Heathrow Terminal 4 has a Caviar House where you can have a soda and hunt for eggs before boarding. We looked at the menu, then we looked at each other, and then we went to Wetherspoon and got burgers. Tone set.
My husband and I aren’t really champagne people. Which might help explain why we were at the airport heading to Nepal for a somewhat unconventional honeymoon – far from the nearest overwater villa – and traveling significant distances into the big mountains with 10 strangers.
We got married last year, but our first honeymoon attempt in France was cut short due to family loss. This brought things into sharp focus: Don’t put off that bucket list trip one minute longer than necessary. We’ve been dreaming of doing some serious hiking in Nepal for a long time, and we’ve been told that the Manaslu Circuit, a loop around the world’s eighth-highest peak near the Tibetan border, is one of the coolest hikes you’ve probably never heard of. related to.
So why not make this our official honeymoon, we wondered? Could this be the best way to strengthen a relationship? If we can get through two tough, luxury-free weeks with strangers, surely we can get away with anything? Previous hikers who traveled with Mountain Kingdoms had called this hike “life-changing” and it seemed more fitting for a newlywed than spending a week in the Maldives.
And this was not the case in the Maldives. Our first exit from the sheltered shelter of Kathmandu Guest House turned into glorious chaos. Scooters were speeding in every direction, narrowly missing dogs, temples and jet-lagged tourists; electrical wires dangled like the dark webs of the evil Spider-Man. We were out to buy a present: I bought my husband some metronidazole (23p a pack!) in case he caught giardia from the mountain. Very romantic.
That evening we met our group, ranging from mid-30s to 72; three lonely women, three lonely men, two friends and one more couple. I think they thought we were crazy: why such a honeymoon? We also received our first briefing, which ranged from overview to rapprochement. “It should be pee-pee open,” our tour leader Santosh said romantically. We would stay in simple teahouses for the next two weeks. Heating, reliable electricity and drinking water were off the agenda. Hot showers (if available) cost extra. Likewise, I welcomed the Wi-Fi. Her husband gets angry if I tell him to put his phone away. I won’t be the one nagging here. And no one should be dragged into doom while the Himalayas fly outside.
Morning arrived with uncharacteristic splendor and we set out and found a sign reading “Smart TV, Air Cooler, Wi-Fi Zone!” We boarded a “Super Luxury” bus that said: None of it was true. Or, importantly, as you leave Kathmandu for a rich taste of Nepali roadside life: craggy valleys, milky rivers, marigolds, monkeys, banana stands. During our lunch break we sat down with another couple, Kate and Tim, who told us about their honeymoon. After a week of holiday in Bali, they climbed a volcano and ended up sharing not only their tent but also their sleeping bag with a woman who had forgotten hers. Maybe our choice wasn’t so unusual after all?
It was already dark when we reached our tea house in Machha Khola. The man, our lord, pulled our husband and me aside: don’t say, but we bought you a double on the top floor! Our tiny “honeymoon room” was a sickly pink but had a bathroom and windows overlooking the valley beyond. Luxury? Maybe not. However, the service provided by Man and our entire team has never been less than five stars.
As the morning dawned, bright and blue, he realized that this journey would be amazing. I thought we would have a few days before we encountered the great drama of the Himalayas. Technically this was true; But Nepal is not like other countries. Its headlands hold giant gorges and waterfalls that would make headlines elsewhere, but here they don’t even have names. And everywhere you looked there were prayer flags, releasing endless blessings into the universe. Could there be a better world for newlyweds than one instilled with compassion and goodwill?
I shook my husband’s hand when no one was looking.
On the first of 11 days of hiking, we soon found a rhythm: wake up, go to the toilet, have breakfast, hit the road; tea break, cooked lunch, dal bhat dinner – always with the group, no romantic dinner for two. Luckily, our hiking companions were all interesting and positive people. My husband and I would often spend most of the day chatting with others rather than with each other. We have been together for 20 years; It was nice to know that we could exist as individuals and not just as a couple.
The rhythm felt familiar, but no two days were the same. We traveled over suspension bridges and along the banks of the Buri Gandaki river; The personality of the river varied from wide and relaxed to narrow, white and violent. The lush forest gave way to pink-blooming buckwheat, bright autumn larches and red berries. The higher we climb, the higher the mountains become, the more they scratch the sky, it seems impossible. Manaslu appeared to be the largest; its mighty peak was always the first to catch the dawn.
And there were always villages. This is not a desolate wilderness, but a landscape that has been inhabited for centuries. During the walk, Santosh, a fascinating font of all knowledge, translated murals of mani, recited mantras and took us around the monasteries, opening a window into Tibetan culture full of meaning and divinities.
