It is the eve of my first Nepal trek and I have just watched a fiery red sun sink into the hills surrounding the capital, Kathmandu.
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Down here today there has been spring sunshine and temperatures in the mid-20s, up there in the Himalayas, they will potentially be down to zero, at night. As our World Expeditions guide, Bir Singh, who has been leading treks here for 25 years, told us at our briefing:
"Here in Nepal for every 1000 metres we go up, the temperature drops by six degrees."
We will be starting our trip with a drive to a regional airport at Ramechap tomorrow before flying over the ranges to Lukla, 2800 metres above sea level, where we begin our trek to Pangboche, closer to 4000m.
These are relatively modest heights when compared with Everest (8849 metres) or treks that climb to the southern base camp, at 5364 metres, but at nearly 62, I am thrilled with this adventure.
Even more so when I consider that under a year ago I was diagnosed with a spinal condition called DISH, which stands for Diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis, the source of back and neck stiffness for 10 years.
"People go one of two ways with this diagnosis," my New Lambton chiropractor Daniel Smith told me then. "They either accept it and do nothing about it", he said, which can lead to decreasing mobility, "or they do everything they can to keep the spine moving."
Still playing five and 11 a-side football, doing Pilates and cycling, I was relatively fit already and determined to fight it.
However, flexibility is the key to keeping DISH at bay. So, after decades of avoiding it, I started doing yoga at Infuse Health, in Adamstown, and with careful coaxing from several great teachers slowly found myself not only less rigid but actually enjoying it.
I also began wondering, shouldn't I travel to some bucket list destinations and embark on active adventures while I still can?
Nepal had long been high on my list and coincidentally while Daniel Smith was treating me regularly he was in training for a trek to base camp, which he completed in late 2023. Hearing Smith's Himalayan trekking stories inspired me to dream up my own trip.
Returning to travel writing, my profession for 25 years, after a break, I contacted World Expeditions, which began as an Himalayan trekking company in 1975, when they were in the final stages of organising this media trip to celebrate their upcoming 50th birthday. I was late to the party, but they could squeeze me in.
Arriving into Kathmandu, after my luxurious stay in Singapore, was the culmination of months of physical preparation, including doing altitude workouts at Kotara Air Locker, training hikes and giving up caffeine and sugary foods.
Yet nothing prepares you for the cacophony of noise and traffic - most of the 1.5 million population ride Indian-made motorbikes - and the colour of Kathmandu. I've been to India twice and it seems slightly more organised chaos here, with traffic policemen standing in control booths at busy intersections, waving their arms about.
I've spent today weaving through crowds in the Thamel commercial district and visiting the World Heritage Listed Swayambhunath religious complex, aka the Monkey Temple for its proliferation of cheeky simians, at the top of 365 steps.
The latter is a riot of colour - with prayer flags representing earth, water, air, fire and sky festooned everywhere - and lively, happy families paying their respects, be they Hindu or Buddhist. Much of the complex has been reconstructed since the devastating 2015 earthquake.
I've been so fortunate to be staying at Dwarikas Hotel and to step off the noisy street into a 17th century palace, which is what the property is modelled on. Founded in the 1960s by the visionary Dwarika Das Shrestha, on the site of an old cow shed, the property was dedicated to preserving local Newari heritage by repurposing intricate woodwork, being thrown out across the Kathmandu Valley, in the name of progress.
As the property has grown to 80 gorgeous rooms, so his family have continued saving and displaying ornate pieces - with skilled craftspeople restoring them in an adjacent workshop. The predominance of old, dark wood throughout is soothing, the huge sunlit courtyard at its centre an oasis of calm, and swimming in the pool that replicates a king's lavish baths, provides an "am I really here?" moment.
Tomorrow, I am off to fulfil a lifelong Himalayan dream. But for now, namaste from Kathmandu.
