It was 4:15 am when the alarm clock went off. I could see nervousness in the faces of my guests – we were starting in the dark and in the cold. Yet the full moon bathed the mountains in a gentle, silvery light, and the air felt surprisingly mild. The day before, we had scouted part of the trail up to the summit and realised how close it actually was. Only 400 m of elevation gain, but at 3,600 m altitude, “only” has a different meaning.

Suresh, our Nepalese guide, had planned plenty of time for us to reach the summit before sunrise. So I found my own rhythm, walked slowly, paused often, and gazed at the stars. Little by little the silhouettes of the mountains took shape. What had still been hidden in clouds the previous afternoon now began to reveal itself. It felt like watching amazement slowly take form in front of my eyes.

I call it the hiking high - that wonderful state when everything simply aligns. One foot in front of the other, the body feels light as if walking on clouds, the backpack sits perfectly, the pulse is steady, and you know you could continue forever. Nothing hurts, nothing distracts. The mind is neither sad nor overly joyful - just deeply, comfortably at peace.

At some point, clouds drifted in behind us, and I worried for a moment that we might reach the summit without any view of the Himalayan range towering behind it. But then it happened: Pemba, one of our porters, was walking just ahead of me, and Barsha, our assistant guide, next to me, when suddenly - just before the summit - a corner of the range lit up in the very first rays of the rising sun. I knew this moment from scouting the route earlier last year, yet its sheer beauty and majesty took my breath away once again. I laughed out loud, grateful for the universe sending us a moment of pure magic.

I was the last one to reach the summit. My mother welcomed me with open arms and tears in her eyes. What a moment to share with her. Memories that will last a lifetime. On top were a handful of trekkers, mostly young Nepalese exploring their home mountains, only a few foreigners. A quiet, almost sacred energy lingered as the sun rose over the highest mountains on earth - Sagarmatha (Mt. Everest), Lhotse, Makalu, and in the distance Annapurna, Manaslu and Kangchenjunga. Witnessing this miracle of nature felt like an immense privilege. Sharing it with my guests was a beautiful tribute to the work I do.

After the hugs and summit pictures, I silently retreated, sat down, and played my ukulele offering the mountains my respect and gratitude. I do not just look at them; I speak with them, I thank them, and they respond with gentleness.

I treasure these moments: when weeks of stress fade away, when doubts dissolve and turn into confidence in my experience, intuition and sense for creating a meaningful journey. When nervousness disappears from my guests’ faces and is replaced by relief, laughter and pride for having reached the first milestone of our ten-day trek. Many highlights were still ahead, yet this moment was one of the most remarkable to remember.

I love what I do because it reminds people that extraordinary experiences require effort. You have to work for it—move through discomfort, do without luxury, and step outside your comfort zone. In our everyday lives, physical discomfort and adverse outdoor conditions are so easily avoided that we often forget how intensely alive we can feel when we are truly challenged by the elements.

Out there, the simplicity of effort becomes its own kind of truth. The cold on your skin, the burn in your legs, the thin air in your lungs. These sensations strip away the noise of daily life. They reveal who you are beneath convenience and routine. In the mountains, nothing is guaranteed, so every step forward becomes intentional, every view earned. And when you finally reach a ridge, a summit, or even just a moment of stillness, the reward is so much deeper because you have invested a part of yourself to be there.

That is why I do what I do. Because when people push a little farther than they thought they could, when they reconnect with their bodies, their breath, and the raw world around them, something powerful awakens. They remember that they are capable, adaptable, and deeply wild and free.

Now comes the challenge of finding a balance between offering what is trendy and offering what feels true to my heart. I had been considering to return to the Manaslu Circuit for a while - increasingly popular and on many bucket lists. A few years ago it was still marketed as a hidden gem, so I was already surprised by how busy it was last year when I took my first group there. This year, I was shocked to see long lines of tourists crossing the pass, scenes that reminded me of photos from Everest.

The Manaslu Circuit is also a route with very few alternative options, fixed daily stages, and constant elevation gain. There is little room to slow down acclimatisation. Besides it is an area notorious for landslides and unpredictable weather. This year, the late monsoon brought heavy snow right in the middle of trekking season, forcing trekkers over the 5,000 m pass in snowstorms. Avalanches, altitude issues – yes, you can trek there. But I am asking myself whether I have to offer it.

High altitude is hard on the body even without altitude sickness: poor sleep, dry air, cold temperatures, basic accommodation, simple food. Yes, glaciers up there are majestic, but the landscape can also feel barren. I still enjoy hiking in such environments, but I question whether I should take guests above 5,000 meters on their very first high-altitude trek.

I often hear the wish to challenge oneselve – and believe me, my guests were certainly challenged on our ten-day trek in the lower Everest region. Going from a desktop job and normal cardio fitness to trekking in the Himalaya is a challenge in itself. Ten days of walking, early mornings, intense sun, endless ascents and descents, basic accommodation and simple mountain food – the sum of all of that will push you to your limits and you will question your decision more than once. For many of my guests, trekking in the Himalaya has been among the most challenging yet profoundly rewarding experiences of their lives.

The beauty of trekking at lower altitude is that there is room for things to go wrong. What travel companies rarely talk about is how many people do not finish their treks in Nepal. How often helicopters evacuate trekkers. How risky common itineraries can be. I met many people on the trail and in Kathmandu who had to end their trek early due to altitude issues, problems that are mostly preventable with a bit more time planned for acclimatization. In the lower Himalayan regions feeling unwell one day does not mean the end of the trek, as it often does on the higher altitude routes. Weather is milder, adjustments are easy, safety nets exist.

It is not that my guests have no issues on my Nepal trips, yet I plan enough buffer, add a mix of easy and hard days, and build alternative options so that if someone needs rest, we can adapt. That peace of mind makes all the difference. And so far, all my guests have completed their treks happily.

This trek reminded me once again what I treasure about the Himalaya: connecting with local communities and having the mountains almost entirely to ourselves. Moving at a gentle pace. Not pushing, not racing, not chasing a summit high. For me, it has never been about the views alone, yet it is about the people you meet and the ones you walk beside.

The mainstream routes of Nepal in high season are simply not my thing and I cannot put my whole heart into something I do not believe in. I do not want to add yet another standardised trek to the market. I want to find my niche on off-the-beaten-path trails. And I most importantly want to build relationships, return to the same regions, and bring tourism to places that are less frequented to create real value for the communities that can benefit from Shanti Treks.

My Nepalese team is a huge part of why I love this work. Suresh and Surya, two local guides, each have over 20 years of experience. This time, Barsha, a young Nepalese woman joined us as an assistant guide, which is something I plan to continue on future tours. She brought a fresh, insightful perspective on her country and shared stories from her upbringing. Paddam, one of our porters, joined us for the second time and cared for my guests with tireless effort and unwavering positivity.

Next year in November, I will be returning to the Everest region with a trek similar to this year’s journey. It will again be a 2-week adventure, with the option to extend it to 3 weeks for those who want to go a little deeper into the mountains. Dates are already online (find all info here), detailed info is coming soon, and bookings open in mid-January 2026. Let me know if you want to be notified, when all trip details go online.

Besides, Nepal recently reduced the permit prices for the Mustang region – a place I am eager to explore soon. For now, I am heading off with a friend to explore the Three Passes in the Everest region. There is still so much to discover, and I look forward to creating many more unique Himalayan experiences together with a passionate Nepalese team that shares my love for the mountains.

If this piece spoke to you or sparked any questions, ideas, or comments, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I truly appreciate hearing what resonates with readers.