May 2023: I first fell in love with the Buddhist regions of the Himalayas in 1998, when I visited Ladakh and Zanskar in northern India, spending several months traveling and trekking in the region. Since then, I’ve returned to trek in Bhutan (2005) and in Tibet (2010), where I celebrated New Year’s Eve at Everest Base Camp. Few places in the world can rival the unique experience of immersing in Tibetan Buddhist culture amid the towering peaks of the Himalayas—this includes the Buddhist mountain kingdom of Mustang in northern Nepal. With a baby on the way in September, I wanted to fit in a meaningful adventure, and Mustang was the perfect destination. This is the story of my two-week trek through Mustang, accompanied by my friend Jimmie and my brother Jesse, as we explored its desolate mountain valleys and vibrant Buddhist culture.
Location of Mustang in northern Nepal bordering China Tibet
The Upper Mustang was a closed Buddhist kingdom until 1992 off-limits to foreigners. Since then, even though the kingdom has slowly opened up to the outside world, it continues to remain isolated because of its extreme mountain environment and deliberate controls established to preserve its culture, such as a requirement for foreigners to obtain an expensive permit, and guide to enter the region. All of these factors have helped to remain culturally unique. Despite the controls to regulate tourism, the tourism industry is one of the most important aspects of its economy along with animal husbandry, farming and trade.
Mustang was an independent kingdom flourishing from trade between India and China from the 15th to 17th century. Then in the 18th Century it was annexed by Nepal but remained semi-autonomous with its own monarchy until 2008 when Nepal became a republic and abolished both its own monarchy as well as Mustang’s.
Other travelers I know that have been to Mustang have all raved about its beauty and how it is seldomly visited by other tourists giving it a rustic charm. Outside of the Tiji festival, tourists are still known to be rare, and this was our experience. On our trek we rarely encountered foreigners and in most tea houses, we were the only guests.
Despite being historically isolated, Mustang is changing as inroads of modern life are making their way into the region. A gravel road connecting greater Nepal to the Chinese border was built 7 years ago and this has led to increased tourism and developmental works such as electricity that have brought expedited change.
Even though I wish I had visited Mustang before the construction of the road, there was still enough natural and cultural beauty to attract me and with the rapid rate of change as the modern world encroaches, I felt that if I was going to visit Mustang, it was now or never.
Despite welcoming new roads and outside influence, Mustang has avoided opening its flood gates to foreigners like other regions of Nepal that have become inundated with tourism especially budget-oriented backpacker travelers. Mustang has instead chosen to slow the adverse effects of mass tourism through regulations and requiring that all foreigners pay for a 500USD Permit to enter, which is valid for a minimum period of 10 days. Additionally, there is a set limit to how many permits can be issued, an approved guide is required and a minimum of two tourists required for each permit. Since trekking in Mustang also overlaps the Annapurna Conservation region, we also had to pay a much smaller fee of 25$ for entering into this area. To obtain the Mustang Permit and arrange the trek, I reached out to Dawa Pun, owner and guide for the trekking company Tramping in Nepal and I wired him 500USD for our permits, which were obtained before our arrival. Police checkpoints in Mustang do check for these permits and have turned away tourists trying to enter without them.
To reach Mustang, Jesse, Jimmie and began by flying to Katmandu on Qatar Airways from Doha, Qatar. We spent one night in Kathmandu and then took what was supposed to be a 6-hour bus ride to Pokhara but because of road construction and traffic was actually a 10-hour bus ride. It also didn’t help that 30 minutes after starting our long bus journey the first bus died on the side of the road, and we had to wait for a replacement bus to come and pick us up. From Pokhara we needed to get to the gateway of Mustang, the small mountain village of Jomsom, which can be reached via a short but scary 20-minute flight or a long 8-to-10-hour drive on horrendous mountain roads.
From Jomsom, our 77-mile trekking itinerary with family run village tea house stays in Mustang was as follows:
- Day 1: 20-minute flight to Jomsom via Tara Air, 4-hour trek along to Kagbeni
- Day 2: 6-hour trek to Chele
- Day 3: 10-hour trek to Ghiling
- Day 4: 7-hour trek to Drakmar
- Day 5: 7-hour trek to Lomanthang
- Day 6: Horseback riding and jeep to visit various sky caves around Lomanthang
- Day 7: Jeep drive to Jomsom
- Day 8: 8-hour Jeep drive to Pokhara
Route of our trek
Reaching Mustang’s gateway in Jomsom is notoriously challenging, with only two routes available—each demanding in its own way.
