This drive is long, bumpy, and oddly mesmerizing. The road twists north along the Trishuli River, past tiny tea shops, hanging bridges, and terraced hills that seem painted on the slopes. On clear stretches, Ganesh Himal sometimes teases you with its snowy peaks. Pack snacks, and don’t expect a nap — the winding road keeps you wide awake. Dhunche is where the mountains really begin to feel close. It’s a small, lively town with a frontier vibe — jeeps, traders, trekkers, monks. 

The trek starts gently enough, through terraced fields where kids shout “namaste!” and goats block your way. Soon the trail ducks into thick forests of pine, oak, and later, rhododendron.The climb is steady but never too punishing. After a few hours, you roll into Chandanbari, known as Shin Gompa. There’s a small monastery where prayer flags flutter in the wind, and just nearby, a yak cheese factory that smells faintly smoky and sweet. The cheese is worth a try.

Leaving the forest behind, the landscape opens up. The higher you go, the more the views steal your breath — Langtang Lirung standing proud, Ganesh Himal stretching across the horizon, and on very clear days, even Annapurna flickering far in the distance. The climb isn’t too long, but it’s steady, and by the time you reach Laurebina, you feel the altitude in your lungs. Still, this ridge-top settlement is worth every step: sunset here is magical, the mountains glowing gold before fading to silver under the stars. Nights are cold 

This is the big day. The trail climbs steadily along rocky ridges, each turn opening new panoramas that make you stop and stare. Then, after hours of anticipation, you catch your first glimpse of the lakes — turquoise blue pools cradled among snowy peaks. Reaching Gosaikunda feels like stepping into a painting. The main lake is considered sacred — Hindus believe Lord Shiva created it, and even if you’re not spiritual, the energy here is undeniable. Pilgrims bathe in its icy waters during festivals, but even just dipping your hand in makes you gasp. Walking the lakeshore as prayer flags dance in the wind is something you’ll never forget. 

The morning at the lake is calm and chilly — if you wake early, you’ll see the first light touch the peaks and turn the water golden. The descent is long and tiring, but gravity is your friend. You drop quickly from barren high ridges back into forests and villages, and it almost feels like walking from one world into another. Knees take a beating on this stretch . By the time you stumble into Dhunche, dusty and sore, a hot tea feels like heaven. 

Back into the jeep, back along the winding Trishuli valley. The scenery you barely noticed on the way up now feels familiar — the same cliffs, the same rice terraces, but somehow warmer. By the time you hit Kathmandu traffic again, you’re already missing the quiet of the trail. 

The hardest part of any trek is saying goodbye. The airport run is quick, but in your head, you’re still on the trail — hearing yak bells, feeling the crunch of stone steps under your boots, remembering the shimmer of Gosaikunda under the clouds. You carry it home with you, tucked somewhere deeper than your backpack.