at the long, snaking wall, which expanded far further in the distance than our eyes could see. Our minds were boggled to learn that we were exposed to less than 1% of the entire structure, which was used to repel Mongol invaders and was built, enhanced, and refurbished throughout the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644).
Despite the physical hardships, nothing could detract from the immense joy that seized us upon crossing the proverbial finish line. From the punishing slopes of the first few days to the interminable climbs of the initial ascent to the incredible strength required to cross the high passes, we successfully made it through what we unanimously agreed would be the longest through-hike of our lives.
Mountains enable explorers to feel their inexplicable presence, to stand in wonder under the shadow of something much larger than themselves, to test ourselves against the harshest of alpine landscapes, to feel the stoic stillness of their immovable slopes, and ultimately to simply be present in the midst of nature’s most powerful creations. Welcome to Gokyo, where you can feel the mountains around you!
Even within the first hour, the trail was obscenely difficult. Through ankle deep snow, we wound our way up above 5000 meters surrounded by glowing heaps of sparkling snow. In front of us, the path was downright disconcerting: we were headed straight towards a seemingly impassable chain of mountains. Some were deep black, others light grey, but each section of the ridge held its own beauty in the glow of first light. My favorite was a triangular spire which had the intense shape of an arrowhead, its deep black hue contrasting sharply against the white snow and blue skies.
Beyond the views, the thing I could sense most clearly here was the utter stillness. Whereas earlier in the day I could catch wind of a few yak bells echoing up the mountainside, there was now only the whispers of a few gusts and my own breathing to stimulate my ear drums. With the clouds gone and the mountains stoic, the only perceptible movement was of the sun slowly drifting higher into the sky.
The previous night’s rain that pattered on our windows was snow at this slightly higher elevation, at first appearing as a light dusting on the dirt, then fully immersing the trail and causing tree branches to heave under the weight. Within just 30 minutes of starting, our physical effort was rewarded with surreal views of jagged peaks adorned with a fresh coating of snow. Here evergreen trees flourished; their pungent smells mixed perfectly with the sparkling white dusting to make the whole environment feel like our own personal winter wonderland.
As if to make up for the previous day’s weather, a soft morning glow graced the hillsides as we departed from Salleri and officially began 19 days of walking. At more than 2500 meters (8200 feet) in altitude, it took just a few minutes of walking until our fingers and toes started tingling. We paused to let the blood flow catch up with our bodies, taking in sweeping views of terraced hillsides and broad wooded valleys all funneling deep into a river that roared below.
In perfect proportion to the cramped streets were the tiny doors. Each one was so low that even the shorter Nepali people had to stoop to enter, so any hope of me squeezing through would require tremendous effort. Yet within each open door we could glimpse brief snippets of a calmer life: children playing marbles, women chopping vegetables, stray dogs curled up into tiny balls with just a single eye peeking open, and shopkeepers rearranging their inventory.
