My recent adventure took me to a remote monastery in Nepal, where I spent a night under the stars, surrounded by breathtaking landscapes and the serene ambiance of spiritual tranquility. Here’s a glimpse into my unforgettable journey.
A Night That Changed My Travel Perspective
Sometimes, a single night can change the way you travel forever. For me, that moment came not in a famous tourist spot but in the quiet halls of a Himalayan monastery. What began as a simple curiosity turned into one of the most profound experiences of my life—one that taught me about silence, simplicity, and the deep peace hidden in remote places.
What led me to stay in a remote monastery
It happened in Pokhara, at a small roadside tea stall where I had stopped for ginger lemon tea. A man named Tenzing, who looked to be in his late 50s with kind eyes and a weathered face, was sitting across from me. We got talking—first about mountains, then about life. When I told him I was searching for something different, something quieter, he said, “Go to the monastery above Tatopani. It’s not on any map, but the monks will welcome you if you arrive with a calm heart.” I didn’t know whether to take him seriously, but something in his voice felt honest. So, two days later, with nothing but a small backpack and a scribbled set of directions, I set off toward the hills.
The Journey to the Monastery—Remote Roads & Mountain Silence
How I reached the monastery (region, trek, location)
Reaching the monastery wasn’t easy. The path was long, quiet, and surrounded by nature in its rawest form. But the silence of the mountains, broken only by birdsong and wind, taught me something I didn’t expect—how to listen, really listen, to the world and myself. Following Tenzing’s hand-drawn map, I left for Tatopani early in the morning. The trail led through terraced fields, crossed narrow wooden bridges, and climbed steep, winding paths lined with rhododendron trees. I met almost no one along the way, just the occasional yak or shepherd. After about five hours of trekking, I reached a slight ridge where the clouds seemed to hang low enough to touch. And there, tucked into the edge of a cliff, stood the monastery—silent, simple, and timeless. It was located somewhere between Myagdi and Mustang, far from the nearest village. No roads, no vehicles, just mountain wind and the sound of distant bells.
First impressions of the place and the monks
As I stepped through the old wooden gate, the first thing I noticed was how still everything was. The monastery looked aged but well cared for—stone walls painted in faded red and gold, prayer flags dancing in the wind, and a huge prayer wheel turning slowly by itself. A monk greeted me at the entrance with folded hands and a warm, wordless smile. His name was Dorje, and he spoke little English, but somehow, I understood everything I needed to. A few young monks peeked out shyly from behind a doorway, giggling before disappearing again. There were no formalities, no questions—just quiet acceptance. They led me to a small room with a thin mattress, a blanket, and a window that opened out to the endless sky.
The Evening Rituals—Silence, Bells & Butter Lamps
The evening brought with it a different energy. As the sun dipped behind the peaks, a soft golden light fell over the monastery. Bells rang, butter lamps flickered, and every movement became more mindful. This was an hour of silence, during which the rituals held greater significance than the words.
Evening prayer experience
Around 5:30 PM, a soft bell rang through the stone courtyard. One by one, the monks, wrapped in deep maroon robes, walked silently toward the prayer hall. I followed at a distance, unsure if I was allowed to join. But Dorje, the monk who welcomed me, gently waved me in. Inside, the hall was dimly lit by rows of butter lamps. The scent of incense hung in the air, and the floor creaked under our feet. The chanting began—low, steady, and deep, like a mountain breathing. At first, I just sat there, listening. But slowly, the rhythm of the chants wrapped around me. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t comparing. I was just… present.
Interaction with young monks
After the prayers, we stepped outside. The cold had sharpened, and stars were beginning to appear in the sky. I sat near the courtyard wall, looking up, when a small group of young monks—no older than 10 or 12 — came over. They were curious about my backpack and laughed when I tried to speak a few Nepali words. One of them, a boy named Pema, showed me how they lit the butter lamps every evening. His tiny hands moved with care and precision, and though he barely spoke, his smile said more than words ever could. For a few minutes, we just sat there lighting lamps together. No noise. No phones. Just quiet joy in simple things.
