I Thought “Base Camp” Meant Easy. It Doesn't.

Kathmandu Was Just the Warm-Up

Faline

and

Stone Soup Journal

Nov 11, 2025

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We signed up for the Annapurna Base Camp trek, thinking “base camp” meant the easy part.

I should’ve known better, but I liked the illusion. After months of juggling plans and places, I wanted something that would strip away all structure.

Kathmandu did that the moment I arrived. I landed at 9:30 p.m. and joined the slow, chaotic dance of the airport - visa line, processing fee, security, and a suitcase that took long enough to test faith. I waited for Victor, who landed an hour later - late nights in new cities feel less daunting with a familiar face.

Outside, the city hit like a wall of sound and smoke. Horns, dust, exhaust, and name placards waving in thick air. The pollution was the worst I’d ever seen, but people moved through it like they were born knowing how to breathe there. A man in a red jumpsuit held a sign with Victor’s name. We followed him through a parking lot where cars swarmed without lanes or logic yet somehow avoided disaster.

Our ride was tiny, the kind of car that shouldn’t fit three adults and two suitcases, but somehow did. The driver threaded through streets so narrow I was sure his mirrors would pop off, yet he glided through them with unshakable ease.

When we stopped, it was in front of a narrow alley. Inside was The Inn Patan - warm brick, carved wood, doorways made for people a head shorter than us, classic Newari architecture. It felt like a small oasis tucked away from chaos. Ingmar, who had arrived earlier, met us with a grin like he’d been waiting for the real fun to begin. He and I shared a first-floor room with twin beds and a ceiling he kept bumping into. Victor lucked into the penthouse with a patio and a view he promised not to brag about, then proceeded to brag a little.

We said goodnight five times and kept talking until it was 1:30 a.m.

Day 1 - Patan

I woke up at 6:30 AM to find Ingmar already on his phone. He said he slept well and had adjusted to the time zone. I could’ve slept more, but excitement got me out of bed. Morning began in the courtyard with coffee and still air that loosened the shoulders. The sound of nearby temples stirred memories from sixteen years ago, when I last visited. Journaling felt like a way to hold on to it better this time.

We wandered without urgency, three easygoing people politely avoiding decisions. The streets were alive with scooters, smoke, and shopkeepers calling to each other. A wave of turmeric and dust hung in the air. I nearly got hit by a car - a sharp reminder that traffic here ran on instinct, not rules. Live chickens, ducks, and rabbits lined the street. I silently wished them well and kept walking.

Lunch was our first Nepali dal bhat. It was delicious, but we didn’t yet realize how committed we were about to become to dal bhat. We kept walking through temples and courtyards, ducking through narrow tunnels that opened into older streets. Each shortcut felt like a gamble - you step into a dim doorway and reappear somewhere entirely new. Google Maps had already surrendered.

By then I’d had at least three masala chais - punchy, spicy, nothing like the syrupy chai lattes I’d known. A new personal mission formed: drink the hell out of every masala chai I could find. The caffeine buzzed in my fingers, and somewhere between temples and chai stops, the part of me that needed plans began to soften.

As the sun dropped, the sky turned a heavy orange over red brick. Beautiful, and also unmistakably polluted. After dinner we wandered toward a temple glowing under warm light. Locals were gathering for a ceremony. A flower seller told us worship happens every Thursday and Saturday - it was Thursday. We hesitated because we were in shorts, but no one stared or cared. They simply accepted our presence, as if we belonged there too. The temple stood open, kept intact by respect rather than barriers. Devotion here felt woven through the everyday.

Back at the hotel we ended up in Victor’s very superior room, lying across cushions and pillows like three useless pieces of human. Nothing big happened, but maybe that was the point. For the first time in a long while, I realized I hadn’t checked the time all day.

Day 2 - Temples, Pigeons, and Packing Nerves

At six in the morning Ingmar and I returned to the main temple square expecting it to be calm and quiet, but we found a different scene entirely - people in traditional clothing singing on the temple steps, dogs wrestling, vendors arranging vegetables, and pigeons rising and landing in soft waves. For nearly an hour I watched pigeons - a species I normally ignore, but here they seemed to carry some kind of spiritual presence. I FaceTimed Lea so she could see the rhythm and color in real time, then gave up pretending to resist the obsession and had two cups of chai before breakfast.

By afternoon we’d moved to Thamel - louder, denser, full of trekking shops and signs promising “authentic pizza.” We ate Buddha bowls at OR2K while waiting for Lynn and Joya, who had flown out a day later. I’d met them five months earlier during a permaculture course in Taitung, and somehow we agreed within five seconds that we’d trek Annapurna Base Camp together. I’d wondered how the group dynamic would turn out, but sitting there in Thamel, it felt right. At the very least, it seemed unlikely we’d get into fights (fingers crossed).

Dinner was a bonding session and dal bhat again. A restless energy started to creep in now that we were almost the full group. Back at the hotel we met our last two teammates, Rey and Gui, and packed everything into the blue duffel bags our guide had provided. Tomorrow we’d be flying to Pokhara for the start of the trek. I was nervous about Yeti Airlines - partly rational, partly superstition - not a reassuring mix.

Before bed, a man came by to confirm our departure. He introduced himself as Ramesh - we nodded and trusted the plan. Later we’d learn he wasn’t the real Ramesh. Mountain logic tends to reveal itself slowly.

Kathmandu made me aware of my own breathing. The air was heavy, but everything else felt intensely alive. Horns, incense, engines, bells - the city pulsed in every direction. Life here didn’t tiptoe; it showed up fully. I kept noticing how much meaning lived in small gestures: a hand feeding pigeons, a flower placed with care, a cup of chai arriving before being asked for.

I felt the city had been loosening something in me, gently preparing me for the climb. For years I’d measured my days by emails, meetings, the speed of a subway. Here, time felt layered - not faster or slower, just more textured. I wanted to carry that into the mountains, hoping the trek would teach me how to notice things again.

Tomorrow we fly to Pokhara. If all goes well… we’ll go climb a mountain.