Travel Report Mustang 2025 - Part 3

In the morning, we pack our things early and set off. When you drive through Mustang, it already looks very barren. Walking through it gives the whole experience a different dimension. Right behind Lomanthang, we find ourselves again in the middle of nowhere, and there is no water. Each of us carries our bottles, which annoys me, but the necessity for this is obviously clear. When we walk through windstill depressions and the sun is shining, it actually gets quite warm, and I start sweating. Once we round a rock, especially after noon, the wind hits us, and it becomes suddenly cold. The wind brings the chill from the high surrounding mountains, and I constantly find myself taking a jacket off, putting it back on, off, on....

Initially, we walk over relatively gentle waves, around boulders, sometimes up, sometimes down - this is what they call Nepali Flat - and I am somewhat satisfied with my performance. Dawa has packed a few apples from Mustang, and we also have plenty of Snickers with us, which will keep us going until early afternoon. Then we can already see the first overnight stop down by the river, Dhee. 'That's where we are going.' I look down. And feel like when skiing, standing at the top of a black run and reality catches up when you look down. 'You mean - down there? Where is the trail?' 'We are going there, look,' says Dawa, pointing to the long-stretched scree field between two rock spires, which has a slope of at least 45%. 'No, I mean - where are WE going??' Dawa looks friendly, which means he doesn’t quite understand my question. And here comes reality; I somehow need to get down there. Luckily, my mother doesn't know what awaits me! 'Dawa, let's go down the Nepali way, slowly, slowly, okay?' I really don’t feel great about this descent, but I have to get down one way or another. So we start the descent. I’ve lit various butter lamps, which should surely help me arrive down in one piece. And if that wasn't enough, I've often been told here that I have excellent karma. So nothing serious can really happen to me. Nonetheless, the descent takes almost an hour; we take breaks repeatedly because I can’t go on. On one hand, the slope over the long distance is really quite steep, but the ground is causing me even more trouble. The scree proves to be a mixture of friendly, round pebbles and a sand-dust mixture; either the stones roll away under my feet, or I sink so deep into the dust-sand that I can’t find any grip. On top of that, I constantly balance my backpack on my back and am very focused on catching myself from falling. In between, I'm sure that it must have been 7 butter lamps that I lit. But somehow, Dawa gets me down, and I am so relieved when we finally arrive at our lodge. It's very simple; the toilet is across the yard with a mud floor, and there is no shower. I don’t care, I won’t be moving a single step more today. I am pleased with the soup the hostess immediately offers us, a Thukpa, Tibetan noodle soup. We sit in the kitchen, as I actually always prefer to eat there; I rarely go into the dining rooms that exist in every lodge. I always enjoy watching the hostess prepare the food; Dawa is always pleased when he can chat there with other guides or the hosts. After Thukpa, there’s a milk tea; I let myself be entertained by the happenings around me and am very satisfied. 'Tomorrow is easier, only 3 hours, then we are in Yara. We leave our luggage and go to Cave Monastery after lunch.' Yes, that sounds good, that’s what we will do. The route the following day takes us initially a long way through the riverbed; it’s nice and flat, and I don’t slow down too much, so we make good progress. Of course, at some point, we have to go uphill again; we actually arrive in Yara around 10 am and settle into a lodge with its own 'bathroom' and hot shower. I want to take a shower first.
The 'bathroom' is a concrete room with an open window, a showerhead on the wall, and a sink; at the back, there is a step across the entire width, into which an Asian squat toilet is embedded. The obligatory water bucket for flushing is in the back corner. Cleanliness is different; I look around and search for the least dirty place to put my things. Relatively unsuccessfully. But it doesn’t matter; I want to wash away the ever-present dust, especially from my hair. They feel coarse and tangled just a few hours after I washed them due to the strong wind and dust that is in the air everywhere here. If I touch my hair, I immediately have dirty hands again, and during hair washing, the suds are dark brown for the first time. So, a shower is overdue, no matter how it looks here. At least it's better than yesterday! The 'hot' water is lukewarm; I feel completely frozen afterward but clean, which is great. And in the courtyard of our lodge, the sun is shining, the wind is blocked, allowing me to slowly warm up again while enjoying pancakes with peanut butter, and my hair can dry.

