I remember Gopal, our guide, telling us more than once, “This was Sir Edmund Hillary’s favourite place to watch Everest.” I’d read the same thing in every piece of research I did. It felt like a quiet echo running through this journey. And now, having stood at the summit of Pikey Peak myself, I say this with no hesitation, it’s mine too.
What I hadn’t known until Gopal explained it on the trail was where the name “Pikey” actually comes from. He told us it comes from a Sherpa sky deity, honoured by local families, especially during special rituals in July. The locals call the deity Pikey Hlapchen Karbu, and the peak itself is seen as sacred, a guardian over the land and the weather. Learning that made the place feel even more alive, like it carried centuries of stories in the wind.
Sir Edmund Hillary’s Everest and the Spirit of Solitude
Calling it the perfect trekking trail wouldn’t make sense. It can’t be. Trails like this aren’t built for perfection. They’re shaped by silence, sky, and solitude. Pikey Peak doesn’t care for crowds or praise. It simply exists, and for now, almost unnoticed. I hope it stays that way. If it ever turns into the kind of traffic the Everest Base Camp trail becomes in high season, I’ll wish I’d never said a word.
The trail had me from the start. We began in Dhap, after a long, nine-hour journey from Kathmandu in a Land Cruiser that rattled through switchbacks and dust. I won’t pretend the ride was comfortable, but it delivered. That first night, we stopped at a small teahouse. It wasn’t luxurious, but it felt like someone had kept the best room aside just for us. Gopal moved through the evening with quiet care, boiling water for our hot water bottles like it was second nature.
The Morning That Changed Everything
After the long journey the day before, I could feel the quiet scepticism in our family. No one said it outright, but after nine hours on the road and a cold night in unfamiliar beds, even I wondered what we’d signed up for.
Then morning arrived. The air was thin and clean, and just beyond the edge of the teahouse roof, a few distant peaks began to reveal themselves. One of them, sharp and impossibly white, was Numbur Himal. That glimpse alone shifted something in us. We didn’t talk about it, but from that morning on, the rhythm was set. Each day began with a slow rise, a new stretch of sky, and another unexpected view. That quiet promise of beauty, just ahead, pulled us forward all the way to Phaplu.
Reaching Pikey Peak and the View That Stayed
It took us two days to reach Pikey Peak Base Camp, walking through pine forests, open ridges, and villages where time moved gently. On the third morning, we left before dawn, climbing in the dark with only the crunch of frost beneath our boots. When we reached the top, the world opened, Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, even distant Kanchenjunga stood in silence across the horizon. That moment felt like legacy, not just because of Hillary’s footsteps, but because it connected something ancient with something deeply personal. From there, we began our descent toward Junbesi, hearts full, legs lighter.
The Peaceful Charm of Junbesi
Junbesi felt like a place folded gently into the hills, quiet, stone-built, and timeless. After days on the trail, it offered a kind of stillness that didn’t ask for anything. We wandered slowly through the village, past prayer flags fluttering from rooftops and children laughing on their way to school. The walk to Thupten Choeling Monastery was steep but meditative, and when we arrived, a group of young monks were chanting in low, steady voices. The sound seemed to blend with the wind. It wasn’t a place for spectacle; it was a place for presence. I didn’t take many photos. I just stood there, letting the rhythm of their world wash over mine.
Slow Days and Gentle Endings in Phaplu
We left Junbesi with that quiet feeling still lingering. The trail narrowed and dipped through the forest until we reached the road to Phaplu. Another jeep waited for us, less bumpy than the first, though just as dusty. By then, we didn’t mind. Phaplu felt like a return to something familiar, yet softer.
We stayed for three nights in Happy House, letting our legs rest and our minds catch up. There was no rush. Mornings came slowly, with cups of coffee and glimpses of peaks behind the clouds. It was a gentle ending, the kind that lets the experience settle rather than vanish.
Phaplu felt like a village growing into a town but still holding on to its roots. We explored its winding paths, passed by quiet shops, and visited the Phaplu Hospital, built by Sir Edmund Hillary, and still serving the people of Solukhumbu. One day, we walked up to Chiwong Monastery, perched on a ridge above the valley. The climb was steep, but the view was wide and humbling. This is where the Mani Rimdu Festival begins each year, carrying the spirit of the Himalayas down toward Tengboche and Everest. Being there felt like brushing against the pulse of something much older than any trail.
Remembering Past Journeys in Nepal
My love for Nepal runs deeper than I ever expected. Back in 2005, I trekked to Everest Base Camp starting from Jiri. At the time, I felt like I had truly seen Nepal, every corner, every mountain. Then in 2013, I took a helicopter tour to Everest. It was stylish, breathtaking even, but something didn’t sit right. That trip missed the soul I found in Nepal’s quieter, less-travelled valleys.
It wasn’t just Everest itself that captivated me, it was places like Phaplu and trails like Pikey Peak that stole my heart. Now at 57, trekking these underrated paths with my daughters has brought me a new kind of joy.
Sharing those views, the same ones that have pulled me back twice already and watching how these remote lands slowly change into progressive communities has only made me fall in love with Nepal more.
