Sailung Nepal Travel Guide: Soulful Journey Across 108 Hills

18th Nov, 2025

Sailung: A Place That Felt Like It Was Waiting for Me

I didn’t plan on going to Sailung. Honestly, I’d barely heard of it.
But sometimes a place finds you before you find it.

This whole thing started on an ordinary Kathmandu morning, the kind where the air smells like tea and dust and everyone moves slowly, like they’re warming up for the day. I was sitting in a tiny teashop when a local guide—someone I’d known for all of five minutes—leaned over his cup and said:

“If you want to hear the clouds whispering, go to Sailung.”

Who says things like that?
And why did it hit me right in the chest?

I laughed awkwardly and pretended to play it cool, but honestly, that sentence stuck to me like a burr. By the next week, I was sitting in a jeep heading east, wondering what exactly I’d gotten myself into.

Sailung: The Slow Drifting Away From the City

Kathmandu faded behind us, one honk and one pothole at a time.
Banepa… Dhulikhel… Mude Bazaar…
Each place felt a little quieter, a little softer around the edges.

By the time we reached Deurali, the final stop before the trail, the air had turned cold enough to make my ears sting—but in that nice “wow, I’m alive” way.

And from there, the real world sort of… slipped away.

The Climb Into the Land of 108 Hills

The trail wasn’t long, but it climbed steadily through forests glowing with rhododendrons—actual glowing. Maybe it was the light, maybe my imagination was working overtime, who knows.

Locals talk about 108 hills up there, each one supposedly a resting place of gods. I’m not particularly religious, but something about that number, that legend, and the quiet… it all made the climb feel strangely meaningful.

I kept stopping, not because I was tired (okay, partly), but because the silence was comforting in a way I didn’t expect. Just wind. Trees. Footsteps. My own messy thoughts trying to catch up.

The Sherpa Herder Who Spoke Like a Poem

At the top, I found an elderly Sherpa herder with a flock of sheep that listened better than I ever have.
He didn’t say much at first. Just nodded at me like he already knew why I was there.

Then he looked out over the waves of hills and said:

“Sailung Baba watches the gods from here.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it.
Which somehow made it 100 times more poetic.

Something about the way he stood there—steady, quiet, unbothered—made me feel like I’d just walked into someone else’s grandfather’s memory.

That night, I slept in a teahouse warmed by a fire that crackled like it had gossip to share. Outside, the stars looked like someone had accidentally spilled a bag of glitter across the sky.

The Sunrise That Knocked Me a Little Off-Center

I woke up before dawn, mostly because the walls were thin and someone’s rooster had zero respect for sleep.

But I climbed anyway. Fingers numb, face freezing, slightly regretting all my life choices.

And then—
the horizon started glowing.

The sun hit the Himalayas in slow-motion: Gaurishankar first, then Langtang, then Ganesh Himal, then Everest in the distance—each peak lighting up like it had been waiting for its cue.

The clouds below us looked like an ocean made of cotton and breath.

I didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even take a photo at first.

It felt like one of those moments that doesn’t belong to your camera—it belongs to whatever part of you still remembers dreams.

Life Up There Just… Moves Differently

People in Sailung aren’t in a hurry.
Honestly, they don’t even seem aware that “hurry” exists.

Tamang women in bright shawls. Kids with cheeks red from wind, running everywhere. Yaks doing whatever they want (mostly ignoring everyone). Teahouses smelling like butter tea and wood smoke. Conversations that don’t need a shared language.

Everyone just… is.
And they let you be too.

There’s something incredibly healing about that.

Sailung in Simple Terms (Because Guides Get Too Fancy)

Where it is: On the border of Dolakha and Ramechhap
Height: 3,146 m (yes, your lungs will notice)
Distance from Kathmandu: About 130 km

Best time to go:

Oct–Dec: ridiculously clear views

Mar–May: flowers everywhere

Route: Kathmandu → Mude → Deurali → Sailung
Stay: Small teahouses and homestays (simple but warm)
Pack: Layers, trekking boots, sleeping bag, rain gear, headlamp, gloves, sunscreen

No crowds.
No giant hotels.
No overpriced cappuccinos.
Just wind, hills, clouds, and a kind of quiet you don’t realize you’ve been missing.

Why You Should Go (My Honest Opinion)

Because Sailung is the kind of place that:

doesn’t show off

doesn’t pretend

doesn’t try to impress you

and ends up impressing you anyway

It’s gentle.
It’s peaceful.
It’s the sort of place that makes your thoughts slow down until they match your footsteps.

The Goodbye I Didn’t Expect to Feel

As I walked back down, the clouds shifted just long enough for the sun to roll across the hills in this soft golden sweep.

It felt like the mountain was saying a quiet goodbye—one of those goodbyes that doesn’t feel final.

Back in Kathmandu, the noise didn’t bother me as much.
The traffic felt… almost charming.
(The keyword is “almost.” Kathmandu traffic is still Kathmandu traffic.)

But somewhere in me, the softness of Sailung stayed.
It still does.

Sometimes, when life gets too loud, I hear that whisper again:

“Come back when you can’t hear yourself.”

And honestly?
I will.