Road: The road to Jomsom is rugged and treacherous, cutting through the mountains and taking 10 hours or more by private jeep, even longer by bus. Constantly under construction and susceptible to mud and rockslides, the road sees frequent closures, especially during monsoon season, which had just begun in early June when we started our journey. Accidents and fatalities aren’t uncommon, making it a high-risk route, especially for those unaccustomed to its rough, unpredictable conditions.
Air: A flight to Jomsom is just 20 minutes compared to the grueling road trip, and it’s operated by four domestic airlines—Buddha, Summit, Yeti, and Tara Air. Each flies small, aged 20-seater twin-turbo prop planes designed for high-altitude, short-field landings. Flights depart early in the morning before clouds and wind make the route too dangerous. However, weather conditions on this route are infamous, and flights are often canceled due to poor visibility. Unfortunately, Nepal has one of the poorest aviation safety records globally, with a recent Tara Air crash on this very route claiming all lives on board just a year before our trip. Buddha Air also experienced a tragic crash just months prior to our visit, killing 100 passengers near Pokhara.
On the morning of our flight, we were lucky: clear skies greeted us, and our Summit Air flight departed on schedule. Besides us, the plane was filled with Hindu pilgrims from India visiting the sacred Muktinath Temple, a revered site for Buddhists and Hindus. Boarding was a lively challenge, as determined elderly pilgrims jostled for window seats on the plane’s right side, offering views of the Annapurna Range. The plane itself was small and stuffy, with minimal ventilation and uncomfortable seats—but for 20 minutes, it was manageable.
Once airborne, we felt as if we were scraping the mountainsides, with frequent jolts of mountain turbulence. The route passed through the deepest gorge in the world, flanked by the towering 27,000-foot Annapurna peaks. As we flew, Hindu pilgrims chanted prayers to Shiva, adding a surreal atmosphere as we soared through the world’s tallest mountains, feeling the plane rattle from the turbulence.
The most dramatic moment was the approach into Jomsom. Just before landing, the pilot executed a steep, G-force-inducing spiraling turn along a mountain ridge. We were caught off guard, clutching the seats as we descended at what felt like breakneck speed toward the short runway. Once we landed, everyone onboard sighed in relief, applauding the pilot. We were quickly ushered off, as the plane prepared for a rapid turnaround to maximize flights before the unpredictable mountain weather turned dangerous again. It was a thrilling introduction to the adventure that lay ahead in Mustang.
Towering Mountains of Annapurna Range Over Jomsom
After landing in Jomsom, we grabbed breakfast at a local café, where we met our two porters. These guys were impressively resilient, each carrying 70-pound duffel bags secured by a rope around their foreheads—a traditional method of load-bearing in Nepal. Despite their slight frames, they were incredibly strong and would be invaluable throughout the trek.
The hike from Jomsom to Kagbeni took about four hours, mostly along a gravel road that wound through Mustang’s rugged, arid landscape. I’d been concerned that the new road would detract from the experience, and while it did alter the isolated feel of the region, Mustang’s natural desolation and beauty remained largely intact. The road was quiet, and vehicles were rare—mostly the occasional motorbike. Yet, I couldn’t help but imagine how much more remote Mustang must have felt before the road’s construction.
Mustang sits in a high-altitude desert, where rain and snow are scarce, leaving the landscape dry and parched. As we approached the Tibetan village of Kagbeni, it was a striking contrast to see lush, irrigated fields breaking up the barren, rocky terrain. Kagbeni’s fertile fields stood out against the dry, rugged ridges and the backdrop of snow-covered peaks, creating a dramatic scene. We checked into a local guesthouse and enjoyed a hearty lunch on a porch overlooking the village with the Annapurna mountains looming in the distance. Mount Annapurna, the 10th highest peak in the world at 26,545 feet, would accompany us visually throughout our journey. While it’s not the highest mountain, it holds the title as one of the deadliest to climb, with a fatality rate rivaling that of K2.
