Overheard During The Manaslu Circuit Trek
Snippets of conversations that made me laugh, smile, and cry during a 10-day circuit trek around the 8th highest mountain in the world
“So, where are you from?” —my sweet Nepali guide, being friendly.
“Me? Well, I’m from the stars.” —random guy we bumped into during the trek, trying to be mysterious.
“No, you’re from Austria.” —me, rolling my eyes.
“Next time, I’ll teach you how to eat dal bhat with your hands. That’s how they do it here in Nepal.” —the guy from the stars.
“Oh, that’s okay. I grew up eating with my hands.” —me, from a Pakistani household.
“Go on, show me how hippie you are then.”
“Uh…hippie? How is my culture hippie?”
“Yeah. Hippies eat with their hands.”
I stare at him. He stares at me back.
I can’t help but laugh.
Ah yes, the practice of eating with our hands for thousands of years in South Asia is actually a “hippie” concept. My bad.
“What happened?” —I ask, as I see my friend stop off the side of the trail.
“My shoes fell apart. I don’t know what to do. I guess I’ll wear my flip flops for today.”
“Damn…on the very first day. We have 10 full days ahead of us…”
“I know.”
—5 Minutes Later—
“Hey, we said we’d give each other nicknames, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to call you Flip Flop. Flip for short.”
He stares at me.
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon. At least let me fix this problem first.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“I was complaining that my bag was heavy. And then I saw yours. I feel a lot better.”
“Are you backpacking? Because wow, that’s impressive. We have porters to help us.”
“I was having a discussion with my wife and she said women are stronger. We saw you and your bag and I realized she was right.”
Thanks, these comments really make me feel soooo much better about my poorly packed bag on my back that is half my body weight. Reallyyyy encouraging.
“Hey. Where are you from?” —a group of five hikers sit down next to us at a tea house my group is resting at.
“Moh California bata ho.”
“Excuse me?”
“Wait, you’re all Nepali, right?”
“Yeah, but how do you know Nepali?”
“I took a few classes when I got here.”
“Oh.”
We start chatting, and then there’s a lull in the conversation.
“Soooooo. Do you all listen to Wangden Sherpa?”—me, trying to find common ground.
They all laugh.
“Yeah, but how do you know him?”
“TikTok. Wait…should we make a TikTok dance together?!”
They glance at each other for a brief second.
“Absolutely.”
“Hey, make sure to take it slow and easy. It’s a long way up.” —a concerned couple says as they watch me gasp for air.
“Don’t mind my breathing. It means I’m alive.” —I say, with a smile too big for someone who is about to pass out.
They hesitantly give me a thumbs up and wish me well on my way.
“Hey, thanks for waiting for me. You don’t have to stick around though… you can go to the front with the others.” —I tell my guide, worried I’m holding him back.
“Give me one of your jackets.”
“No.”
“Do it.”
“Fine.”
I hand him one of my jackets to carry and I start to get a bit emotional, grateful for his support.
“Anything for my snail!”
I laugh and accept the nickname because yes, out here, I am very much a snail.
“Hey, you’re a guide for that other group, right?”—I ask the stranger walking next to me on the trail, since I’m falling behind from my own group.
“Yeah. I’m from a tiny village in the mountains.”
We start chatting about our lives and our passions. I notice he has a kind smile, and he’s thoughtful with each of his words.
“I want to write.”
“About what?”
“This. Meeting people.”
“Okay, so you’ll write about me?”
I laugh and say yes.
We then realize our groups are going on separate paths tonight, and this will probably be the first and last time we ever talk.
He takes my trekking pole from my hand and uses it to grab a nearby branch. He pulls some wild yellow berries for us to eat.
It’s sweet and tangy and a special moment. Maybe I will write about him.
I’m at my breaking point. I want to cry. My inner thigh muscle is screaming in pain.
I toss my heavy backpack to the side at a tea house and lie down on a bench, staring at the sky.
“Hey, do you want a cup of ginger tea?”
I nod, trying not to tear up.
I watch as the same group of five trekkers we had bumped into earlier walk in and sit near us. I realize I haven’t had a chance to get to know all of them.
I ask the guy closest to me what his name is.
“Badal.”
“Wait, like the rain?” —I ask, testing my limited Hindi skills.
“Like the clouds.”
I smile. That’s beautiful.
My guide shares a bag of popcorn with everyone that he had bought us earlier. Their group shares some cookies.
“It feels like we’re a tiny family now.” —I note, feeling comfortable.
They all give me a warm smile.
“You know, I was about to cry just now. It’s been a tough morning.”
“Ah… I’m sorry. We have about 3-4 hours of trekking left…”
I’m about to frown but quickly slap on a huge grin.
“LET’S GO!!!!” I scream, pumping my arms in the air.
They laugh, noticing how fast I changed my attitude.
I explain to them later that I have a tendency to wrap everything up in a pretty bow, no matter how low I’m feeling. It helps a lot of the times, but sometimes, doesn’t let me fully experience the painful moments.
It’s so sweet how fast we can get deep with people we have just met.
“I’m a little nervous about all this downhill we’re doing. I have really bad knees.”
“You’ll be fine. I’m here.” —my kind guide reassures me.
I’m taking care with each and every step. Being fully present.
Still, I trip and fall on my back. I stare at the sky in disbelief for a moment.
Before I even realize what is happening, someone grabs my backpack to pull me up (which is still tightly attached to me, of course).
I stumble to my feet and stare at the older Spanish guy in shock.
“Thank you.” —I manage.
“Sorry.” —He says.
“I think I’m going to need a minute.”
He continues on, and I start to go even slower down. I pass by the same Spanish guy near the end.
“No more falling for me! That was so 20 minutes ago.”
He gives me a slight grin, clearly still worried about my ability to finish this trek.
I’d like to note I only fell down 4-5 times the entire trek, AND successfully completed the whole thing. And my knee is still in place. So, yeah.
“Hey, there’s a guitar in this tea house!”
“Hand it over. I’ll play some tunes for us.” —one of my new friends says, and I excitedly give it to him.
We’ve stopped for lunch at a tea house, and my group has merged with the 5 hikers we keep bumping into. I buy a few boxes of cookies for us all to share with our masala chai.
One of the first songs he starts playing is Husn by Anuv Jain.
“THAT’S MY FAVORITE ARTIST! AHHH! EVERYONE MOVE I NEED TO SING ALONG.”
They all laugh as I start screaming the lyrics terribly at the top of my lungs. Then he starts playing a Prateek Kuhad song, and I’m in awe.
They’re surprised I know these artists, and then admit that I have a good taste in music.
I glow. No one ever tells me that.
He continues to play more songs on the guitar, and I cheer him on even if the room is silent. Clapping loudly, praising his talent.
“I love your energy.”
“I was about to say the same—we’ve been admiring it.”
The highest compliment I can ever receive. And a sign that I’m around people that make me feel like myself.
All my walls come down and my true childlike silliness comes out. Any insecurities (thankfully, I don’t have many these days) fly out the window.
I want to stay in this tea house forever and bottle up this feeling of warmth and coziness.
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