When I first arrived in Kathmandu, I was thrown into an internal argument with myself. During the two hours I spent standing in the wrong line for visas, waiting for my bags, and attempting to contact my family, I repeatedly questioned my decision to make this trip alone.
“Who do you think you are?” I asked myself, “What business do you have jetting off to Asia, a continent you’ve never been to by the way, on your own?” “What makes you think you’re anywhere near prepared for what you’ve signed up to do?”
After finally collecting my luggage, being conned out of $20 by a man who accosted me the second I exited the airport and grabbed my bags to take to my taxi, sitting in the absolutely crazy city traffic, and dragging my suitcases up three flights of stairs, I sat in the semi-darkness of my hotel room (the electricity didn’t turn on until 7pm on weekdays), and cried. Exhausted, overwhelmed, lonely, and terrified at the prospect of two days completely on my own in this unknown, massive city I questioned whether I could handle two weeks of high-altitude trekking on the way to Mount Everest base camp.
I spent the next two days wandering around the city, attempting a self-guided tour of major sites and attractions, determined not to sit in the hotel, hopelessly unprepared for solo exploration.
Three weeks later, I sat in the same hotel, in a nearly identical room, once again crying uncontrollably. But now, I was a different version of myself, and I was crying for distinctly different reasons.
Rewind.
I had always possessed a curious fascination with Nepal and the planet’s highest mountains, despite knowing almost nothing about the region and never having been to that part of the world. I loved hiking and camping and was captivated by the idea of places that were impossible to reach by anything other than your own two feet, that were so remote that most people never bothered to go there. Places like Mount Everest. I had no illusions about climbing the mountain itself (nonexistent climbing experience and bank account of a college student prevented this), but from the moment I discovered that non-summiters could make the trek to base camp, I was obsessed with the idea of standing at the bottom of the top of the world.
Simultaneously terrified and excited, the real impact of what I was doing didn’t hit me until I was smashed against the window of a 12 seater plane we dubbed “the cardboard box,” and landing at Tenzing Hillary Airport in Lukla, known as the world’s most dangerous airport. Dropping out of the clouds gave the impression that we had teleported to another planet, for we had traded in the smog of Kathmandu for the immensity of the Himalayas.
The next two weeks were some of the most physically and mentally challenging of my life, but even on the most difficult days I never considered the idea that it wasn’t worth it. The breathtaking landscape alone was enough to convince me that this was the greatest experience of my life, and the incredible kindness and selflessness that I encountered in both locals and fellow trekkers was unparalleled by any other trip.
When we finally reached base camp, it was exhilarating and rewarding, but also sobering, as we arrived shortly after the death of an Australian climber who had summiteers, and in the midst of search operations for a team of missing Indian climbers. I had never felt so accomplished, yet so insignificant, standing at the bottom of the line of yellow tents that held the friends and colleagues of the missing climbers. I think it forced all of us to spend a moment contemplating the true strength and unpredictability of nature, as well as the strength and determination of those who made up their minds to stand on the top of the world.
On the way back down I had finally discovered the secret to group trekking: hike in the back. Not only did this allow me to go more slowly and to take a ton of photos, it also meant that I got to spend a lot of time with our guide and some of the porters, asking them questions about the mountains, Nepal, and their lives. The last four days of the trip brought me very close to them, as I learned about their families and experiences growing up in a country so different than mine. I learned of their ambitions, and their experiences in the devastating earthquake last year.
By the time we arrived back in Kathmandu, I was devastated at the thought of saying goodbye to the people who had looked out for my safety and wellbeing for the past two weeks, and I knew I would likely never see them again. It weighed heavily on me that they guided thousands of trekkers every season, making me just one face in a crowd, while they would be engrained in my memory forever, and I would think of each of them whenever I thought of Nepal.
After saying goodbye to the guides and most of the team, I still had a few days in Kathmandu before my flight back to Washington, D.C. However, I was surprised to find that the city didn’t seem nearly as large or overwhelming as it had upon first arrival. As I wandered through back alleys and local markets early in the morning, taking in the smell of frying doughnuts and the colors of fruit stands, and navigating the street peddlers and haggling down prices without the extreme stress I had felt just a few weeks earlier, I gained a new appreciation for the city.
Sitting in my hotel room on my last evening I was overcome by sadness that my incredible journey was over, but also by the realization of the incredible gift it had given me. Although I was sad to leave this beautiful country, I was inspired to continue traveling and exploring unusual places, and was confident enough in myself to discover them on my own. The immensity of Asia no longer seemed so overwhelming, nor did returning to the U.S. after such an extended absence, the new job I was about to start, or the scary question of what I would do after graduation.
The three weeks I spent in Nepal taught me more about myself than an entire semester exploring Europe with my friends. It taught me lessons about independence and flexibility that 21 years of life had not, and it helped me to develop a strong sense of identity, something that I, like many people my age, had struggled with for a while.
This was something that I could never have attained without taking the first, scary step into solo travel. Adventure doesn’t have to mean emptying your bank account and booking a flight to Asia however. It can be as simple as taking a weekend trip to a National Park, or spending an afternoon alone, exploring a neighborhood in your city that you’ve never been to. The confidence and awareness you gain through doing this will extend to every part of your life, and if your experience is anything like mine, you’ll return feeling like a better, more solid version of yourself.
So, my Everest base camp advice?
Get out there. Explore. Get lost. Try something new. Walk on the wild side. You won’t be alone for long.
You can read more about Maeve’s Everest trek and other adventures at www.maeveonthemap.squarespace.com, and check out more photos and videos on her instagram: @maeveonthemap.
The post Independence At The Base Of Everest: The True Benefits Of Solo Travel appeared first on the Lala.