Exploring Kagbeni was an exciting step into Mustang’s rich cultural tapestry. The village sits high above the Kaligandaki river valley, with ancient mud-brick buildings and narrow stone alleyways. Irrigated barley fields and apple trees added a splash of green against the otherwise stark terrain. We started our exploration at the 1,000-year-old monastery, where young student monks were energetically playing hacky sack in the courtyard. Nearby, elder monks practiced playing the Tibetan longhorn, a deep, resonant instrument, in preparation for an upcoming festival.
Our teahouse in Kagbeni turned out to be the most comfortable accommodation we’d have on the trek. It was also the last place we’d enjoy a hot shower for a while—after this, we’d rely on either icy showers or a bucket, a stark reminder of Mustang’s ruggedness and our distance from modern comforts.
Green fields of Kagbeni
Domestic goats prized for their thick wool
Hike to Chele
The following morning, after breakfast, we began our 6-7 hour trek along mostly flat terrain, alternating between gravel road and footpaths that offered more direct routes. As we moved deeper into the river canyon, the scenery became increasingly dramatic. After leaving Kagbeni, we officially entered the restricted Mustang area, where a special permit is required. Vehicle traffic was minimal—a rare bus or motorbike passing by was more a reminder of the modern world than a disturbance.
We maintained a steady altitude between 11,000 and 12,000 feet, with the sun beating down intensely. The dry air and strong winds kicked up dust, forcing us to cover our faces with bandanas for both sun and dust protection. During this leg of the hike, we got our first glimpses of the famous “sky caves”—ancient, man-made structures dotting the cliffsides by the hundreds. These caves, carved into the rock faces long ago, hinted at the mystery and history that Mustang holds.
The highlight of the day’s trek was our arrival at Thange Village, a serene and traditional village perched on a cliff above the Kaligandaki River Valley. The village felt like a place untouched by time, perhaps the most authentic and preserved settlement we encountered on our journey. Traditional mud-brick houses lined the narrow pathways, and as we entered, we walked through tunnels covered with prayer wheels and flanked by ancient monastery walls. Villagers tended goats and gathered in the central square, where a few men practiced archery—a timeless scene of life carrying on as it always has.
Thange was once a popular stop for trekkers, but with the construction of the road, it’s now rarely visited, preserving its raw, National Geographic-like feel. The villagers were warm and welcoming, and as we were about to leave, a local man asked if we had seen the largest stupas in the village. Grateful for his guidance, we followed him to these beautiful, ancient structures. The stupas—imposing, ornately decorated Buddhist monuments containing relics or remains—stood at the village outskirts, near crumbling fortifications overlooking the canyon. The sight of these relics, weathered by centuries yet standing tall against the vast canyon, felt truly magical and grounded us in the spiritual and historical essence of Mustang.
One of the ancient Buddhist stupas outside of Thange Village
One of the old fortified walls or monastery walls of Thange Village from ancient times
Sky Caves
The sky caves of Mustang are truly among the world’s most remarkable ancient wonders, comparable only to a few other places globally, such as the cliff-carved caves in Bamiyan, Afghanistan, and Dogon Country, Mali. However, the sheer scale and number of these caves, perched high in Mustang’s towering cliffs, make them unique. Thousands of these man-made cavities, often located hundreds of feet up in nearly vertical sandstone cliffs, hold centuries-old mysteries. The oldest caves are estimated to date back to 1000 B.C., and initially, they served as places for burials.
In keeping with Tibetan traditions of sky burial, where the deceased are left exposed for vultures as part of a cyclical view of life and death, these caves were open resting places. In later centuries, as wars and conflicts threatened local communities, people took refuge in the caves. Buddhist monks also found solace in these secluded spaces, turning them into meditation chambers. Today, some caves contain Buddhist murals, relics, and even evidence of ritual practices, including animal sacrifices, charred ceilings from cooking fires, and archeological treasures like golden face shrouds, jewelry, pottery, and skeletal remains.
Yet, despite their allure, few of these caves have been fully explored. The friable sandstone cliffs make climbing hazardous; one National Geographic expedition noted that the rock is so fragile that anchors often pull loose, and climbers face constant danger from falling rocks. Almost as mysterious as the contents of the caves is the question of their construction. It’s believed that ancient builders may have chiseled shafts down from the cliff tops, using rope ladders to enter the caves. Erosion and seismic activity have since exposed many of these hidden entrances.
