Ruby Valley Trek: Gemstones, Goat Trails, and the Art of Questioning Life Choices

Let me preface this: if the Gosaikunda Trek was a spiritual slap in the face, the Ruby Valley Trek was like a 5-day group hug from Mother Nature—with occasional moments of her whispering, “Darling, why are you so slow?”

My accomplice this time? Priya, a friend who claims “adventure” is her middle name (it’s actually “Rani,” but who’s counting). Armed with questionable map skills and a bag of trail mix older than my hiking boots, we set off to find Nepal’s “hidden gem.” Spoiler: it’s not just a metaphor.

Day 1: The “This Is Fine” Delusion

The journey began with a bus ride to Dhading that made the Gosaikunda jeep feel like a luxury limo. Picture a vehicle held together by duct tape and prayers, blasting Nepali pop anthems. Priya, ever the optimist, chirped, “Think of the stories!” I thought, “I’ll die before I can tell them.”

We started in Gatlang, a village where roosters double as alarm clocks and the hillsides sparkled with mica—nature’s glitter. The trail meandered through terraced fields, and I felt almost serene… until Priya pointed at the distant peaks and said, “We’re sleeping up there tomorrow.” Cue existential dread.

Day 2: Goats, Goats Everywhere (But Not a Drop of Wi-Fi)

Ruby Valley isn’t called “ruby” for the gemstones alone—it’s also the shade your face turns when a herd of goats blocks your path. For 20 minutes. Their leader, a bearded elder with side-eye sharper than my trekking poles, stared us down like we owed him rent. Priya attempted diplomacy (“Namaste, uncle?”), while I considered a career in goat herding.

By midday, we hit Chalish, a village where time moves at “chai speed.” A grandma handed us steaming cups and a plate of sel roti while her grandkids giggled at our broken Nepali. The warmth here wasn’t just from the tea.

Day 3: Altitude, Attrition, and a Very Questionable Bridge

The trail to Tipling featured a “bridge” that was really just two logs and a prayer. Priya skipped across like a Disney protagonist. I inched forward, clinging to the rope railing, muttering, “I’m too young to die in fleece.”

At 3,200 meters, the air got cheeky. My lungs staged a protest, but the views? Chef’s kiss. Rolling hills dipped in emerald, ruby-red soil underfoot, and the kind of silence that makes you forget Instagram exists. Priya, ever poetic, said, “It’s like the earth is blushing.” I said, “Pass the oxygen.”

Day 4: The Night the Villages Sang

In Somdang, we bunked in a homestay run by a family who treated us like cousins. After dal bhat (carb-loading: trekker’s religion), the village kids taught us a folk dance involving a lot of clapping and tripping. Priya nailed it. I looked like a startled yak.

Later, under a sky dusted with stars, an elder shared stories of the valley’s ruby mines—not literal gemstones, but the “ruby” in the soil, the resilience of the people. It hit me: this trek wasn’t about the destination. It was about the humans along the way.

Day 5: The Descent (Or, How My Knees Became Mortal Enemies)

Descending to Khahare, gravity and I had a falling out. Priya bounded ahead, chanting, “Yoga legs, Michal!” I adopted the “old penguin” shuffle, questioning every life choice since agreeing to this.

But then—magic. We rounded a bend to see a waterfall carving rainbows into the cliffs. Priya, for once, was speechless. We sat there, damp and grinning, and I realized: my legs hated me, but my soul? It was doing cartwheels.

The Takeaway: Blisters, Bliss, and a Goat’s Side-Eye

The Ruby Valley Trek isn’t just a walk. It’s sheepish smiles from farmers, the crunch of red earth under boots, and the humbling truth that sometimes, the hardest paths lead to the softest moments.

Would I recommend it? Absolutely. Bring sturdy knees, an open heart, and maybe a peace offering for goats.