Finding Peace in the Mountains

After fifteen years of practicing yoga in Melbourne studios, I thought I knew what yoga was. Air conditioning, mirrors, perfectly curated playlists, the subtle competition of who could hold crow pose longest. It was fine. Good exercise. Stress relief after work. But something was missing.

A friend who had trained in India kept telling me I should go deeper - that what we did in our Monday evening class wasn't really yoga. I dismissed her as a purist. Then I burned out spectacularly from my marketing job and suddenly had both time and desperation.

I chose Nepal over India partly on her recommendation - she said Nepal had India's authenticity without the chaos - and partly because of the mountains. Something about practicing yoga in sight of the Himalayas called to me.

The first morning in Ghachowk, I woke at 5:30 AM, grumpy and jet-lagged, convinced I'd made a terrible mistake. The room was cold. There was no chai latte waiting. Then I walked to the yoga shala and watched the sun rise over Annapurna, and everything I thought I knew about yoga crumbled.

The mountains don't just surround you - they become part of your practice. When you meditate facing those peaks, something shifts inside. The philosophy lectures suddenly made sense. This wasn't about flexibility or fitness; it was about understanding yourself and your place in something larger.

Four weeks later, I left with a teaching certificate - but that was almost secondary. I left with a practice. A real one. Not something I do at a studio twice a week, but something woven into how I live. I meditate daily now. I understand pranayama. I teach others, yes, but more importantly, I practice for myself.

If you're reading this and wondering whether to come, stop wondering. The person who left Ghachowk was not the person who arrived. And I'm eternally grateful for the transformation.