What Nepal Reminded Me About Slowing Down

I went to Nepal for the weather. At least that’s what I told myself.

After weeks of Jaipur’s 40-46 degree summer, the idea of landing somewhere cooler sounded less like a vacation and more like a rescue. I was looking forward to pleasant temperatures, a change of scenery, and a break from the daily routine.

But like many good trips, Nepal ended up giving me something entirely different from what I had planned.

What stayed with me wasn’t just the weather, the mountains, the temples, or the lakes. It was the people. And strangely, it was also the animals.

That may sound like an unusual thing to notice first, but weeks after returning home, those are still the memories that stand out the most.

The first thing I felt after landing in Kathmandu was relief. Not the dramatic kind. Just the simple relief of stepping out of an airport and not feeling like the sun over you, rather the weather was beautiful. The kind that makes you want to walk a little longer, sit outside a little more, and spend less time looking for the nearest air conditioner.

Coming from Jaipur, it felt like my body relaxed before my mind did. But after a day or two, the weather stopped being the highlight.

The people became the highlight.

There is a softness in Nepal that is difficult to explain until you experience it yourself. People seem less rushed, less aggressive, and less impatient. Whether it was locals helping tourists, shopkeepers chatting without constantly trying to sell something, or strangers simply being courteous, there was a noticeable kindness in everyday interactions.

Not the kind of kindness that exists because tourists are watching. Not hospitality as a performance. Just basic human decency.

The kind that feels increasingly rare in a world where everyone seems to be in a hurry.

My trip also turned out to be much more spiritual than I had expected. If I had to put a number on it, I would say nearly sixty percent of the journey revolved around temples and spiritual places.

One temple visit naturally led to another, and before I knew it, I was spending my days exploring ancient temple complexes, attending aartis, and quietly observing people in prayer.

What I enjoyed most was that none of it felt forced.

There was no pressure to feel something profound. No expectation of a life-changing experience. Yet many of these places left a lasting impression simply because of the atmosphere they carried.

Pashupatinath, in particular, stayed with me long after I left.

It is one of those rare places where life and death exist side by side. On one side, prayers and rituals continue as they have for generations. On another, funeral ceremonies remind you of how temporary everything really is. Somehow, it doesn’t feel depressing. It feels honest.

You leave with a slightly different perspective. Not because someone teaches you a lesson, but because the place quietly makes you think.

After Kathmandu, I travelled to Pokhara.

And if Kathmandu felt reflective, Pokhara felt therapeutic.

There are places that impress you immediately, and there are places that slowly grow on you. Pokhara belongs to the second category.

Nothing about it demands attention. Yet everything about it stays with you. The lake, the mountains, the cafés, the slower pace of life, the evening walks, the changing weather throughout the day. The beauty of Pokhara lies in its simplicity. Some of my favourite moments there were not planned activities at all. They were the moments in between.

Sitting by the lakeside with a coffee. Watching clouds across the mountains. Walking without a destination. Looking around and realizing that nobody seemed to be rushing anywhere.

In a world that constantly rewards speed, Pokhara felt like a place that rewards stillness. But perhaps the observation that surprised me most had nothing to do with tourism.

It was the condition of the stray animals.

As someone who notices animals wherever I travel, I couldn’t help paying attention to them. What struck me immediately was how healthy many of the stray dogs looked. They seemed well-fed, calm, and surprisingly comfortable around people.

More importantly, people seemed comfortable around them too.

The dogs were not treated as a nuisance. They were simply part of the environment.

I saw locals feeding them. I saw tourists interacting with them. I saw animals resting peacefully inside temples, markets, and public spaces without being chased away.

And the more I observed it, the more I felt it reflected something bigger about the society itself.

The way people treat animals often reveals how they treat one another. Kindness is rarely selective. When a community shows compassion toward animals that have nothing to offer in return, it often says something positive about its values. The kindness I saw toward stray animals felt very similar to the kindness I experienced as a visitor.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t advertised.

It was simply present.

When people talk about Nepal, they usually talk about the Himalayas, trekking routes, adventure sports, temples, and postcard-perfect landscapes.

All of those deserve the attention they receive.

But if someone asked me what I brought back from Nepal, my answer would be different.

I brought back a reminder that life doesn’t always have to move at maximum speed. That not every moment needs to be productive. That cities can be busy without feeling hostile. That strangers can still be kind. And that the character of a place is often visible in the way it treats those who are most vulnerable, including its animals.

I left Jaipur looking for cooler weather. I returned with a little more faith in people.

And looking back, that turned out to be the best part of the trip.

love, JN.