Trekking through Nepal’s Himalayan mountain ranges is a hiker’s dream, with Annapurna and Everest circuits taking the lion’s share of trekkers. But experienced hiker Tarang Mohnot found out, the route less traveled—where the scenery and hiking is just as rewarding—proved to be a winner.
It’s like sitting in the front row at the movie theater, I thought, craning my neck to take in the full sweep of the Annapurna Massif. To my right stood the sacred, never-climbed sacred Mt. Machapuchare, its base cradling the Mardi Himal peak. The air was crisp, and the landscapes played out before me like a movie in HD.
This was day three of the Mardi Himal trek, a relatively new route in Nepal that officially opened in 2012. Nepal’s trekking world is primarily split in two: The Everest region in the east and the Annapurna region in the central-west, where many classic, heavily trafficked treks are concentrated. This popularity is reflected in the numbers—the Everest region attracts over 52,000 trekkers and visitors annually, whereas the Annapurna Conservation Area recorded 246,575 foreign tourist arrivals between just January and October 2025.
Mardi Himal sits in the Annapurna region too, but on a far quieter ridge. Over recent years, the 25-30-mile (40-50-kilometer) trek has quietly carved out a name for itself—a breath of fresh air in a trekking scene long dominated by the big three: Everest Base Camp, Annapurna Base Camp, and the Annapurna Circuit. While they’re longer and more strenuous, and Mardi Himal isn’t exactly a direct rival, the point is this: There’s more to trekking in Nepal than its headline trails.
Trekking in Nepal has a storied history. The country opened its doors to the outside world in 1949, ending centuries of isolation under the Rana rulers, who had tightly restricted foreign entry. In 1950, a group of British tourists completed what’s considered to be the first official trek in the country, in the Annapurna region. Word quickly spread about Nepal’s offerings, and by the 1960s, waves of international travelers arrived to ‘experience the Himalayas’.
“Trails like Everest Base Camp [EBC] and Annapurna Base Camp [EBC] were developed in collaboration with the government to make them accessible for foreigners,” says Juliana Shrestha, co-founder of Duluwa Outdoors, a Kathmandu-based company curating educational experiences in the outdoors.
Angry thunderstorms became our daily companion. We’d duck into teahouses—bowls of hot chow mein and lemon tea steaming up our faces—until the showers passed.
The Nepal Tourism Board (NTB) was set up in 1998, and its very first branding campaign—’Everest and More’—further cemented these regions as must-visit destinations. Everest and Annapurna Base Camps also sit in the shadow of towering 8,000-meter peaks, giving even novice trekkers the thrill of standing at the foot of the world’s highest peaks, and the bragging rights that come with it.
The heady mix of well-worn infrastructure, convenience, and spectacle has kept these trails perennially popular, and many travel operators are all too happy to ride that wave, often with little incentive to direct travelers elsewhere. But look beyond the obvious and you’ll find a country crisscrossed with trails just as dramatic.
Based in Pokhara, with the Annapurna range practically on my doorstep, I chose the Mardi Himal trek—a worthy contender to the ever-popular Annapurna Base Camp—and recommended by a friend who knows both Nepal and my crowd-dodging tendencies. The mandatory ACAP (Annapurna Conservation Area Project) permit was easy to get online, though you can also apply through a trekking agency or the NTB office in Kathmandu or Pokhara. The TIMS card (Trekkers’ Information Management System) is also a nice-to-have since it helps authorities track trekkers for safety.
Although Nepal made guides mandatory for foreign trekkers in April 2023, the rule isn’t exactly enforced in the Annapurna region. My friend Sayandeep and I, both experienced at high altitudes, went self-guided with offline maps on Komoot, a route planning and navigation application for outdoor activities.
We started hiking from Kande, a short bus ride from Pokhara. At 7am, the sun was already blazing. May sits at the tail end of the spring trekking season, and the heat made me wonder whether it was edging past ideal conditions, but we kept a steady pace. At Australian Camp at 6,760 feet (2,060 meters), we had our first rendezvous with the Annapurna range, stopping me in my tracks. The peaks revealed themselves suddenly, almost shyly, like a dog peeking around a doorway. The range was startlingly clear, with only a handful of clouds drifting at its base, the peaks jutting above them as if suspended in mid-air.
Over breakfast at a teahouse—small lodges that double as rest stops and basic accommodations on trekking trails—the owner showed me his impressive raksi (a local homemade spirit) collection. “It’s great for treating high-altitude symptoms,” he shared, pointing out jars of potions infused with rhododendron, rose, asparagus, and even yarchagumba, a prized caterpillar-fungus used in traditional medicine.
Leaving the teahouse behind, the path carried us along a quiet ridge before dipping into the lower Mardi River valley, climbing through dense rhododendron and oak forests. The trail wound past a handful of Gurung settlements, characterized by stone houses, and terraced millet and potato fields.
For much of the first two days, we moved through ancient ecosystems—towering trees standing like sentinels, roots snaking across the path and dangling overhead, cicadas singing in an endless, near-deafening chorus. Some tree trunks were hollowed out wide enough to crawl into; insects mimicked flowers so convincingly that I had to stop and stare. The rhododendron trees were past their bloom, but parts of the trail were scattered with their wilted, pinkish-red petals.
Angry thunderstorms became our daily companion. We’d duck into teahouses—bowls of hot chow mein and lemon tea steaming up our faces—until the showers passed. “Switch your phones off!” one teahouse owner barked, after a lightning strike cracked so close it made me jump. My brain was in fight-or-flight mode, but it felt natural, like this was the kind of ‘stress’ humans were built for.