Today, the Tibetan people of Mustang consider the caves sacred. Access is restricted, and even the most daring explorers must gain local permission to approach them. For locals, the risk of looting is ever-present, so the caves remain a closely guarded piece of Mustang’s heritage—a fascinating window into the spiritual and practical ingenuity of ancient life in the Himalayas.
Hike to Ghiling Village
Chele Village, perched at over 11,000 feet, brought cold nights with temperatures dipping around freezing, yet during the day, the high-altitude sun quickly warmed the air to around 70°F. This intense sun, paired with the region’s maximum UV exposure, made sun protection essential; any exposed skin would start burning within minutes.
In the crisp morning air, we woke to a village veiled in the scent of woodsmoke, lingering from the fires used for nighttime warmth. After breakfast, we set off on our longest and most challenging trek of the journey to Drakmar Village. This grueling hike was made more intense by our ongoing acclimatization to the altitude. The day’s route involved sustained, steep climbs, with sections taking us above 13,000 feet.
We started with a 1,000-foot ascent, followed by another 1,000-foot climb over a rugged mountain pass, before descending sharply into a canyon that rivaled the Grand Canyon in both scale and beauty. As we made our way through, we frequently spotted giant griffon vultures, some with wingspans nearing 10 feet, gliding gracefully above us, ever-watchful for carrion below.
One of the highlights of the day was reaching Chungso Cave Monastery at the canyon’s base—a serene stop where the natural world met Mustang’s spiritual heritage. After catching our breath, we tackled the final steep ascent out of the canyon toward Ghiling Village, finally arriving late in the afternoon, exhausted but exhilarated by the rugged beauty and the connection to Mustang’s ancient, undisturbed landscape.
View from my room in the tea house of Chele Village
Suspension bridges are commonly found in Nepal connecting villages that would otherwise be hours apart from each other. All are feats of engineering genius, and some are suspended hundreds of feet over the canyons below.
Me resting on top of the mountain pass
Jimmie, Jesse and I on top of the pass
A highlight of our long hike to Drakmar Village was visiting the secluded Chungsi Cave Monastery. This ancient cave is revered as the meditation retreat of Guru Rinpoche, the Tibetan saint credited with bringing Buddhism to Tibet. As we entered the cave, we were welcomed by a group of kind monks and a few local pilgrims, including an elderly woman and her young granddaughter. The young girl kept casting shy, amused smiles our way, snapping a few secretive photos on her phone. When I turned the camera on her, she blushed deeply, immediately scolded by her grandmother in Tibetan—a grandmother’s universal tone of gentle reprimand needing no translation.
The grandmother graciously offered us ramen noodles and tea, which she prepared on a small gas stove within the cave—a welcome and warming meal after our long trek. Once we had eaten, we explored the cave further. We found the monks’ simple sleeping quarters, built with wood and mud brick against the cave walls. Toward the back of the cave stood an imposing bronze statue of Buddha, with delicate, naturally-formed stalactites resembling small Buddhas adorning the space.
Our guide mentioned that it was Jimmie’s birthday, and the monks offered to perform a blessing ritual for him. We sat before the grand statue, where the monks chanted softly for about ten minutes, creating a tranquil, otherworldly atmosphere. They concluded the ceremony by placing a white ceremonial scarf, a khata, around Jimmie’s neck, a gesture of honor and goodwill. He wore it proudly for the rest of the hike, a tangible reminder of the warmth and blessings we had received in this hidden, sacred sanctuary.
Ghiling was a serene and traditional village, nestled in a remote area with a stunning cliffside monastery that we wished we had more time to explore. But after a grueling hike, all we could do was rest and conserve our energy for the next day’s trek. Our stay at the teahouse in Ghiling was much like the others we’d experienced, where a family, often led by a hardworking mother and occasionally her daughters, ran the kitchen tirelessly. In several villages, we encountered the Tibetan custom of polyandry, where a woman might be married to two brothers. This practice helps keep family inheritances intact across generations, preventing division of assets.
