Alone without feeling lonely

Cécile Carnimolla Mailhos

In 2022, I crossed France on foot through the mountains with Hexatrek, alone. This very first experience of long-distance solo hiking literally changed my life to the point where I wrote a book about it. “Seule vers la liberté“ (Alone Towards Freedom) is the autobiographical story of this journey. It was as if a door had opened: “You have no time to waste!” Aware of the transformative power of this adventure, obsessed with a sense of urgency of living, appreciating how fortunate I am to have a body that still accepts what I ask of it and not fearing the basic comfort of bivouacs, I decided to continue on my way, exposing myself to new adventures of a similar nature. I discovered Nepal in 2023, at the age of 56, with a group of French people, on a trek across Dolpo, and then alone, in Khumbu, on the 3 Passes Trek from Shivalaya. I didn’t get to know Nepal 20 years ago: a vague feeling of regret still haunts me; Nepal is changing rapidly: roads are being built to open up villages, but they also disfigure the valleys and destroy the old paths… Once again, this urgency of living swept me away while I was working on a tea plantation near Ilam.

I flew back to France with the only book that exists on the Great Himalayan Trail, Robin Boustead’s guidebook. “You won’t come back to Nepal 10 times: next time, you’ll cross the entire Himalayas!” It was a new, resounding “Yes to Life” I was saying at that moment. It was obvious: “You can do it; you have no time to waste; the world is changing so fast!”

The Great Himalaya Trail, a new big “Yes to Life” but…

Between the idea and the first step, two years went by. Some people might say it’s not long, but it seemed like an eternity to me. A year and a half of research on the web, a year and a half of contact making, a year and a half for finding the right people to talk to: I felt like I was organising a small expedition when all I wanted to do was let go. Once you discover long-distance solo trek, you can’t do without it. Feeling free in the wilderness is like a soft drug. So accepting I had to be guided because the Nepalese government requires it where I didn’t need it was difficult. Accepting to stiffen the organisation of this crossing with permits to be obtained on specific dates and appointments to be made with guides seemed to me to go against the freedom I cherish. “What’s the point of all these constraints ? Besides, there are plenty of other crossings in the world…” I heard myself say. But it’s unlike me to give up, and my determination eventually paid off: the day I found Narayan Poudel of Mac Trek Tours & Expeditions, I knew it would be possible to cross Nepal through the Himalayas, just as I wanted. In the meantime, I had learned to understand and accept the specificities of Nepal, its regulations, the difficulty of certain passes and the altitude exposure.

Leaving as a couple and continuing alone

I set off with a partner, offering him the opportunity to experience a legendary journey but also agreeing to make another concession to the famous freedom I was seeking to rediscover. I was afraid of feeling lonely in the evenings, in the lodgings, not speaking Nepali. Fabrice didn’t know Nepal and we didn’t know each other very well. I had met him on the crossing of the Pyrenees; he had also crossed the Alps. After a month, he had to give up, suffering from sciatica caught on the slippery paths of Mugu to avoid crossing Chhapa Khola and Takla Khola.

“You can’t escape what you have to experience: life teaches you lessons, so you might as well learn from it.” We are a body with a mind that never stops working on its own: becoming aware of this can take ages. It took me years of inner turmoil that I couldn’t calm down to become aware of this invader that is the mind. Letting go of my fears and trusting, enjoying the unexpected and accepting what comes my way is the most fundamental lesson I learned from this life challenge, and one that I fully embraced for the first time on my journey across France. I can now spend hours marveling at the world around me; no matter how difficult the journey, I know that everything will be okay. The more radical the break, the longer the immersion, and the more I am there, putting one foot in front of the other and living one day at a time, without projecting myself into the past or the future. Fabrice and I had considered the possibility of losing our partner: I knew I could continue alone. I was ready. I dared.