One night he lent me a book called The Tibetan Diary: From Birth to Death and Beyond in the Shadow of Manaslu. Chapter 6, “Marriage Values,” caught my eye. It was said (oops, I thought) that Buddhist clergy viewed marriage as an obstacle to enlightenment. But for most “humble homeowners” this is the key to social approval. Hence the Nubri proverb: “Not a single wild donkey can reach water, not a single man can live life to the fullest.” I told my husband he should be grateful he wasn’t a single asshole.
Did he still want me? I wasn’t very attractive: my nose was crooked, my nostrils were red, my hair was limp, my armpits were questionable. We “shared our showers,” if you count wet mopping in the same room at the same time.
All of this effort hinged on one thing: the day we would wake up at 3am and hike over Larkya La (16,752 ft), the route’s most oxygen-consuming pass, then hike down, down, down the other side. It snowed the previous evening while we were packing up at Dharamshala, our main stop. There weren’t even bedrooms, just makeshift mini dormitories; I didn’t even share a room with my husband that night of the honeymoon.
But what a night it was: bitter cold, the sky studded with stars. As we began to climb, the huge mountains began to appear, first as huge ghosts in the moonlight, and then in increasing detail as dawn broke. Incomprehensible giants seemed to silently mock our little lives and worries. Existential nonsense? This place had such an impact.
It had other effects, too. The lack of oxygen strained our lungs, making each step feel semi-heroic (though the crew was always on hand to help). My husband and I arrived there together and trudged up the final hill to the area where the prayer flags marked the pass. Did we hug and kiss? Not exactly. We were so sumoed in layers, we were out of breath.
Romanticism came later. We spent the whole day descending to Bimthang, which was still freezing cold at an altitude of 12,336 feet. But here we had our own log cabin, and a wood stove filled the dining room. As the group gathered there, Santosh revealed a surprise: Throughout the entire trek, his assistant guide Namkha had been carrying two bottles of wine in her backpack as a honeymoon treat. Nepalese wine, no less. We poured glasses full of lentils, joy and excitement of success for everyone and clinked them with joy. I can’t think of a better way to toast our future together.
What was Paul’s idea?
Truth be told, ours was never going to be a typical sun-sand-spa affair; We are not that kind of couple. And the Manaslu Circuit, although not technical, is classified as “strenuous”; So no lounging under waving palms or swan towel statues. So every night we girded our loins (or rather our intestines) for lentils and veg curry, aware that a loving spanking would smell of garlic and cumin. And we knew there would be no hot shower smell for a few days; But other scents were also abundant.
However, some “deprivations” turned out to be blessings. The Wi-Fi desert was delightful: at no point did either of us look lovingly at each other, but we did find our partner staring fixedly at the screen. The dishes, although variations on a theme, were always fresh, delicious and often bottomless; some people pay a fortune for these kinds of organic, zero-food-mileage, plant-based, all-inclusive meals.
Accommodation ranged from ‘basic’ (ie: cold and basic) to characterful and charming, but always clean and up to par, the Kathmandu Guest House in particular being stylish. And our leader, guides and sherpas could not have been more professional, friendly and committed to making our walk enjoyable. But this doesn’t mean minimizing the challenges.
But but but.
If variety is the spice of marriage, those 11 days represented marital bliss. Being high in the Himalayas we were both grinning almost permanently, more or less broken to allow ourselves to eat. It’s less than 16,752ft, to be honest – but even that grimace quickly faded as I caught my breath and enjoyed the jaw-dropping views.
So how can we not teleport? We hiked by moonlight, starlight, and the glow of dawn reflecting off 23,000 ft snowy peaks. As well as quartz rocks and icy peaks that sparkle as vividly as any diamond. Under the waterfalls that remind us of the most transparent bridal veils. Through larch forests that glow with fiery gold, leaving New England autumn behind in October. I even picked up a few marriage tips from some suggestive murals in Tantric Buddhist monasteries that would make Sting and Trudie blush.
All in all, Manaslu Circuit made my heart pound. Okay, so that was partly due to the altitude — but two weeks of doing what we both love validated our newfound ability to tackle crazy adventures together, no matter the discomfort (which was never too challenging).
Would I recommend it? Frankly, if your idea of romance is cocktails, pillow menus and infinity pools, group hiking in Nepal is not for you. But as an experience – those peaks, that culture, those smiles, that food, those different views – it is an extraordinary thing to share with the most special person. And sharing it with 10 like-minded people increased the enthusiasm rather than diminished it.
paul bloomfield
Fundamentals
Sarah Baxter and Paul Bloomfield were guests of Mountain Kingdoms (01453 844400; mountainkingdoms.com), which offers an 18-day small-group Manaslu Circuit trip from £3,310 per person, including flights, accommodation, most meals, guide and transport. A quality down jacket and sleeping bag at Trek.