The families who hosted us were always friendly and welcoming. Our rooms were typically on the second floor, accessible by a small, creaky wooden ladder, adding to the rustic charm. Jesse and I shared a modest, dusty room with blankets that probably hadn’t seen a wash between guests in a long time. Facilities were basic: a squat toilet, no showers, and a shared common room where we gathered for meals. We dined on hearty local dishes—vegetable momos, dal bhat, fried rice—washed down with tea, and occasionally, some warm beer. Despite the rugged conditions, there was something uniquely comforting about these teahouse stays, sharing simple meals with our hosts and feeling a part of their everyday lives, however briefly.
The village monastery which we could see out our room’s window
Our morning ritual was consistent: eggs, tea, and for me, a power boost of oatmeal and peanut butter I’d brought from home to fuel the day’s hike. After purifying some water, we set off, immediately facing the familiar steep uphill. We took the shepherd trails above Ghiling, rising to a high pass that gave sweeping views over the village and surrounding mountains. Crossing into Ghami, we traversed a river and scaled another high pass. According to my map, we were in an area known for blue sheep sightings, and almost like clockwork, we spotted a wild blue sheep darting across the trail, pursued by two Tibetan mastiffs.
The village of Drakmar was tucked away from the main road, maintaining its traditional charm. A bridge in town was adorned with goat skulls, a local custom in Mustang. We encountered friendly villagers, including an elderly woman in traditional robes who wandered through town, chanting Buddhist mantras. When I asked if I could take her photo, she requested a small amount of money—a reminder of the delicate balance between curiosity and respect. I’d learned that in Mustang, locals are often wary of photographers due to past incidents where photos of villagers were published without compensation, creating a lasting resentment. Now, most people decline photos or ask for a modest fee, and monasteries often forbid photography inside unless a significant fee is paid.
Our teahouse that night was even more basic than the previous, but it offered the kind of cultural immersion we were seeking. In Drakmar, my brother and I couldn’t resist attempting to climb some of the scree slopes to reach one of the many sky caves dotting the striking red sandstone cliffs. But the cave entrances were just too high and inaccessible, and the risk of a fall wasn’t worth it. Even maneuvering up and down the loose scree was precarious, but the attempt gave us a taste of the adventurous spirit that Mustang inspires.
Wild Himalya blue sheep we encountered on the trail
A Buddhist Chorton at the beginning of Drakmar village
Elderly ladt in Drakmar Village chanting Buddhist hymns
Sky caves in Drakmar Village
Sky caves in Drakmar Village
Sky caves in Drakmar Village we tried to climb into
Sky caves in Drakmar Village
Teahouse we stayed in at Drakmar Village
Games at our tea house
Hike to Lo Manthang Village
Our final day of trekking promised to be both challenging and memorable, with two high passes at 14,000 feet to cross and a forecast hinting at rain—the only day we expected wet weather. We began the morning with a steep ascent, climbing 1,000 feet up a ridge that led us above ancient sky caves and onto a vast, windswept plateau. Unexpectedly, a Tibetan mastiff from Drakmar Village joined us, pacing steadily beside Jesse for the entire 14-mile journey to Lo Manthang. Remarkably, this loyal companion disappeared upon our arrival, only to return a few days later to bid Jesse a silent goodbye as we departed Lo Manthang.
Our first stop was at the secluded, 700-year-old Ghar Monastery, regarded as the most powerful monastery in Mustang. Though damaged by the 2015 earthquake, renovations were underway, funded by millions in aid from the U.S. government, as noted on a sign at the entrance. The mystical scent of incense greeted us as we entered the monastery, with yak butter lamps casting an otherworldly glow over the dusty, shadowed interior. Towering statues of Tibetan Buddhas, their fierce, demon-like expressions, were meant to ward off malevolent spirits. The ambiance was hauntingly beautiful, and while photography was forbidden, the moment was etched into memory.
After visiting the monastery, we embarked on our highest ascent of the trek, winding past herds of goats and high-altitude meadows dotted with marmot burrows. Jesse’s newfound mastiff friend couldn’t resist chasing any marmots in sight, keeping us from catching a proper glimpse of them. By afternoon, we arrived in Lo Manthang. The day had been long, but thanks to acclimatization, we recovered quickly and soon set off on foot to explore the ancient, walled kingdom after dropping our gear at the teahouse.
Lo Manthang awaited, and the excitement of reaching our destination filled us with a renewed energy, ready to uncover the hidden marvels of this isolated kingdom.