Symbolism of rituals and inner calm
That evening made me realize something: these rituals weren’t just religious habits—they were anchors. The chants, the lamps, the silence—all of it was a way to stay connected. To the present. To each other. We are connected to something that extends beyond our everyday existence. In that soft light, I felt a kind of calm I had never known before. Not excitement. Not awe. Just peace—steady, quiet peace.
Early Morning Chanting—Waking Up to the Sound of Peace
Sunrise, cold air, and the monks’ chants
I woke up before dawn to the faint sound of chanting. The cold Himalayan air crept in through the window, but it didn’t bother me. Wrapped in my blanket, I sat by the window and listened. The sky slowly turned from deep blue to gold, and the chants from the prayer hall grew stronger.
Emotional and mental impact
It felt like the earth itself was waking up. My thoughts were still and clear, and I noticed a soft warmth in my chest—like quiet joy. I wasn’t thinking about what came next. I was just there, fully present, breathing in the peace.
What I learned from their discipline
The discipline of the monks—waking up early, chanting with full presence, and maintaining silence—showed me something powerful: peace isn’t found in luxury or comfort. It’s found in rhythm, focus, and devotion. Their routine, though simple, was deeply fulfilling.
Sharing Meals with Monks—The Power of Simplicity
What they eat and how
Meals were as simple as everything else: rice porridge, boiled vegetables, and butter tea. No fancy plates, no multiple courses. Yet each bite tasted honest—like food that nourished not just the body, but also the mind.
Silence during meals
No one spoke while eating. It was a silent ritual, where chewing felt like meditation. In that quiet, I felt my senses heighten. I tasted more, heard more, and felt more.
Conversation through gestures
Despite the silence, communication never stopped. Smiles, nods, shared glances—all of it was conversation. It made me realize how much we miss in our noisy lives by not paying attention to the quiet things.
Lessons I Carried Home—More Than Just a Travel Memory
Patience, humility, detachment
That night in the monastery gave me lessons I hadn’t planned to learn. I came back with more patience in my heart, more humility in my step, and a new sense of detachment from things I once thought were important.
How this changed my view of comfort and success
Success, I realized, isn’t about how much you can accumulate. It’s about how lightly you can live. The monks had nothing — and yet they had everything. Their peace was their wealth.
A silent conversation with myself
In the silence of that night, I had a conversation with myself that I’d been avoiding for years. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just honest. And that honesty changed something deep inside me.
How You Can Have This Experience Too
Regions where monastery stays are possible (Solukhumbu, Mustang, Namobuddha)
If you're curious to try this for yourself, Nepal offers many monastery stay options. Some popular regions include Solukhumbu (Everest region), Mustang, and Namobuddha near Kathmandu. Each offers a different kind of experience—but all are rooted in peace.
Permissions, what to carry, and cultural respect
Before visiting, always ask for permission, either in person or through local contacts. Carry only what you need: warm clothes, basic toiletries, and a respectful heart. Silence your phone, observe customs, and dress modestly.
Recommended time and travel tips
The best time for such an experience is between March and May or September and November, when the weather is pleasant. Hire a local guide if needed and always inform someone of your route before heading into remote areas.
Final Thoughts—The Most Peaceful Night of My Life
What I expected vs. what actually happened
I thought I’d find a peaceful monastery, maybe chant with the monks, eat a simple meal, and sleep early. But what I experienced was far more intense and beautiful. As evening fell, fog wrapped around the stone walls of the monastery. The air was cold and carried the scent of burning juniper. Prayer flags fluttered against the wind like whispers from the mountains. A young monk, no older than twelve, handed me a wool blanket and smiled without saying a word. Inside, the silence wasn’t empty; it was alive. The chanting echoed through the dim halls like a heartbeat. That night, under a sky filled with stars I had never seen so clearly, I realized this wasn’t just a night’s stay. It was a pause. A reminder. A turning point.
Summary of emotional, spiritual, and cultural takeaways
That one night gave me more than many weeks of travel. Emotionally, it healed me. Spiritually, it grounded me. Culturally, it humbled me. It reminded me of what travel is really about—connection. We often travel to escape. But sometimes, travel brings us face-to-face with truths we’ve been running from. A night in a monastery isn’t just for spiritual seekers—it’s for anyone ready to slow down, breathe deeper, and see the world—and themselves—with new eyes.
