I was rifling through the dark recesses of a dusty cupboard recently when I came across a box of my father’s personal effects.
Among the yellowed papers and tokens of memory, one artefact caught my attention. It was a neatly bound report, bearing the title:
‘Trek by Lt Colonel MC Furney, 7 GR, 22 Sep – 2 Oct 1980: Pokhara – Jomsom – Muktinath – Thorong – Marsyangdi – Besi Sahar – Begnes – Pokhara.’
The opening words of his report leapt out at me from the page: ‘This is Nepal at its most spectacular and varied’. Forty-five years after he wrote them, here I was, already planning my own journey to Nepal – with my sister by my side – and to the very region he had described, Mustang. My father’s words provided even greater impetus to follow in his footsteps into the Himalayas.
The intrigue of Mustang lies in its aura of mysticism and seclusion, its barren yet evocative landscapes setting it apart from other mountain regions. Nestled within the rain shadow of the towering ranges of Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, it is one of the last bastions of undisturbed Tibetan culture. The promise of exploring a part of this ancient ‘forbidden kingdom’, which remained off-limits to outsiders until 1992, was tantalising.
Once a thriving independent kingdom, Mustang served as a crucial trans-Himalayan trade route between Tibet and the lowlands of Nepal and India. Traders braved its rugged terrain to transport dried meat, salt, and wool. While modern technology has rendered much of this trade obsolete, Mustang’s villages today are known for their vibrant character, enduring charm, and strong cultural identity.
To access this region, you can take a short flight from Kathmandu to Pokhara (30 minutes), with an overnight stay in Pokhara before continuing on the next flight to Jomsom in the Mustang Valley. With flights known to be delayed or cancelled, my sister and I opted to do the six hour drive to see more of the country along the way. Leaving Pokhara and Phewa Lake at a gentle elevation of 822 metres behind us, our adventure began as we set off early, heading north-west on a smooth, sealed road.
We followed the Seti Gandaki River, vast and wide in parts, as it snaked through picturesque scenery surrounded by thick, tropical forests. This first part of our journey was easy-going as we trundled through Nepalese towns, bustling with traffic and construction projects. A casualty of extreme weather and natural disasters, much of the region seems to be in a constant state of rebuilding. The skies were a clear blue, the air dry and crisp. Dust from construction clung to everything, prompting us to keep our windows firmly shut to avoid being choked by the debris kicked up by passing traffic.
After a few hours of climbing, we reached the town of Kushma, where the Seti River meets both the Kali Gandaki River and the road that takes us northwards to Jomsom. The terrain became increasingly rugged as we gained elevation, and the lushness of the lower valleys gave way to alpine-covered slopes. It was spectacular. We passed through pine woods with large moss-covered rocks, reminiscent of the Alps. Our spirits soared as the road grew more challenging, riddled with potholes and boulders, and winding around sheer cliffs that fell away to the river below. Navigating these roads by 4×4 is essential, yet we encountered unwieldy buses and Suzuki Swifts skidding and struggling against the uneven ground—all part of the adventure!
As we paused to stretch our crumpled bodies at a roadside dharba (café), we took in the vastness around us. At approximately 3,500 metres, the enormity of the Himalayan mountains took our breath away. From the valley floor below, with its riverine rocks and pebbles, the landscape climbed to dusty, sand-coloured eroded inclines, then to pine-covered hills, darker, steeper slopes, and finally, to sheer, jagged, snow-covered peaks. Dhaulagiri loomed before us, both ominous and enticing.
We continued our journey, winding ever upwards. Prayer flags – Lung Ta, meaning “wind horse” – fluttered in the wind. Their vibrant colours of red, white, blue, yellow, and green represent the five elements of earth, water, fire, wind, and metal, each flag printed with mantras carried across the land by the breeze. Visiting in winter, we missed the harvest, but the land retained its stark beauty. Willow trees dotted the landscape, their yellowed leaves flashing gold in the sunlight, adding colour to a grey moonscape. The brilliant blue sky and white-hot sun intensified this contrast. We had entered the domain of the Spiny Babbler and Himalayan Griffin, a hostile land full of ever-changing light. At this altitude, the air felt thin and the wind sharp.
We stayed at the newly opened Shinta Mani Mustang, an elegant hotel nestled in the arid town of Jomsom, designed by renowned hotelier Bill Bensley and Nepali architect Prabal Thapa. The area lies within a rain shadow created by the Himalayas. A wide, rocky, dry riverbed cuts through the landscape, suggesting a once-gushing flow of snowmelt that now only trickles in places. Shinta Mani Mustang blends seamlessly into this environment. Constructed from local stone and timber, it perches on a slope above Jomsom, bordered by an orchard of apple and apricot trees. Each of the 29 rooms offers floor-to-ceiling views of the snow-covered Nilgiri Himal, a constant reminder of the ethereal beauty surrounding us. Staying at the property was a delight, thanks to the blend of world-class luxury with a warm and homely atmosphere. Every guest has their stay curated by their own adventure butler – ours, Dawa, was the star of the show, accompanying us on outings imbued with significance and cultural insight.
The villages of Mustang, scattered across this rugged terrain, are testaments to the resilience of their inhabitants. In Thini, a village near Jomsom, traditional Thakali homes stand as symbols of cultural pride. These two-storey structures, built from grey stone and wooden beams, surround courtyards where families gather. Rooftops, stacked with juniper branches for winter fuel, signify prosperity: the higher the pile, the wealthier the household.
Meanwhile, Marpha, known as the ‘apple capital’ of Nepal, is a bustling hub of life. A horticultural farm established in 1966 introduced apple production to local families. Now, this area is renowned for its delicious fruit. We imagined how stunning the countryside must look in spring when apple blossoms and mountain flowers are in full bloom. Shielded from the valley’s fierce winds, Marpha’s flag-stoned streets are lined with teahouses and shops, as well as the orchards. We wandered through this ancient settlement, exploring its maze of alleyways and thick-walled houses with courtyard interiors. Most inhabitants are Buddhist, and piety is evident in the prayer wheels displayed outside each home. We couldn’t resist giving the metallic cylinders a joyful turn as we passed.
Exploring Mustang on foot is an otherworldly experience. Trails wind through stark landscapes to sacred sites like Chhema Lake, the ‘Lake of Forgiveness’, nestled at nearly 4,000 metres. Climbing for two hours up a 45-degree incline through wind-battered pine forests and low-lying bushes, our hearts pounded in our ears as we struggled for breath. Finally, we reached the pristine, emerald-green lake surrounded by immense ice pyramids glittering in the sunlight. Their faces shone blue and silver, reflecting the brilliance all around us. It was magical. We felt privileged to be there, awestruck by nature’s beauty. The lake’s serene stillness contrasted with the rugged terrain, offering us space for deep contemplation. We could have stayed there forever.
Our reveries were only interrupted by the distant rumble of an avalanche – a sharp reminder of the earth’s raw power. Within that moment, we were struck by how unnaturally high the snow line was. Those mountains provide the source of life-giving rivers to millions across the continent. If change takes place there, its impact resonates globally – a profound thought to carry with us as we returned home.
