This wasn't just a trip; it felt like stepping onto another planet. Thanks to an incredible opportunity from Vintage Rides, I found myself heading to Nepal to ride motorcycles through landscapes I'd only dreamed of, towards an extremely remote walled city – Lo Manthang in the Mustang region – that's only been open to visitors for about 30 years. For me, this journey was stacked with firsts: my first time outside North America, my first international fly-and-ride adventure, and countless smaller moments that reshaped my perspective.
Landing in Kathmandu is something I struggle to adequately describe. It was an immediate, full-force assault on the senses – wave after wave of unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells. The air was thick with dust, a taste that lingered in the back of my mouth. Seeing scenes ripped straight from documentaries – tiny storefronts overflowing onto bustling streets, the sheer density of life – felt surreal, almost like an out-of-body experience. Navigating that initial traffic? I was profoundly grateful for the escort to our hotel.
The view from my window at the Patan Inn, Lalitpur, Nepal
Those first two nights were spent at the Patan Inn, a haven of calm amidst the chaos. This traditional Newari home, beautifully converted by a French couple after the 2015 earthquakes, felt unbelievably luxurious with its hot water (a blessing!) and charmingly low ceilings. It was the perfect place to get our bearings, though I constantly had to remind myself: don't drink the tap water, don't even brush your teeth with it. Jet lag was hitting hard, but I forced myself up early the next day.
I'd arranged to meet Ajay, a local photographer, for a sunrise walk around Patan Durbar Square. I'm so grateful he took me under his wing. Exploring with him gave me confidence I wouldn't have had alone, helping me navigate the labyrinthine streets and capture photos I'm incredibly proud of.
If you’re headed to Kathmandu I HIGHLY recommend reaching out to Ajay, he was informative, a kind photography tutor and made a huge difference - not only my photography but in my comfort being in a new country.
Tip: If you get the chance, connect with a local photographer. For me, shooting with Ajay wasn't just invaluable for getting better photos in a completely new environment; having him show me the ropes navigating those maze-like streets made me feel so much more comfortable finding my own way around. If you're headed it KTM I highly recommend reaching out to Ajay! He was amazing.
Ajay’s email: ajaymaharjan.np@gmail.com
Later that day, I met most of my fellow riders for the next two weeks: our guide Josh, Pascal, Herve, Leon, and a few others we'd connect with later. We explored more of the Kathmandu Valley's countless temples and historical sites – a vibrant juxtaposition of ancient traditions and modern life, dominated by Hinduism and Buddhism. You could spend months here and barely scratch the surface.
Despite the incredible sights, as evening approached, anxiety started creeping in. The next day was our first on the bikes, and honestly, nothing Josh told me could fully prepare me for riding in Nepal. You just have to jump in. Leaving Kathmandu early helped ease me into it, avoiding the peak rush hour chaos I’d witnessed. As the only Nepal first-timer in the group, I stuck close behind Josh.
This was also my first guided tour where I couldn't just stop whenever a photo opportunity struck – a real adjustment for someone used to solo travel. I desperately wanted to capture everything: the overloaded bicycles, goods strapped to engine guards, women carrying immense loads in baskets suspended from their foreheads, the ubiquitous street dogs. The transition from urban sprawl to countryside felt sudden; one moment we were navigating suburban streets, the next, a breathtaking vista unfolded before us.
Our first chai stop was a welcome pause. Nepali chai, served piping hot, is less sweet and more earthy than its Western coffee shop counterpart, with a prominent cardamom flavor. It was here we properly met our mechanic, Subash, and our support driver, Santosh – two guys who quickly became favorites.
Riding in Nepal demands 110% awareness. You're constantly scanning for potholes, animals, and unpredictable traffic. People will pass oncoming vehicles, whether you're in their path or not. The group's advice? "Only pay attention to what's in front of you." While mostly true, ignoring your mirrors completely felt risky with scooters and vans weaving past. It's an exercise in trust and assuming no one sees you – hence, the constant symphony of horns. You quickly learn the horn means "Hello, I'm here," "I'm passing," or "Thanks!" A long, sustained blast? That's the universal "Eff you." Everything behind you ceases to exist; focus forward is key.
At our second break, I desperately needed the mental reset. My shoulders were practically glued to my ears. Later, Leon's bike had fuel issues, giving Subash a chance to work his roadside magic. Meanwhile, I was becoming acutely aware of my gear choice. The REV'IT Lamina Gore-Tex suit was great for puddles and creek crossings, keeping me dry. But as the heat and humidity climbed towards lunchtime, I felt like I was boiling alive. I intensely missed the versatility of my Sand 4 suit. Trying to push that discomfort aside, I focused on enjoying some delicious Momos (Nepali dumplings).
Then came the hill climb. Hot, tired, anxious – suddenly, I wasn't having fun anymore. Negative thoughts started circling: If I can't handle this, how will I ever make it to Lo Manthang?
Stepping back, I recognize what an immense privilege it is to experience a journey like this – something truly special that not everyone gets to do. At the same time, I think it's important to be honest that even amidst such incredible surroundings, internal struggles like anxiety or overwhelming thoughts can still surface. That difficult climb was a potent reminder that our mental landscape doesn't always align with the beauty outside, and sometimes you just have to navigate those challenging feelings, regardless of how lucky you are to be where you are.
But then, we arrived in Bandipur. Walking into the vehicle-free center of this unique Newari heritage town, perched serenely on a hilltop, felt like stepping into another world. The contrast with Kathmandu's chaos was stark. And suddenly, things started to look brighter. Maybe the hardships of day one were worth it, just to be here, seeing this beautiful place.
Special Thanks to Vintage Rides for taking care of our logistics, our mechanic, our support driver and our Tour Guide.