On top of the world: going solo in Nepal

I felt sure that I would be vindicated in my choice to remove myself from other people, but as it turned out I had the opposite experience. Yes, I did the trip solo, with a monosyllabic guide barely older than 18, but hiking and staying at teahouses along the way meant I repeatedly experienced the warmth of human connection. After hours of walking in near silence, I’d stop at a teahouse for a hot drink, and someone would strike up a conversation. If they were a weirdo, I’d give them a hard swerve when I saw them again on the trail. But if they were friendly, we’d talk some more. By the end of that trip, I realised solo might mean doing it alone, but it didn’t mean closing oneself off to people, which turned out to be a broader metaphor for life.

My first trek to Nepal was life-changing, not only because of the mental reworking of my life, but because I was surrounded by such vast beauty, from valleys carpeted with wildflowers to the mountains stacking behind each other and smudging into the mist. Despite all that, I wasn’t sure if I would return. Back home, my grief softened, and the pandemic reduced how much time I wanted in my own company after doing the entirety of lockdown alone.

Two months ago, however, I was given the chance to do a shorter version of that same trip – Kathmandu, followed by a three-day Himalayan hike, starting in the tiny village of Kande, 230km west of the capital. But this was a return with a twist: I would be travelling solo, but solo in a group. At first the introvert Britisher in me balked at the idea. I had done such a trip (to Iceland) last year, but it was only for three nights. Hiking felt like a solitary activity, a time of quietness and contemplation, and the prospect of sharing it with strangers felt awkward. Would it be like an episode of Coach Trip but with mountains?

Solo travel is on the rise, especially for women – according to a market research firm, Future Partners, 40% of female travellers want to travel solo in 2025 – but that didn’t mean it was necessarily for me. Then I remembered the lesson from my last trip: that when we put ourselves in the discomfort of something new, wonderful things can happen. The deciding factor, though, was the fact that this was going to be an all-women expedition – from my fellow travellers down to the guides, porters and logistics staff.

Understanding the cultural landscape in Nepal is essential to comprehend what an enormous feat it was for my group to be led around the mountains by 15 women. Around 37% of Nepali women aged 20 to 24 are married by the age of 18, and 10% are girls under the age of 15. The cultural expectation after marriage is that women don’t work, and hand over all their autonomy to their husbands. For these women to not only push aside that narrative, but to push into an industry where they are having to haggle for rooms alongside male guides who may not be as supportive of them working, and to then have to safeguard accommodation for themselves, is not insignificant.

Our senior guide, Srishti Lama Tamang, something of a mountain legend for being such a vocal advocate for female guides, told me how hard it was at the beginning. Talking about the male porters and guides, she said: “Some of them support and most of them gave discouraging advice. They said this is a man’s job, you can be a teacher or nurse: basically, stay at home. And that this is not our culture.” She started as a porter, to prove she was strong enough to do the job, and then worked her way up to being a guide. Now she is part of a strong female community of Nepali leaders empowering others to follow the same path.

As for the women in our group, they came from different areas of the UK and had different cultural backgrounds, professions and identities. But all of us were emotionally invested in the stories of the women we encountered in Nepal, particularly the female guides and porters working in an industry where, for every 75 men, there is one woman. The trip began in Kathmandu,a blaze of heat and light, its central heart a warren ofstreets lined with shops selling trekking equipment and rooftop cafés serving dal bhat, a Nepalese staple.

After visiting the Swayambhunath Stupa, a 2,000-year old Buddhist temple that sits on a hill overlooking the city, the group headed to Pashupatinath temple, a very sacred Hindu temple that does open-air cremations. I had visited it on my first trip; it was part of a huge emotional outpouring because of Rob, and I didn’t have the mental capacity to visit again. My fellow travellers who knew something of my story immediately understood, and squeezed my shoulder in solidarity; it was wonderful to feel that glimmer of warmth from people I hadn’t known for long.

The next morning we visited the Buddhist nunnery, Khachoe Ghakyil Ling, home to around 350 nuns. It was peaceful in the cool morning air, most of the nuns having left to celebrate a religious holiday. We picked our way up the steps to the entrance of an intricately detailed, ornate temple filled with colour – from the multicoloured mandalas on the ceilings to the floor-to-ceiling statues of Buddha dressed in bright yellow robes.

Lobsang Tse Yang, the nun who welcomed us in, explained that the nunnery was a place for girls and women to study and learn about Buddhism from the age of 10. Sitting on a mat in saffron robes, her feet clad in Hello Kitty-inspired sliders, she told me she joined when she was very young, and that it is a place where women can do a religious study programme usually only open to monks.

After warming our hands with  a cup of masala tea, we headed over to the home of Seven Women, an initiative that has helped over 5,000 women and children in Nepal by educating and training them to earn a living. While there, we learned how to cook Nepalese food, in particular some of the dishes we’d be eating over the next few days.

As we cooked potato curry, dal and a rich, jammy tomato chutney I developed an addiction to, we learned that some of the women in the programme had been rescued from a “kidnap marriage”, where a man, usually in rural areas, can decide to kidnap a woman and marry her, and the family of the woman has to accept it. There is a heaviness to some of the stories, but what shines through is the ability of women to overcome. It’s something I reflected on when we headed to Pokhara for the start of the trek the next day. A 30-minute flight from Kathmandu, Pokhara is a beautiful little city centred around the mirror-like Phewa lake, set against a backdrop of emerald green, tree-covered foothills.

