Returning to Nepal: Finding Meaning in the Kathmandu Valley

Returning to a place after many years means meeting an earlier version of yourself as well as a changed landscape. On his first visit to Nepal, Kowit Phadungruangkij was weighing questions about work, happiness and the life he wanted to lead. Three decades later, the Kathmandu Valley draws him back to its inhabited squares, shrines and daily rituals. His account follows both journeys, considering how a place can stay with us long after we leave and reveal something new when we return.

I have always believed that a single book can alter the course of a person’s life. In much the same way, a place imbued with meaning can leave an indelible imprint upon the soul. All it takes is for these encounters to arrive at precisely the right moment.

Looking back to 1996, I was at that uncertain stage of life our culture calls benjaphes – the threshold between youth and maturity. It was an age of confusion, of searching for answers to life’s most essential questions:

What did I truly want?

What was I meant to do with my life?

Was happiness found in pursuing what one loves, or in clinging to the security that so often comes in the form of wealth, possessions, and professional success?

At that time, I found the courage to break free from the confines of my own fears through a slim book by the Indian philosopher Jiddu Krishnamurti.

As though life itself wished to affirm the answers I was beginning to discover, I soon found myself travelling to a small kingdom cradled in the embrace of the Himalayas: Nepal.

As one writer once observed, “the Kathmandu Valley has more temples than houses, and more images of gods than people”. Among these, seven protected monument zones within three magnificent cities: Kathmandu, Patan, and Bhaktapur have been recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site since 1979.

Though three decades have now passed, my memories of those ten unhurried days wandering through the Kathmandu Valley remain astonishingly vivid. I made friends with Nepalis. I witnessed the profound devotion of the Tibetan Buddhist community. And I discovered something I had never encountered elsewhere.

Close encounters with living heritage

In other parts of the world, many World Heritage Sites are so meticulously preserved, so carefully arranged for visitors, that they sometimes seem strangely detached from the people who once gave them life.

The three ancient cities of the Kathmandu Valley are the very opposite. Here, the World Heritage Sites are very much alive. They can appear chaotic, even untidy, yet they pulse with extraordinary vitality. People continue to live among centuries-old palaces, exquisitely carved wooden temples and shophouses nestled within the Durbar Squares of all three cities, much as their ancestors have done for generations stretching back over a thousand years.

Back then, there was no such expression as sai mu—the Thai slang now used to describe those drawn, sometimes irresistibly, to deities, sacred rituals, and all things mystical. Yet even then, I could sense that faith in Nepal was not confined to temples or ceremonies. It flowed effortlessly into the rhythm of everyday life.

Each morning, I watched Nepalis pause before roadside shrines dedicated to Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles. It seemed that every street corner possessed its own guardian deity.

Around Boudhanath Stupa, Tibetan Buddhists circumambulated the great monument in serene devotion. Some spun prayer wheels as they walked; others fingered their malas, or prayer beads, murmuring mantras beneath their breath. A few performed full-body prostrations as the highest form of reverence to something greater than themselves.

Beyond the Kathmandu Valley, I journeyed to Pokhara, the gateway to the Himalayas, before continuing to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha and one of Buddhism’s four most sacred pilgrimage sites.

At the time, however, I was not especially drawn to the idea of pilgrimage itself. The notion had yet to take root within me. Even so, a question quietly lodged itself in my heart – a question that would remain with me for decades:

What is it that makes a place truly sacred? What transforms an ordinary destination into a place worthy of pilgrimage?

Years later, when I looked back on that journey in my journal, I wrote:

“As the aircraft lifted from Tribhuvan Airport, Boudhanath Stupa gradually receded beneath the wings, standing serenely amid the valley below. At that moment, I found myself offering a silent prayer to the great stupa: If life grants me another chance, may I return to this land once more.”

The thirty years that followed carried me along the path I had chosen for myself. Yet Nepal never truly left me. It returned often in memory though all too frequently through sorrowful news.

Returning, older and wiser, to Nepal

If my first journey to Nepal came at a turning point in youth, my return earlier this year came at another turning point no less profound. This time, I was preparing to enter the autumn of life. I found myself reflecting more often on life’s meaning, and on the destination toward which every journey ultimately leads.

Three decades had passed, yet my memories of Nepal’s living heritage remained surprisingly clear. Some things, of course, had changed.

At Kathmandu Durbar Square, restoration work around Hanuman Dhoka Palace was still underway. Areas that had once been closed to visitors had been transformed into museums preserving the memory of the royal dynasty that had ruled Nepal for centuries.

I had chosen to stay in Boudha, the neighbourhood named after Boudhanath – the magnificent stupa that has long served as the spiritual heart of Nepal’s Tibetan Buddhist community.

Following a narrow lane that wound steadily toward the stupa, I passed through a district transformed by tourism. Hotels and guesthouses, both old and new, lined the streets alongside Tibetan Buddhist gompas, or monasteries, cafés, restaurants, and souvenir shops.

Yet beneath these newer layers, everyday local life endured. When I reached the end of the narrow lane, the scene before me stopped me in my tracks. High above the great white dome, the all-seeing Eyes of the Buddha gazed serenely upon the world below. Long streamers of prayer flags cascaded from the golden spire, fluttering gently in the mountain breeze.

I walked toward the broad path surrounding the stupa. The fragrance of burning pine incense drifted through the cool morning air, mingling with the sudden flutter of pigeons that burst into flight whenever someone scattered grain upon the pavement.

Everything felt utterly natural. Nothing seemed staged. There was no sense of performance, no judgment, no conflict. Although the courtyard was alive with people, each person moved according to a rhythm entirely their own, as though every step formed part of a larger harmony. Each appeared to be listening to or communicating with something beyond themselves.

I closed my eyes and settled into the gentle rhythm of my breath. How long I remained there, I cannot say. Then, almost imperceptibly, a quiet yet unmistakable happiness arose within me. And I knew I had finally found the answer to the question I had been searching for through so many decades of my life.

Experience the Kathmandu Valley’s living heritage and discover what stays with you. Fly to Kathmandu with Thai Airways!