Hiking up the plateu from Drakmar Village
Stopping for tea at Ghar monstery
Ancient ruined building along the hike
Buddhist Chorton
Lo Manthang Village
Arriving in Lo Manthang felt like stepping back in time. This ancient, walled village, located just 10 miles from the Tibetan border, was a blend of medieval charm and Buddhist spirituality. We were fortunate to visit just after the Tiji Festival, Mustang’s most renowned event, which draws crowds from around the world. With the festival’s end, the village was nearly empty of foreigners, leaving us to experience Lo Manthang in a calm, almost private atmosphere.
The village itself was mesmerizing. High stone walls enclosed a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleyways lined with mud-brick homes and centuries-old monasteries. Cows and horses meandered through the streets, while locals gathered to chat, play games, and spin both handheld and human-sized prayer wheels. Each spin of these wheels is believed to send the prayers inscribed on their inner scrolls skyward, infusing the streets with a quiet sense of devotion. Vibrant scenes played out around every corner: women in traditional Tibetan dresses carried barley or children on their backs, monks in red robes moved between monasteries, and vendors at the occasional souvenir shop politely displayed their wares.
Early mornings and late evenings were the most magical times in Lo Manthang, with the cool air amplifying the village’s mystique. One morning, as we wandered, we were drawn to an ancient monastery whose massive wooden doors were ajar. Peering in, we saw elder monks and even children chanting in unison beneath a towering 60-foot Buddha. Awestruck, Jesse and I sat quietly outside, listening to the rhythmic chants that seemed to echo through the village.
We also visited the King’s Palace, though it was no longer inhabited. The elderly king had recently passed, and his widow now lived in Kathmandu. While the prince owned and maintained the palace, it showed signs of abandonment. A lone Tibetan mastiff, massive and fierce, guarded the palace’s second floor, barking at anyone who passed below. We learned that this dog had been a gift to the king as a puppy and, sadly, had spent its entire life chained to this post, never leaving the palace.
Local man spinning the prayer wheels.
Locals in town that sit, and watch life idly go by while spinning their prayer wheels. One of the old men was wearing an old-fashioned pair pf mountaineering goggles I was told was gifted to him by an old mountaineer when he was young. The goggles are so rare and valuable now that he was offered 20,000USD for them by a wealthy collector but he refused because he likes them.
Lo Manthang streets
Buddhist monastery students
Kings Palace
Tibeten mastiff guarding kings palace
Unique bird sitting in the firewood commonly stored on the rooftops of most homes along with drying cow dung for fuel
View of Lo Manthang Rooftops with firewood and cow dung used as fuel for heat and cooking lying on the roof tops
From within Lo Manthang’s ancient walls, the sight of a Chinese watchtower on the Tibet border was a stark reminder of the area’s complex geopolitics. A local resident shared his perspective on China’s influence, expressing mixed sentiments—appreciation for the economic investments but deep distrust rooted in China’s harsh treatment of Tibetans and efforts to suppress Tibetan culture. He explained that a large telescope in the watchtower overlooks Lo Manthang, allowing surveillance of everyone who enters, especially during visits by prominent monks like the Dalai Lama. This vigilance, he said, isn’t limited to the watchtower; local rumors suggest that Chinese spies are often present in the area.
The villagers are permitted to cross into China on market days, an opportunity that’s highly regulated. Authorities there strictly forbid images or mentions of the Dalai Lama or any content deemed suspicious, with violators facing the risk of confiscation, or even imprisonment. When I asked about recent conflicts affecting Mustang, he noted that China had once attempted to extend its claim into Mustang when it invaded Tibet. However, Mustang maintained its sovereignty, though it remains ever-watchful of its northern neighbor.
These conversations added a new layer of depth to our experience in Lo Manthang, revealing the resilience of the people who live so close to political tensions, yet hold firmly to their culture and community.
Day of Visiting Sky Caves and Horseback Riding on My Birthday
The day after completing our trek, which coincided with my 46th birthday, we opted for a more relaxed approach and hired horses for a round trip to the Jhong sky caves. These caves, with their 40 rooms, were accessible by ladders and housed a few small cave monasteries. The horseback ride provided a welcome change of pace after the long days of hiking, allowing us to explore the outer villages and the sky caves without the strain of trekking. The horses were mostly well-behaved, which was a relief for me, given my past unsettling experience when a horse I was riding bolted uncontrollably through the Colombian jungle, leaving me with a lasting fear of riding. Despite the lingering memories, the day was peaceful, and the serene ride helped me feel a sense of calm and celebration, making my birthday a uniquely memorable experience.