Walking the trail with other people was something I felt nervous about until I did it. It began unassumingly, a tiny stone staircase at the side of a teahouse, that led us down through a scrubby patch. After the initial descent, we began a slow ascent flanked by trees to our left, and green hills cutting away to our right. The sun was strong and the climb was steeper than I remembered, but an hour later we reached a rest point with benches. We looked down to see roads snaking in the valley below, green mountains at our feet and around us. In the warm air, watching butterflies dance and listening to insects in the jungle around us, the snowcaps felt very far away.

I dipped in and out of conversations about everything – children, grief, love, hope and what we did for work. Sometimes, when I found conversation too much, I’d pick up the pace and head to the front of the group for some quiet. Soon enough though, I’d find myself wanting to be part of the group again, telling jokes. Some of it felt like a fever dream, in a good way – halfway through our second day, two members of the group did a TikTok dance during a pit-stop on a grassy flat terrace. We couldn’t stop laughing as they jumped and shook against the solemn, impassive Himalayas in the distance.

“That’s Hiunchuli,” Srishti said, after we arrived at our third teahouse. She pointed at an austere peak and we all strained our eyes for a glimpse of the mountain they fondly call Fishtail, officially known as Machhapuchhre. Every teahouse has a different set-up and character, but usually has a communal area with benches for people to drink tea, play games and chat, and a central kitchen and dining area, where most socialising happens. Our accommodation varied: in Kathmandu, we stayed in our own rooms in a palatial four-star hotel, with an extensive buffet and hot showers, but in the teahouses we had to share rooms due to a lack of space. While there was a frisson of nervousness – deciding who was sharing with whom – I ended up having a great conversation with my roommate about her life, my life and what made us happy. In other circumstances I couldn’t imagine having this depth of chat with someone I’d met four days ago.

The second day was our longest trek, a slow descent overlooking the Modi Khola valley, finishing in Landruk, a village known for its beautiful views of the peaks. Sturdy stone steps gave way to a slightly rougher path, and I was thankful for buying walking sticks that eased the thump of my feet going down sharp heights.

When we got to our second teahouse we flopped down in the large garden, our rooms lining it like a rectangle. The rooms are basic and don’t encourage lingering, and may or may not have hot water. After dumping my pack, I noticed a platform accessible by a staircase in the main courtyard, where people could sit and look out at the snowcaps. With a hot tea in hand, I clambered up and sat as the convergence of light and cloud and mountains rolled before me, filling me with silence. An important thing to remember in solo group travel is to take time for yourself, particularly if you’re an introvert like me. That might mean having breakfast separately from time to time, taking yourself off to your room to read, or going to bed early if you need to.

In the morning, the clouds cleared to reveal the flank of a snowcap, glowing in the rising light of the dawn. As we made our descent back down to Kyumi we passed small houses with tin roofs and stairs cut into the mountainside, alongside large, flat terraces of grass and vegetables. The trail dipped between long stone staircases and flatter mud paths; at one point, it ran alongside high suspension bridges above rushing water, a canopy of ferns overhead.

Passing one village, a golden statue of Buddha greeted us, indicating the way. As we got closer to the pick-up point, I looked back to see the line of guides and porters walking a gradually descending dirt path, and on the terrace below, a little boy playing with a stick stopped and looked at them with an open mouth. Even if female guides are becoming more common, they are still not an everyday sight, certainly not in such a big group, and men don’t always respect their work. Srishti told us a story where three men booked her for a guiding job and then cancelled it the minute they realised she was a woman. I felt our group knit together around her, expressing rage on her behalf. “Keep going,” we said to her, “just keep going.”

On our last night in Kathmandu, we gathered in our hotel restaurant, freshly showered, to discuss what the favourite bits of our trip were. There were howls of laughter as we recalled trying – and failing – to make momos (Nepalese dumplings) and how we’d pranced around trying to take selfies, only to be elbowed out of the way by a surprisingly strong gaggle of older women.

There were two unanimous winners, though. The first was being inspired by the female guides and porters and understanding how much it took for them to be visible. “Be more Srishti,” became our tag line. The second was the unexpected bonding. Eight years ago, I couldn’t imagine something like this. I’d felt so broken by my grief that the idea of being with other people, let alone finding companionship and laughter in them, felt impossible. But it’s a good reminder that things can change, even the parts of ourselves that still feel broken, if we aren’t too afraid to try.

Intrepid Travel offers a 13-day Nepal Women’s Expedition starting from £1,315 per person. Prices include accommodation, transport, selected meals, all activities and excursions, and local guides and porters. International flights are extra, but can be booked by Intrepid (intrepidtravel.com).

For those who like to hike on their own, a self-guided walk supported by a full itinerary (and accommodation) is a stress-free option. Mac Adventure offers a seven-night walk from Kyoto to Osaka on Japan’s 88-temple Shikoku Pilgrimage Trail, staying in Ryokan guesthouses and a Buddhist temple. From £2,850 per person (macsadventure.com).

Flash Pack is group travel that caters exclusively for solo travellers. Seven days in unspoilt Albania includes white-water rafting, sunset horseback riding, ziplining and wine-tasting, and twin-room accommodation; up to 16 in a group. From £2,080 (flashpack.com).

G Adventures offers both small group and solo adventures, from “18-to-ThirtySomethings” tours in Jordan and Egypt to “Solo-ish Adventures” in a group to Sicily, £1,779 per person; Uzbekistan, £1,402 per person; and South Korea, £2,524 per person (gadventures.com).

Photographs by Monika Malla/Intrepid Travel; Chris Sorensen/Gallery Stock; Annapurna Mellor/Kintzing