Once Fabrice was safely in the helicopter taking him back to Kathmandu, covered by his insurance and welcomed by Narayan, I carried on to the Nyingma Gyanzen La Pass, for one of the most spectacular stages of this crossing. From its height of 5,563 meters, I had a breathtaking view over the peaks of Dolpo, with Tibet in the distance, stretching as far as the eye could see. In August, the monsoon clouds danced in the sky, a constantly changing show: with my feet firmly planted, my head in the clouds, my back heated by a few rays of sunshine, and my heart racing, I could have stayed there for hours. I spun around like a top so as not to miss any of the sumptuous bursts of light. I had lost my partner, but I had enough strength and daring to continue alone: cherished freedom! The magic continued throughout the day: all I had to do was to follow the ridges, descend gently, a dream playground for any hiker. And the icing on the cake was my arriving in Pho, the first village in Dolpo, nestled in its setting of cultivated terraces in the middle of a white desert. I felt like I was walking on air. After days of difficult walking, marked by daily rain, wooden bridges swept away by the force of torrents, and concern for Fabrice, I finally reached paradise.

The encounter at the heart of solo travel

A little boy dressed in a yellow sweater was waiting for me with his grandfather: they were waiting to welcome me into their home. He wore a pendant around his neck to protect him from negative energies, evil spirits, and spiritual obstacles. I entered the Buddhist world through the most beautiful gate. At the ripe old age of three, wonderfully mischievous, he took my hand and didn’t let go until we had walked around all the shortens clockwise. Then his grandmother welcomed me into her kitchen for a real Dal Bhat cooking lesson. Sitting on the floor, she chopped vegetables freshly picked from the garden and ground sesame seeds and chilli peppers in a mortar. All I had to do was to open my eyes with curiosity, and even without exchanging a single word, we were connected. The huge tin kettle, blackened by flames, was heating on the stove in the middle of the room. The dishes were displayed on the shelves in perfect alignment: metal plates, pots, and kettles were methodically arranged in ascending order, revealing the importance attached to displaying these possessions, while I had to sleep in a room cluttered with bags of rice and lentils.

I spent hours sitting around the wood fires, my eyes and heart wide open, admiring the elegance of these women in their long belted skirts, proudly wearing their necklaces and earrings in all circumstances, the beauty of their faces, the strength of their character to live with so few resources. They were also alone most of the time, doing all the work, farming, looking after the small children, cooking, doing the laundry and trading. The men had left to earn money elsewhere. The older children study in Kathmandu and dream of a different life, ready to do anything to escape Nepal. Access to progress makes them dream of leaving everything behind. Rural exodus is hitting the Himalayas. What will become of these houses when these women will no longer be able to maintain them? It was time for me to travel through these lands and experience these unlikely encounters. Nepal is changing rapidly…

I realise that beyond walking, encounters are what matter to me. I like to confront differences between our levels of development, return to a very simple and rustic life, to the essentials: exchanging a glance, offering a smile, giving attention, sharing the intimacy of one’s living space, quite simply. My solitude does not weigh on me. I am filled with everything I receive. It helps me live fully all these moments as if they were fleeting gifts Life offers me because I say Yes to it. I welcome them consciously.

What is your age ? Single ? No guide ?

Seeing a woman alone in the second half of her life arriving on foot with her backpack as her only luggage is striking. “My parents, at your age, stay at home; they travel less,” people tell me. I can’t escape the inevitable questions: “What is your age? Single? Only one?” I smile and a sense of complicity sets in. The next question is then, “No guide? Friend? Husband?” I enjoy responding, somewhat provocatively, “No, why should I have one!” And then they are the ones who smile, taken aback. This exchange was so frequent during those four months that I found myself laughing inwardly at the comedy of repetition. It was an ideal gateway to more in-depth conversations, touching on the meaning of marriage, arranged marriages, life’s trials and tribulations, and old age. If there is one thing they and I have in common, it is that our children have left to live abroad. It is no longer Kathmandu but Japan, Australia, India, and the United States that attract them, and they manage to pursue their higher education there. Pride and fatalism shine through our eyes. Our lives are so different and yet so similar at the same time!

You can be accompanied and still feel lonely; in Nepal, I traveled alone and did not feel lonely. The welcome I received from the locals was the most beautiful gift the Nepalese gave me. A gem! I chose to call this journey “The Himalayas with an Open Heart.” Today I know why. Tomorrow? I will continue to put encounters at the heart of my treks and travels.

Cécile Carnimolla Mailhos

Insta @mailhoscecile

FB: L’Himalaya à cœur ouvert (The Himalayas with an open heart)

Seule vers la liberté on Hexatrek, la Grande Traversée de France in French on Amazon