Jesse on horseback
Tibeten women collecting drinking water from a stream
Village Lady
Cave Monastery
Jesse in cave monastery lloking at the ancient Buddhist life cycle paintings on its wall. The monk in charge of this monastery only allowed me to take photos when I slipped him 10USD in equaivalent rupees.
Crawling around inside sky caves
Us inside sky caves
The most exciting part of the day came when Jesse and I mentioned to the young son of the family who owned our tea house that we were planning to hike to the hot springs and sky caves nearby. I casually asked if he would like to join us, and he quickly replied that he would love to, but his mother—being very superstitious—wouldn’t allow him to go anywhere near that area near dusk. The reason, he explained, was the proximity to a sky burial site, and she believed the area was haunted by spirits.
When he mentioned sky burial, my curiosity was piqued, and I persuaded him to join us if we took a jeep, which would allow us to return before dark, thus avoiding any conflict with his mother. Our plan was to visit the sky burial grounds and also explore some of the more remote sky caves outside Lo Manthang. These caves were rarely visited by tourists, as the infrastructure needed to access them was minimal, and conditions were more hazardous.
Our new guide was familiar with the caves and shared that when he and his friends were teenagers, they often explored them, sometimes pushing the boundaries of safety. After the caves, we planned to visit the small hot springs near the river, just a short distance from the sky caves. There, it was said that one of the ancient monks claimed the springs emitted dark energy, later discovered to be linked to the massive uranium deposits located underground.
Sky Burial Site
We pulled over to an overlook a few miles outside of Lo Manthang, nestled in a remote canyon with a small creek running through it. Below, a few hundred feet away near the stream, was a small stone enclosure and an open field where the sky burials are performed. In Mustang, the deceased meet one of two fates: cremation, which is usually reserved for monks or individuals of high status, or sky burial, where the body is cut into small pieces and left exposed for vultures to consume. This ritual is believed to reset the cycle of life, a core belief in Buddhism.
In Lo Manthang, a designated man performs the cutting of the body inside the small stone structure. I was told that he is paid well for this task, but if he is unavailable for any reason, a family member must take over the grim responsibility. Once the body is cut into pieces, the remains are scattered across the field, and a prayer is recited for the soul of the deceased, asking for the vultures to come and complete the ritual. If the vultures do not appear, it is believed that the soul of the person was bad, having committed evil deeds during their lifetime.
As we peered down into the field, searching for signs of any recent sky burials, we saw that there were no bodies or skeletons in sight. Any remnants of previous burials would have been washed away in the stream, carried off by the current. The vultures had likely already cleaned the area, leaving nothing behind. The field would remain empty until the next person in the region passed, and the cycle of the burial ritual would begin again.
Sky burial site
After an hour-long drive along a rough 4WD road, we finally arrived at the sky caves, crossing a river via a suspension bridge to reach them. The caves were spread across multiple levels, and to access each one, we had to climb—sometimes requiring rock climbing techniques. There was no tourism infrastructure in place, which made the journey more challenging and adventurous. We navigated through scree slopes, scaled vertical shafts with loose rock, and carefully scrambled across narrow ledges that overlooked steep drop-offs.
Inside the caves, the atmosphere was eerie and fascinating. Small offerings of seashells were scattered across the floors, and the walls displayed faded remnants of Buddhist murals and paintings, providing a glimpse into the past. The rugged and untouched nature of the caves made the visit feel even more mystical, as if we were stepping back in time, into a world largely untouched by modern tourism.
Sky caves located at the bottom portion of the huge mountain
Exploring the caves was an incredible experience, especially with the isolation—there wasn’t a soul in sight for miles around. The adventure of climbing the loose scree and using makeshift foot and handholds to ascend the vertical shafts of crumbling sandstone was thrilling, but it became apparent that the risk was too great to continue for long. We had to be cautious with each move, as the rock was unstable, and the drops below were steep.
