A really special time in my life—when I lived in Nepal for a year during my childhood. It’s one of those chapters that’s stuck with me, full of good memories and a vibe I haven’t found anywhere else. We stayed in this standalone house in Kathmandu, and it was such a fun, cozy spot for a kid like me. The people there were so warm, the weather was pretty much perfect all the time, and I got to soak up a culture that’s left a big mark on how I see things. From biking around with my mom chasing me to wandering through incredible temples, Nepal was this mix of simple joys and eye-opening moments. It’s a place that still feels close to me, and I’d love to walk you through what made it so unforgettable.
Living in that house was a blast—I had all this space to mess around in. I’d grab my little bike and zoom through the rooms, dodging furniture, while my mom ran after me, laughing and pretending to catch up. It was one of those carefree kid things that felt like freedom back then. The house was tucked into a neighborhood that was quiet but alive—neighbors saying hi, kids playing outside. The weather helped too—it was usually mild, sunny, not too hot or cold, so I could be out and about most days. I’ve got these clear memories of just pedaling around, the breeze hitting my face, and feeling like life couldn’t get better. It was simple stuff, but it’s what I think of first when I look back.
Kathmandu’s temples were the real stars for me, though. They’re everywhere, and they’re stunning—big, detailed, full of this calm energy that even a kid could feel. Pashupatinath Temple was my favorite—I’d go there with my family, wide-eyed at the carvings and the people praying. I’ve got this old photo of me there, pulling monkey faces as a little kid, and it cracks me up every time I see it. That place had a vibe—spiritual but not heavy, like it was part of everyday life. I didn’t get all the rituals back then, but I loved watching the crowds, the smoke from incense, the bells ringing. It’s no surprise the Enigma song “Eyes of Truth” was filmed in Nepal—it’s got that mystic feel, and even now, hearing it takes me right back to those temple steps.
That year also boosted my Hindi in a big way. We had this huge group of family friends—mostly Indian expats—and we were always together. Picnics, parties, random get-togethers—it was nonstop. They’d all speak Hindi, and I’d pick it up just by being around them. I’d started with the basics back in India, but living there, hearing it every day, made it stick. We’d pile into cars for outings—sometimes to a park, sometimes just someone’s backyard—and it was always loud and fun. I’d chatter away with the other kids, stumbling over words at first, but by the end of the year, I was holding my own. It’s one of those skills I’m thankful for now, and it came from those carefree days.
The Durbar Squares—those palace courtyards in every town—were another big part of life there. Kathmandu’s was the busiest, but they all had this mix of Buddhist and Hindu pagodas, old bricks, and people going about their day. I’d tag along with my parents to check them out, staring up at the tiered roofs and statues. It was like stepping into a history book—vendors selling snacks, folks chatting, kids running around. I didn’t know much about the architecture then, but I could tell it was special. It wasn’t just for tourists either—it was where locals hung out, prayed, lived. That blend of old and everyday made it feel real, not some museum piece.
Nepal’s got this rugged side that stood out too. The land’s tough—mountains, rocky trails—and a lot of the men head abroad for work, sending money back. That setup gave women more space to step up, and I noticed it even as a kid. Moms ran things at home, worked jobs, kept everything going. It wasn’t something I thought about much then, but looking back, it was cool to see that kind of balance. The country’s had its ups and downs—there was that awful moment in 2001 when the crown prince killed most of the royal family, pushing Nepal toward becoming a republic. I wasn’t there for that, but it’s part of the story—how they’ve held onto their traditions while figuring out the modern stuff.
Kathmandu itself was this mashup of city life and nature. The streets were packed—cars honking, markets buzzing with people selling spices, clothes, everything. But step outside the center, and you’ve got green fields, hills, even the Shivapuri National Park up north. We’d go there sometimes—walking through rainforests, spotting little Tibetan monasteries tucked into the trees. It was wild how close it all was—you could be in the chaos of the city one minute, then hiking somewhere quiet the next. I loved that mix; it kept things interesting. The air felt fresh up there, and I’d wander with my family, just taking it in, feeling like I was part of something bigger.
Life in Nepal was simple in the best way. People were so grounded—smiling, chatting, not caught up in rushing around. I’d spend weekends at the temples, not always understanding what was happening but loving the peace. Our garden was my playground—riding my bike, falling off sometimes, scraping my knees. Those bumps were part of the fun—I’d dust off and keep going. One time, we took an elephant ride near Chitwan—it was bumpy and slow, but then a rhino crossed our path out of nowhere. I remember clutching the saddle, half-scared, half-thrilled, while the guide laughed it off. It was one of those crazy moments that made me realize how much Nepal had to offer.
That temple vibe stuck with me most. Pashupatinath wasn’t just pretty—it had this pull. I’d watch people light lamps, toss flowers into the river, and it felt alive. My parents would explain bits of it—how it’s a big deal for Hindus, tied to Shiva—but I mostly just liked being there. Other spots, like Swayambhunath with its monkeys and big white stupa, were cool too. I’d climb the steps, dodging the little troublemakers, and look out over Kathmandu. It wasn’t fancy or loud—just calm, steady—and it’s shaped how I think about life. That Enigma song captures it perfectly—mysterious but grounded—and it’s like a soundtrack to those days. The friends we made were a huge part of it. Our circle was tight—family friends who’d been in Nepal a while, some locals who’d drop by. We’d have these picnics—spreading blankets out, eating momos and rice, playing games. I’d run around with the other kids, making up stories, getting into little mischief. Birthdays were big—cake, music, everyone crammed into someone’s living room. It was loud and messy, and I loved it. That’s where my Hindi got solid—listening to the adults, joining in when I could. I’d mess up words, and they’d tease me, but it was all good. Those connections made Nepal feel like home, not just a stopover.
Kathmandu’s split personality was a big draw. The city was nuts—traffic, noise, people everywhere. Markets were my favorite—piles of spices, rugs, little statues, all for sale. I’d tag along with my mom, grabbing stuff like roasted corn or a cheap trinket. But then you’d head north to Shivapuri, and it was a different world—trees, trails, quiet. We’d hike there, me trailing behind, spotting prayer flags or a monastery peeking out. It was close enough for a day trip, and I’d come back tired but happy. That balance—city chaos, nature’s calm—kept it fresh. The simplicity of it all is what I miss. People didn’t need much—just family, food, a laugh. I’d ride my bike in the garden, crash sometimes, and it was no big deal—part of the adventure. That elephant ride was a highlight—rocking along, then bam, a rhino strolls by. I was maybe eight, gripping tight, while my parents laughed with the guide. It was wild, unexpected, pure Nepal. Those little thrills—bike scrapes, jungle rides—mixed with the calm of temples and friends made it perfect.
The friends, the picnics, the parties—they glued it together. We’d pile into someone’s house, music blaring, kids everywhere. I’d learn Hindi on the fly—stumbling, then nailing it—and it felt like a win. Those days were loud, happy, full. Durbar Square was my chill spot—watching life unfold, munching on whatever I’d grabbed. The rugged life, the women running things, the shift to a republic—it’s all part of Nepal’s story, and I got a front-row seat as a kid. Nepal was this gift—culture, nature, people who welcomed me in. Bike rides, temple trips, that rhino scare—it’s a mix I’ll never forget. I’m so grateful I got to live there, see it through a kid’s eyes. It’s shaped me—how I talk, how I think—and it’s a piece of my story I’ll always carry. Thanks for letting me spill—what’s your take on Nepal?