Then it’s time to go again; we want to visit a rock monastery, and the walk there takes about 1.5 hours. Along the way, we again encounter various animals that Dawa usually spots before me and chases away. What a nuisance. When we arrive at the monastery, we are greeted by stairs adorned with colorful prayer flags, and at the top is the red-painted monastery. I have learned that religious buildings are painted terracotta red, while administrative and residential buildings are white; that’s why, for example, Potala in Lhasa is two-colored. A nun awaits us at the top and first offers us some tea. Then we go inside the cave monastery; the old stupa is about 800 years old and truly beautiful. The elevated location contributes to the solemn atmosphere. We light butter lamps again and make our way back; today I should rest, starting tomorrow it will be strenuous. 'I will go and get a horse now.' Yes, please. I feel a bit of dread about the next two days, and I am so thankful for the animal support. Even though I feel really stupid about it. During dinner, Dawa is happy; he has found a horse, and the horseman comes with us almost to the end. I fall asleep relieved and am also a bit excited for tomorrow; I haven’t ridden in a long time.
The 'horse' turns out to be a pony the next morning, and I initially doubt whether it can even carry me? But I know that the mountain horses here can carry about 80-100 kg when transporting goods, and I don’t weigh that much. Even though Dawa repeatedly says that 60 kg can’t possibly be correct; I look like 'much more.' 🤨
We walk all day, and in the end, it will be 24 km. We start in Yara at an altitude of 3500 m, and in the evening we arrive approximately at the same level; in between, we constantly went up, then down - and up again. Honestly, I wouldn’t have managed it without the horse. At noon, we stop at a house; I compare it to a caravanserai in the Arab world; there’s a Dal Bhat and plenty of water; otherwise, we don’t see another house all day. And no people either. There are three of us, with a horse, and that’s it. There aren’t even any birds around here. And since you can’t hear any water splashing, it may be that during breaks or while walking over the dust-sand, you hear nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even the wind in the morning. I tell Dawa that something like this has never happened to me in my life; that I hear absolutely nothing. In Europe, you always hear something, and I have never been in a situation on other continents where I heard nothing for hours. Visually, nothing distracts from the self; thus, you actually enter a state of drawing your entertainment from within. When I walk, I can’t talk, and when I ride, I don’t want to talk; it feels a bit embarrassing to be carried so completely relaxed while Dawa and the old horseman walk mile after mile. I think a lot about the last year, the upcoming days, about myself and the world in general; I have my hands full. The men always decide when I walk and when I ride; it’s rare that I am so undetermined, but here I completely surrender to the experienced hands of both. And so it happens that in the first afternoon, I walk the last few kilometers over a flat stretch; the horse carries my backpack, I stroll well ahead since I’m rested. Before we arrive at our next overnight stay, we go steeply down through scree between the rock spires again. Since I don’t have to carry my backpack, I have a bit more balance, but I still make three crosses when we reach the bottom. In our lodge, there are two Frenchmen with a guide and porter; they arrived a bit before us and are sitting in the dining room. I sit in the kitchen with the Nepalis; a cat comes next to me, and the evening becomes quite cozy.

The next morning, we start very early, have a packed lunch, and off we go. First, we cross a very long suspension bridge for Dawa and me; the horse and its owner walk through the riverbed. Then it's a slow ascent over Nepali Flat (up and down) until we reach the Paa Pass at 4183 m altitude. To get there, you have to tackle very steep ascents and also descents repeatedly, and especially through very narrow paths in the rock walls. At a few points, the path is 15 cm, maybe 20 cm wide, and I try to avoid looking down. I sit on the horse, which has to coordinate four legs, and I think again about the many butter lamps that Dawa and I have lit in recent days. I’m actually a bit worried; if the horse stumbles now, there’s nothing to catch my fall for the first few hundred meters in altitude. But the horse is experienced and knows what it's doing; the horseman doesn’t want to lose his horse, and I have already pointed out to Dawa at an earlier time that he will get immense trouble if something happens to me. He knows that as well. So everything will be fine as long as I don’t look down. Such or similar paths will occur again and again throughout this day, and I am grateful that I have no fear of heights! So we all manage to reach the Paa Pass; here we see the Frenchmen from our accommodation for the last time; they had already set off when I just appeared for breakfast. They are moving quite slowly and have only managed half the way to the next place; I am a bit embarrassed again by my support but also very glad about it!
From the Paa Pass, we go down, Nepali flat. Just behind the pass, we take a break and eat a little; without looking at me, Dawa hands me an apple. For the horse. He thinks it’s quite a waste; I think it deserves the apple! Because of this, there have been quite a few discussions over the last two days; the horse should graze. There is no grass here, Dawa, nowhere! 'What do you think the horses are living from when there is no Simone around?? Apples are for us!' 'Fine, then no Snickers for you either; there’s bread in the bag!' I tread on pretty thin ice; I carry neither apples nor Snickers, but that doesn’t occur to me at that moment. Eventually, Dawa probably finds it too silly and gives in; from then on, the horse gets an apple at every break we take - as long as we are eating. If we aren’t eating, the horse gets nothing either. Okay.

After the break, the horseman says goodbye; from now on, I have to make it on my own. We walk. And walk. And walk. When I ask how far it still is, Dawa points up the path and around the next rock nose. Ah yes, okay, I can do that! The path continues around the rock nose, again around one. And so on. Eventually, I ask how many times we still have to go 'up and around' - the answer is a hand gesture 'up and around.' Inside, I’m crying. Eventually, we stand above Chhuksang, the border between Lower and Upper Mustang; here is the police checkpoint where they checked my permit after the days in Kagbeni. I’m glad; I’m exhausted; I even ate the last Mars bar with Dawa, which I actually don’t like. But: ABOVE Chhuksang, it goes steeply down for a long stretch; I have walked a lot that day and feel my legs are reaching their limits. I slip and stumble along the way, having to concentrate extremely on some very narrow spots. Eventually, Dawa wordlessly takes my backpack away, and I have to concede; I can’t make the descent with my backpack anymore. When we arrive down at the checkpoint, a policeman offers me a chair, and I don’t move. Not an inch.
Dawa checks me out of Upper Mustang. What a trip, I am completely overwhelmed. The beauty, the barrenness, the colors and forms, and the culture of Mustang have completely captivated me; it is one of the most beautiful journeys, if not the most beautiful, that I have ever taken in my life. Those looking for lush green are completely out of place here. But for me, it was the fulfillment of a dream, as successful as I could not have expected.

Dawa arranges a ride for us in a jeep to Jomsom, where we will spend the night before heading to Tatopani and Pokhara the next day, and finally to Kathmandu and then to Khamjing.
Before we get into the jeep, I thank him. 'You have no idea what this trip meant to me; thank you so much, thanks for everything!' 'If you're happy, I am happy!'