After our exhilarating cave exploration, we returned to our tea house. The evening was made even more special when we were treated to a birthday cake, baked in the only bakery in Lo Manthang. It felt like a fitting end to the day—celebrating my birthday in such a remote, mystical place with the warmth of the local people and the beauty of Mustang all around us.
Sky caves
Buddhist murals on wall
Jesse in one of the caves
Me carefully sliding down from an entrance of a cave
Our guide climbing one of the vertical shafts leading to more layers of sky caves above us.
Long Treacherous Drive to Pokhara
On our last morning in Lo Manthang, I decided to purchase what might be the most unique souvenir of the trip—a Tibetan flute, or kangling, made from the femur of a deceased monk. Traditionally, kanglings are played by Tibetan monks in Buddhist rituals to subjugate demons. While I was fascinated by its history and significance, I couldn’t help but worry about the potential trouble at immigration. Both Nepalese and U.S. customs might seize it. However, in the end, I was able to bring my new kangling home without any issues, which felt like a small victory.
From Lo Manthang, we set out on a six-hour jeep ride to Jomsom. We spent the night in a tea house, but the next morning, the weather turned stormy. All flights out of Jomsom were cancelled, and the forecast suggested that delays could stretch for days. We opted for the alternative: a grueling, eight-hour drive in muddy 4WD conditions to Pokhara. The journey was long and exhausting, but it was an adventure in itself, and we were all just eager to reach Pokhara and rest after a whirlwind trek through Mustang.
4WD Road to Pokhura
Pokhura
We really enjoyed the relaxing vibes of Pokhara, with its jungle-clad lakes and tourist-friendly atmosphere. It was the perfect place to unwind after the intensity of our trek. The local eateries and bars were great, offering a variety of delicious food and refreshing drinks. We ended up spending two nights there, taking our time to relax, get massages, and explore the town at a leisurely pace. One of the highlights was visiting the Pokhara Disneyland. It was a quirky, almost eerie experience with its creepy Mickey Mouse statues and old-fashioned bumper cars. Despite its oddities, it added a fun and unexpected touch to our visit, and we couldn’t help but laugh at the bizarre contrast to the serene surroundings.
Pokhura Lake
Disneyland
Joining a street dance with Hara Krishnas
Katmandu & the Living Child Goddess
From Kathmandu, Jimmie and I took a short 20-minute flight on Buddha Air to Pokhara via the newly Chinese-built airport. I spent my last evening exploring Durbar Square, a place I had long wanted to visit. To get there, we walked from our hotel, braving the chaos of Kathmandu’s streets, which were packed with pedestrians, vehicles, and motorbikes, all fighting for space amidst the pollution-choked air. The city was a constant sensory overload, but I was determined to see the effects of the 2015 earthquake, which killed nearly 9,000 people, mostly in Kathmandu, and to explore the cultural and historical heart of the city, Durbar Square.
Visiting Durbar Square was both exhausting and fascinating. While the area was chaotic with touts, wannabe guides, beggars, and the unsettling sight of dead animals in the streets, the architecture was stunning. The mix of old wooden buildings with Chinese and Indian influences was breathtaking, and the square was alive with Hindu temples, Buddhist stupas, and wandering holy men—sadhu—with painted faces. While some buildings still showed the scars of the earthquake, most had been repaired, offering a glimpse into the city’s resilience.
The most surreal encounter, however, was with the palace of the Living Goddess, or Kumari. The Kumari is selected at birth from a Buddhist village in the Kathmandu Valley by a group of Hindu priests, who perform a disturbing ritual involving masks and severed goat heads. The baby who cries the least during this spectacle is chosen to become the Hindu Goddess. From then on, she is separated from her family and placed in the Kumari Palace in Durbar Square, where she lives in isolation until puberty. The Kumari is forbidden from touching the ground, socializing, or having a normal childhood, and it is believed that any man who marries her will die within six months.
Twice a day, she is allowed to stand on her porch, dressed in full makeup and her ceremonial headpiece, where curious tourists—like Jimmie and me—gawk at her from below. While standing near the entrance to her palace, I overheard an Indian man whispering to his young child, “Look, this is where we will see the living Goddess.” It was an eerie but unforgettable moment, a vivid reminder of the complex traditions that coexist in the heart of Kathmandu.