At Mid Camp at 10,500 feet (3,200 meters), we stumbled upon a teahouse—aptly named ‘Twin Peaks’—serving ramen and kimchi fried rice, a rare departure from the usual trekking staples of dal bhat (lentils and rice), fried rice, noodles, and omelets. Most teahouses follow the same rhythm: A few rooms, a common room with a tandoor, slippers to swap for your boots, and set prices for food, Wi-Fi, and charging. The owner proudly told us he’d trained in Korean cooking in Pokhara and now sourced ingredients through his network of guides and shepherds.
“At every trade fair, we keep seeing Everest and Annapurna regions being sold over and over again. There’s little effort to highlight other routes, even though they’re just as stunning.”
- Juliana Shrestha, co-founder, Duluwa Outdoors
The Mardi Himal trek is billed as easy to moderate: Four to seven days on well-marked trails, steep climbs coupled with gentler stretches, and enough teahouses along the route to set your own pace. In fact, at Twin Peaks, I befriended Melis Yilmaz, a traveler from London taking on her first-ever trek. “I finished in about five or six days,” she said. “But the rain slowed me more than the trail did.”
For a beginner climbing at altitudes above 3,000-4,000 meters, Melis handled things impressively, but she credits the route itself. “I liked knowing I could stop for the day whenever I needed. And I’ve never seen snow-capped mountains before so to be that close to them was remarkable. It’s what kept me going,” she recalls. What caught her off-guard, though, was the quiet. “I expected it to be less busy than Annapurna Base Camp, obviously,” she said. “But sometimes we’d walk for hours without seeing a single person. Maybe this was because of the rainy conditions, but it felt far more remote than I’d imagined.”
At High Camp at 11,745 feet (3,580 meters), the night before our ‘summit’ (the base camp), hikers from across the world gathered around the dinner table, devouring Nepali thalis consisting of dal (lentils), bhat (rice), tarkari (vegetable curry), and saag (greens)—all of which tasted even better at this altitude. Later, the teahouse owner whipped out his guitar, leading a chorus of Resham Firiri, a Nepali folk song about wandering freely and joyfully through the hills—practically the unofficial soundtrack of trekking in the country. “It’s been a while since we had a group big enough to jam with,” he laughed, blaming early rains for the quieter season.
The following morning, we set out at 4am, headtorches slicing through the dark as a quiet procession of hikers wound up the steep trail, chasing the sunrise over Machapuchare and Mardi Himal.
When the first rays broke and warmed my cold skin, the mountains turned golden. Himalayan griffons wheeled overhead, and boulders revealed bizarre, beautiful patterns. In every direction, massive peaks competed for my attention: Hiunchuli with its triangular summit; Annapurna South occupying a broad, solid presence; Annapurna III with its layered ridges; Machapuchare (Machhapuchchhre or Machhapuchhre, also known as Fishtail Mountains), so perfectly shaped it seemed man-made; and of course, Mardi Himal, right beneath the watchful Machapuchare.
Some hikers fiddled with cameras, while others sat in silence, letting the view sink in—if that’s even possible. We turned back just short of base camp at 14,765 feet (4,500 meters) as the weather began to turn, but it hardly mattered. Mardi Himal had already given us everything we came for.
Still, I wondered: How long will such trails keep their magic? The teahouse owner at High Camp told me that in September and October, Mardi Himal sells out fast, with some hikers even sleeping in the dining hall. If we’re not careful, Mardi Himal could follow the same trajectory as EBC and ABC, where daily foot traffic in peak season climbs well into the hundreds. Being in the popular Annapurna region, Mardi Himal is beginning to feel this pressure too. Capping daily trekkers could help, as could better waste management practices; on busier routes, litter and overloaded burn pits have become recurring issues.
But perhaps most importantly, Nepal needs to look in new directions. “At every trade fair, we keep seeing Everest and Annapurna regions being sold over and over again,” Juliana tells me. “There’s little effort to highlight other areas, even though they’re just as stunning.”
To promote tourism in the lesser-visited western regions like Karnali and Sudurpashchim, Nepal recently made 97 Himalayan peaks free to climb for the next two years—Karnali is renowned for its remote, rugged trekking terrain, while Sudurpashchim offers access to lesser-visited peaks like Api and Saipal, along with several pilgrimage sites. However, it’s unclear whether this well-intentioned move will be matched with improvements in infrastructure, accessibility, or community preparedness.
Juliana reminds me that tourism is an ecosystem. “On one side, there’s the government and how Nepal is represented internationally,” she says. “But the other side is the on-the-ground reality. When someone does visit a lesser-known destination, how is their experience? Are the communities ready?”
She cites the example of Khopra Danda, a trail just below Mardi Himal, which saw a rush of travelers after an influencer’s video went viral. Within a year, teahouses were replaced by big hotels, waste piled up, and the area struggled to cope. “Really, it’s a whole cycle,” says Juliana. “[We must consider] marketing, local readiness, traveler education, and community involvement. Done right, it can be sustainable and empowering. Done wrong, it risks destroying the very places people come to experience.”
Trails like Mardi Himal prove that there’s immense value in routes that don’t promise the world’s highest peaks, but offer something more intimate. The future of trekking in Nepal may not lie in superlatives, but in how thoughtfully their foothills are valued and cared for.
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Tarang Mohnot is a freelance writer and journalist drawn to the outdoors: Words like adventure, hiking, bouldering, and obscure are part of her everyday vocabulary. Her work has appeared in BBC Travel, Matador Network, DAZED, and more.
