Himalaya-Summer 2026 – Before the trip
2. May 2026
It’s starting soon! I really should be used to it by now: packing, airport, flying, being away for a long time. But not at all—excitement for travel adventures is bouncing around together with worries about everything that could happen.
On May 12, 2026, I’m supposed to be sitting on a plane to Delhi — and 5.5 months later, on a plane back home. That’s a long time, but not really all that unusual when I look at my travel habits over the past 16 years. Why 16? Because at the end of April 2010, I traveled to India and Nepal for nine months, and ever since then I’ve often been away for extended periods — and now I sometimes find myself thinking back to that first time. A few things have changed since then, though — for example, that kind of travel is no longer quite so simple. Back then, I had a five-year visa that allowed me to stay in India for 180 days at a time, with no overall day limit for the year. Now, I’m only allowed to stay in India for 90 consecutive days and 180 days total within a calendar year. So after that, it’s definitely over for 2026. And because of this 90-day rule, I’ll need to leave the country at some point — and then re-enter. As is often the case, Nepal is the most obvious choice.
What exactly do I want to do there — and why for so long? In recent years, my stays in Ladakh have always been shorter and mostly during winter. But more and more, I’ve felt the urge to: a) go trekking there again more extensively, b) get myself up to date on all the changes that have taken place, c) spend time with people when there’s no rush, d) explore newly opened areas in Changthang, and e) spend more time hanging around in Tundup’s office. At the same time, I’d also like to keep filling in the gaps in other regions, and since October can already get seriously cold, Himachal Pradesh and Kashmir are also definitely on the agenda. A plan? I don’t really have some elaborate master plan. What I do have is a huge list of wishes and ideas — and then I’ll just see what I can actually do, when I can do it, or what unexpected opportunities might come up instead.
Only one thing is firmly set in between: a side trip to Mustang in Nepal. That way, the visa day limits will work out — and I’ll also get to meet up with two friends so we can travel together.
Above all, I want to do a lot of what I love most: day hikes, trekking, and exploring. And while doing that, I want to gather material and expand my knowledge. The older I get, the stronger my urge becomes to see more and do more — so that in difficult times, I’ll have those experiences to draw from. So I can give better advice for my travel inquiries. And simply, well — so I can let the sun shine (see above).
Unfortunately, this winter I was a bit less motivated to move and more grumpy about the weather. But for the past four weeks, things have been improving again! I’ve been hiking in the local mountains, jogging up and down along the Traun, and bending my body into yoga poses in the living room. And it’s working! I’m slowly getting back into shape. Much more slowly than I used to — but it’s happening!
In between, I did a little digging through the past and found this text:
Exhausted, I stumble into the tea shop. My sun-browned arms are covered with an extra layer of sunburn. My feet are worn out. My shoulders ache from carrying my backpack. I am filled right to the brim with happiness. Contentedly, I pull my hiking boots off my feet and wiggle my toes around. The tea shop people come bustling over with a delicious lentil soup. Outside, it is quiet, cold, and clear.
That’s when Therese — a mumbling, generous Irishwoman — and I arrived at Chandra Taal Lake. We had walked 16 kilometers across the moon to find it. There was nothing. Just stones, scree, piled up into cloud-touching peaks, scattered around as if dumped from a giant bucket. Nothing else. Only silence. And in the middle of nowhere, a turquoise lake. And the two of us — tiny human beings with our backpacks and Therese’s miniature tent, which really only fits her alone. We met on the bus to Manali in the Indian Himalayas. Two fiercely independent solo travelers who are still together, because sometimes it’s simply good to have someone beside you. For example, during icy Himalayan nights in a tiny tent. When all around you is vast emptiness, and the moonlike landscape looks as though it might never end. With only a lake and a tea shop to hold onto. When everything is so completely different from anything you’ve ever known. But so overwhelming that words are not enough. Then it’s good to share silence and wonder with someone else. And sometimes to chatter a little nonsense, too.
Die Linsensuppe wärmt. Der süße Milchtee füllt den Bauch mit weiterem Glück. Die Sonne verabschiedet sich hinter den Berggipfeln und es wird wieder dunkel und eisig. Wir dürfen im Hinterraum schlafen. Vorne kruscheln die Wirtsleute im rauchgeschwängerten Gastraum herum. Mit einer funzeligen Taschenlampe kruscheln wir uns Schlafplätze zurecht. Die Lagerstätte ist hart, nur ein dünner Teppich auf einer Steinbank. Die Linsen zeigen Wirkung. Ich bin unruhig. Ich denke an mein gewohntes Bett daheim. Vielleicht ist das jetzt gerade doch ein kleines bisschen viel „fremdes Glück“ auf einmal? Ich döse, träume, wache, wälze, versinke, schrecke hoch, es wird hell. Die Augen gewöhnen sich an das Dämmerlicht und können den Raum erstmals inspizieren. Ich schrecke hoch: Überall sind quer Schnüre gespannt, über denen Fleisch zum Trocknen hängt. Über den rohen Mauerwänden sind größere Fleischlappen ausgebreitet. Der ganze Raum ist voll von Fleisch, Fleisch, Fleisch.
Spiti, 1992
Ich finde, ich sollte wieder mehr wie früher schreiben. Und wünsche mir ein paar von so speziellen Erlebnissen.
Zum Fremd-Fühlen ist diese Zeit vielleicht nicht so geeignet. Aber ich werde hoffentlich viel für mich entdecken. Die ersten 3 Nächte sind jedenfalls gebucht und die Mitnehmhaufen in meinem Zimmer werden größer. Bis dahin genieße ich noch ein bisschen mehr die hiesige Bergwelt. Und zappel ungeduldig herum.