Nepal 2025, Day One

Nepal was never really on my radar. If you'd asked me before, the closest I’d ever come to considering a trip to the Indian subcontinent would have been Bhutan — the so-called land of happy people. But yes, last month, I found myself heading to Nepal. The decision to visit this Himalayan country was made rather quickly.

Right after Saw See and I got back from Bangkok with our friends from Nandaka Vihara in April, we learnt that the Chief Abbot had expressed a wish to visit Sayadawgyi Bhaddanta Āciṇṇa, the revered head of the Pa-Auk forest monk tradition from Myanmar, now residing in Nepal. The Sayadawgyi, now a frail 90-year-old, had been living at the Dhammadāyāda Meditation Centre — better known as the Pa-Auk Monastery — in a remote place called Phasku in eastern Nepal. The challenge, of course, was getting there.

From Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan International Airport, our Bhante Dhammasubho was to travel by helicopter, generously sponsored by a devotee back in Penang. There was space for four more passengers, and those seats went to Soon Beng and his wife, along with Chee Chang and Richard, who had all committed to accompanying Bhante from the start. That left Moh Wen, Sew Kee, Saw See and me to make the journey overland in a 4WD.

Now, I’d already heard that the roads were bad. There was no Google Street View to give even the faintest clue of what to expect. And while we had been warned, nothing could truly prepare us for what lay ahead — except perhaps a more grounded state of mind.

Leaving Kathmandu, the first 25 kilometres or so were already nothing short of dreadful. The road was under continuous construction — dusty, uneven and slow-going. Our driver, though skilful, swerved and bounced along as he overtook lumbering buses and overladen lorries. The dust was relentless. I wondered how the people living along that stretch managed day after day without face masks. This wasn’t some short-term inconvenience. The roadworks had clearly dragged on for years, and will continue for many more years. Was this what we had to endure all the way to Phasku?

Thankfully, things improved after the first 25 kilometres. We began making better time and eventually stopped for a break at the Simle River View Hotel, which overlooked the Sunkoshi River. Upstream, smoke drifted into the sky — cremations taking place along the riverbank, following Hindu or perhaps even Buddhist traditions in this part of the world. Ashes would be cast later into flowing water. Although we did not see this happen, it was still a sobering thought.

We pressed on to Khadichaur, a major junction where we were told that a 90-minute drive straight ahead would bring us to the Chinese border. Instead, our route took a sharp right turn across the river and into the mountains. The road began climbing — first up to 2,500 metres above sea level, before descending slightly to around 2,300 metres. By now, we’d been on the road for four and a half hours. The sun was setting, casting golden light over the ridges. It was a beautiful sight.

But beauty turned quickly to tension. Darkness fell and the paved road came to an end. For the next 90 minutes, our vehicle was on a dirt track — all 15 kilometres of it. It felt like an eternity. The jolts and rattles of the 4WD shook every bone in my body. Worse, Google Maps kept warning that our driver wasn’t following its suggested route, and although I kept silent, my nerves were frayed. I didn’t want to alarm the others, but inside, I was deeply unsettled.

We were now travelling in pitch darkness. No lights, no signboards — just the car’s headlights cutting through the night as we navigated a well-worn, invisible path. That the driver could still find his way was a miracle. For the rest of us in the car, courage was wearing thin. Honestly, had it been just Saw See and I with the driver, I think we’d have been utterly terrified. But we had each other, all four together, making reassuring small talk, and I suppose that made all the difference.

At 7.55pm, the driver finally pointed out the lights of the meditation centre in the distance. We had arrived — all of us still in one piece, if not more than a little shaken, both emotionally and physically. When I heard the familiar voice of Soon Beng calling out, followed by seeing Chi Chang and Richard resting on their beds, it was the most reassuring thing in the world.

To be continued...