At three in the morning, the four of us were at Lakpa Dai’s only homestay in Gongga Bhanjyang, gazing at the relentless rain outside. Our hearts were filled with excitement for the thrilling trek to Singla Pass, and we were preparing to set off at four for the adventurous journey to Ruby Valley. There were no places to stay or eat between the homestay and Singla Pass, so Lakpa Dai had packed roti, potato curry, and eggs for us. But the heavy rain, gusty winds, and sky shrouded in dark clouds added a tinge of fear and tension to our anticipation. The flashes of lightning made our hearts race.

Lost in watching the rain, we didn’t notice time passing until it was eight in the morning. We hoped the rain would stop, but the storm only grew stronger. Feeling helpless, we gathered in the kitchen, ate the packed breakfast with black tea, and though the thought of Singla Pass’s snowy peaks and Singla Mane stirred excitement, the weather refused to cooperate. A small argument broke out about what to do next. Our Chinese friend Ginger was nagging Aniruddha, saying, “Let’s head down today; it’s dangerous to go up in this weather!” But Aniruddha and his nephew insisted on staying in Gongga Bhanjyang.

Mobile network was spotty at best. When we called home, news that the Nepalese government had issued a warning against travel due to heavy rain and potential landslides made our hearts sink further. Outside, there was no sign of the rain stopping, and the wind threatened to topple trees. The dream of seeing Singla Pass’s serene and captivating views was turning into despair. After much debate, with heavy hearts, we all agreed to return to Bhalche.

At 9:30 a.m., we put on raincoats and umbrellas and started toward Bhalche. The jungle trekking route we’d taken the previous day was slippery and dangerous, so we chose a safer trail. Mud and rocks made walking difficult. We slipped, stumbled, and moved forward. Along the way, we found a small waterfall, where the soothing sound of water and cool splashes offered a moment of respite, though the thought of floods sent shivers down our spines. We lost count of how many times we fell or how many leeches bit us. The disappointment of not reaching Singla Pass and the fear of the weather weighed heavily, but the adventure of the journey added a touch of thrill. The wind blew away our umbrellas and my cowboy hat, bought in Poon Hill, causing worry but also sparking laughter and lightness.

Rain always brings encounters with leeches! This time, they attacked me like I was some kind of celebrity! Ginger laughed and said, “The leeches are female, and they love you.” She teased further, “They’re fans of your smile!” Perhaps my crooked-tooth grin charmed them. Later, Aniruddha and his nephew also got “kissed” by leeches, their skin turning red. I thought to myself, “oh really, these leeches are female, and they love sucking men’s blood!” Soon after, I spotted a leech stuck to Ginger’s shoe and jokingly asked, “Is this a lesbian leech or what?”

As we continued, we stopped at a small hut, where we forgot our stress and enjoyed a moment of fun. The previous day, we hadn’t eaten meat with jhoikhutte, but here we got both, filling us with immense joy. Drinking jhoikhutte, singing “Resham Firiri,” dancing, and laughing, we spent nearly an hour in the hut, as if all our stress and disappointment vanished in that moment. “Resham Firiri” is a song that, no matter which Nepali village you’re in, everyone joins in singing and dancing to.

Impressed by the delicious jhoikhutte and the warm hospitality of the hut owner, Gonsi Makya Tamang, I gifted him my Poon Hill cowboy hat and a 500 rupee tip. I had bought that stylish hat in Banthanti on the way to Poon Hill. When I tried it on in front of a mirror, a charming girl appeared and said, “Wow, it looks so good on you, like a hero!” Her sweet voice and smile lit up my heart. She added, “Take it, brother, we haven’t even made our first sale today!” My heart said, “Don’t buy it!” but my impulse replied, “It’s just 500 rupees!” In front of the beautiful ladies, even God’s meditation broke; I’m just a small man!

As we left the hut, my phone vibrated with missed calls and messages from family and friends; the network had finally caught a signal. News that all routes to Kathmandu were closed due to floods and landslides, with many lives lost, cast a dark cloud of fear and stress over us. The joy from moments ago turned into worry. The scolding voices saying, “Why did you go at such a time?” echoed in our minds. Half an hour later, we reached Bhalche, carrying both the memories of an adventurous journey and the stress of unfulfilled dreams.

