Leaving Kathmandu to reach Pokhara is a bit like signing a tacit contract with the universe: you agree to endure the worst bus ride of your life in exchange for incredible landscapes and a good dose of adrenaline.

I left early in the morning, backpack on, still half asleep, convinced it would be a peaceful ride with beautiful mountains as a backdrop. Technically, the mountains were there. The problem was the road itself, which was in a catastrophic state. Hairpin turns, gravel sections, giant potholes, and a massive bus squeezing through it all like it was in a rally race. At several points, I was convinced we were going to end up in a ravine. The road was so narrow that I could literally see the void through the window, with hundreds of meters of drop right next to us. And the driver? He was honking, overtaking, accelerating into curves like it was the most normal thing in the world. The most memorable moment: we passed a bus that had flipped onto its side on the road. It had clearly slid off. Everyone in my bus looked… then went back to their lives as if nothing had happened. Me, internally, I was making peace with all my questionable life decisions from the past few years lol. But against all odds, I survived the ride and arrived in Pokhara in one piece, a bit shaken, but mostly relieved.

Since my time in Manila, where Dawson played guitar almost every night, I had developed a real fascination for instruments. I had thought about buying a guitar, but let’s be honest: carrying a guitar in a backpack is a bit unrealistic. So I went for a ukulele instead—small, light, perfect for traveling.

On the rooftop of the hostel, with a direct view of the mountains and the city rooftops, I started playing my first notes. It was far from perfect. My fingers were searching for the strings, the chords sounded off, but the feeling… wow. Being there, up high, with the fresh air, the distant noise of the city, and the mountains in the background, it felt almost unreal. I had the impression of living inside a slightly cliché independent movie scene—but I loved it.

In the evening, I went for a walk through Pokhara. Very quickly, I noticed that the city was much more touristy than Kathmandu. Stylish restaurants, cafés with perfect terraces, menus translated into three languages, trekking shops on every corner. And the prices… clearly higher than what I expected. Even more expensive than in the capital, which surprised me. That said, the atmosphere was noticeably calmer. Less honking, less chaos, and above all, the lake and mountains as a backdrop everywhere you look. It was beautiful, really beautiful, almost too beautiful, like a living postcard. And deep down, I realized something a bit strange: I think I preferred Kathmandu. Its chaos, its raw energy, its organized mess… it spoke to me more. Pokhara was stunning, but a little too perfect, a little too polished for me.

On the food side, though, Pokhara was pure happiness. Nepal blends Indian, Tibetan, and local influences, which creates a rich, fragrant, and comforting cuisine. My favorite dish quickly became chana masala—chickpeas in a spicy, flavorful sauce, often served with warm naan bread. I also ate a lot of hummus, soups, dal bhat… basically, I was in culinary paradise.

The next morning, while walking through the streets, I accidentally came across a wedding ceremony. The colors were incredible: red saris, music, flowers everywhere. It was beautiful, solemn, but also very joyful. I watched from a distance, trying to stay discreet, while being fascinated by the rituals and gestures I didn’t fully understand, but that seemed full of meaning.

Later that day, I went to explore Phewa Lake, the heart of Pokhara. That’s where the city really makes sense. You can rent colorful boats, paddle slowly across the water, watch the mountains reflect on the surface, or simply sit by the shore and watch life go by. Some people were paddleboarding, others were reading, couples were taking photos, and me, of course, I pulled out my ukulele again.

I sat facing the water and played, over and over, repeating the same chords, the same transitions. Music became a kind of thread throughout this trip. It calmed me, grounded me in the present moment, and gave me the feeling of creating something, even while constantly being on the move.

In Pokhara, there is a lot to do: paragliding over the lake, hikes to viewpoints, visits to the World Peace Pagoda, exploring caves, waterfalls, temples… It’s a city designed for travelers, for adventure, and also for rest.

But I only had two days before leaving for the trek. Two days to discover, taste, observe, and try to imprint these images into my memory. I already knew I would come back after the hike—tired, dirty, probably changed by the mountains. And that second part of the story will be for another blog.