I like hiking, but I'm not sure how much. I'm still figuring that out.
I'm a casual hiker. I go hiking once a month with friends — easy one-day trips with summits below 1,000 metres. It normally takes us around three hours to reach the top. The scenery is usually nice, though not extraordinary. The rewards aren't dramatic, but those trips still give me a good break and ease my mind. Because they aren't too physically demanding, there isn't much of a story to tell. Just relaxing days.
It's a completely different experience with high-altitude hiking. I tried the Poon Hill trek with my previous company, in September. Poon Hill is a famous mountain viewpoint in the Annapurna region of Nepal. The trek covered about 14 km and climbed to 3,210 metres. We did it in two days.
I could feel the fresh, pure air the moment we arrived at the trailhead. It felt like paradise compared to the city air I'm used to. The scenery was pretty and peaceful — it reminded me of the Northwest of Vietnam. You could see the epic mountains in the distance and breathe the crisp air while walking through tiny villages of stone houses. I felt so small looking at the vast Annapurna range. The first five kilometres were stunning.
Then my knees, calves, and quadriceps started screaming. The Poon Hill route is mostly uneven, steep stone stairs. After the first five kilometres, I felt the full impact of those stairs. Every time I lifted my foot, it hurt. I had to slow my pace, fix my posture, and catch my breath. At that point, our group split into smaller clusters based on physical ability, so I became much quieter. I could hear my footsteps and my heavy breathing. Since the scenery stayed the same for a long stretch, I just focused on each step. Right when I felt I was reaching my limit, I arrived at Tikhedhunga, a small village with a few guesthouses for hikers. I wouldn't say the food was great, but it filled me up. We managed to enjoy the views before we continued.
The second half was brutal. Stairs after stairs. Endless. My muscles started hurting more and I was swimming in sweat. The bright sun didn't help either. When I reached the Ghorepani forest, I thought it would get easier — no more stairs. I was wrong. It was harder to breathe due to the altitude and the rapid elevation gain. I slowed down, then actually fell behind my group. I ended up hiking alone for the rest of the way to Ghorepani.
Fighting with every step, I started questioning myself. Was it really a good idea to push myself this hard? I told myself I would never join this kind of trip again — ever. During the hardest stretch, my mind split into pieces. One voice narrated my body's signals like a detached observer: "Our heart is beating too fast. Our legs are too tired. It hurts." Another was encouraging: "Five more steps, then we can sit down and rest." A third was full of doubt: "This doesn't make any sense." Looking back, I'm amazed at how clear and detailed those inner conversations were, especially when my body was overloaded.
But after each break, I kept trying to cover more ground before stopping. The last kilometre was torture. The one upside of hiking alone is that you can move at your own pace, without the pressure of catching up with the others.
When I reached the first staircase of Ghorepani, it started raining heavily. But it didn't bother me at all. I was so happy because I could finally see the destination ahead. "A few hundred metres more," I told myself. I could already taste the hot coffee and milk tea waiting at the top. It was hard, but exciting. My first long hike.
After the trip, I started to love hiking. What I love most is the kind of scenery you can only see on foot — no other form of travel gives you the same feeling. Beyond that, the whole experience is something else. Your mind becomes simpler. You focus only on your breath, your body, and what's around you. There's no room for lingering negative thoughts. Just you, the vast mountains, and yes, your pain. That's why on every hard trip there's always a moment when I question myself and promise I'll never hike again. And yet, I end up excited for the next one.
For me, hiking is like torturing yourself, and then finding an undeniable, rewarding self-reflection. And you keep coming back for that.
I love hiking, but I don't really know how much. One of my friends recently asked if I wanted to join his ten-day trek around the Annapurna region. I wasn't sure I'd enjoy something that long and intense. But I guess I have to try, or I'll never know the answer.