Ginger was unwavering about returning to Kathmandu. We were bargaining with a local guide and 3,000 rupees to Trishuli and 7,000 from Trishuli to Kathmandu. Ginger paid 10,000 and left, messaging us at 8 p.m. that she’d reached. The three of us, like the idiots from 3 Idiots Bollywood movies, ate meat and rice in one room, enjoying light hearted banter.

Suddenly, we heard a bus outside, and our faces lit up with joy. “Look, we’ll take this bus to Kathmandu tomorrow,” we thought, drifting into sweet sleep. Two of us slept on cots, while I, poor soul, was given a mat on the floor. But like the saying goes, “As long as I’m okay, it’s all good,” and I enjoyed it.

It rained all night, as if the God of Rain Indradev was upset for not celebrating Dashain. But in the morning, the sun shone, dewdrops sparkled, and the blue sky lifted our spirits. Aniruddha went to check the bus schedule, but the police said, “This bus will stay here for two days. Kathmandu’s routes are closed.” The news deflated us like a punctured balloon.

Now what?

“The local bike (Pathoo) is too expensive! Let’s walk to Trishuli Bazaar! We’ll figure something out there. Staying in this small village will waste two days of our lives!” one of us said.

Another added, “If we can’t find a way in Trishuli, we’ll walk to Kathmandu from there! It’s just 60 kilometers!”

Inspired by Nepathya’s Amrit Gurung, who walked several times from Pokhara to Kathmandu, we decided to set a new record, chasing the thrill of an unknown path. After some fun debates and hot tea with biscuits, we set off from Bhalche to Trishuli Bazaar. Taking shortcuts through village fields and narrow trails, we walked four hours straight to reach Trishuli. The first day’s 9-kilometer uphill climb tested our resolve under the scorching sun. The next two days were downhill, with cool breezes soothing our tired legs and stunning views of green hills and waterfalls enchanting our hearts.

Reaching Trishuli felt like finding a deity while searching for a stone. By sheer luck, a bus to Kathmandu was ready. We hurriedly boarded, carrying the dream of Ruby Valley and a promise to complete the Singla Pass journey. In three hours, we reached Kathmandu, greeted by the familiar chaos of the city. But this journey stirred deep emotions.

This adventure wasn’t just about the path or destination. Nepal’s skies were raging, with heavy rains, devastating floods, and landslides ravaging the country. As a Rotarian, my heart ached hearing that four young Rotaractors from Bhaktapur were swept away by a river during a Langtang trek. Their group of 16 was hit on October 3 when heavy rains caused rivers to swell. I was in Gongga Bhanjyang that day.

The news weighed heavily. Homes were washed away, roads buried, and lives shattered. The fear of floods and landslides shook us, and the pain of those lost and their families was unbearable. Nature’s cruel force humbled us, reminding us of our fragility.

Even amidst the thrill of adventure, a quiet pain stirred, a longing for home. Closing my eyes, I thought of my family’s laughter, their warm company, and conversations with friends. Each jolt of the bus intensified my desire to reach home, each village we passed brought hope of nearing familiar places. But news of floods and landslides added fear and worry. How many people, carrying dreams of returning home, are stuck in uncertainty, unsure if their homes still stand?

This journey was different. I’d never felt this way before. I feel like a stranger to myself. I’m a traveler, a lover of journeys, but now I wonder: is this really me, or someone else? This adventure, filled with courage, moments of rest, fear, and memories of home, taught me to see myself in a new way.

Photo Credit: Ginger & Gautam

2 thoughts on “Singla Pass Soaked in Rain

  1. Wow, what a beautiful piece of writing✍️!
    I know you faced many hurdles and experienced a lot of difficulties along the way, even though you couldn’t meet all your goals. But there’s always a next time. Thank you for sharing your journey to Singla Pass Trek 🙏

    And you should definitely thank God that you and your friends made it back home safely

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