A Day Inside Shivapuri: Nagi Gumba, Forest Trails and the Quiet Side of Kathmandu

There is a particular kind of freedom that comes from realizing you don’t need a long trek to escape. Not every adventure requires fourteen days in the mountains, a heavy backpack, or a carefully planned itinerary. Sometimes the best way to remember why you live in Nepal is to spend a single day inside its forests; close enough to be home by sunset, but far enough to feel as though you have left. [2] That is what this day was. We started from Buddhanilkantha, at the entry point of Shivapuri Nagarjun National Park. The plan was deliberately simple: park the bike, walk into the forest, see how the morning felt, and come home before dark. No fixed itinerary. No particular summit in mind. Just the kind of day that begins with a question and somehow ends with a memory. [3]

Before You Enter Shivapuri:

At the entrance, there is a park entry fee, and visitors need to obtain a permit before entering. At the time of our visit, we were charged Rs. 100 per person for Nepali citizens. [3] The entry permit is non-refundable and non-transferable, so it is worth making sure you actually intend to enter the park before paying. [4] Near the entrance, there is also convenient parking available: Rs. 20 per hour for motorbikes and Rs. 50 per hour for cars or jeeps. [4]
• Nepali citizens: Rs. 100 [4]
• SAARC nationals: Rs. 600 [4]
• Foreign visitors: Rs. 1,000 [4]

We packed light: water, chocolates, a few snacks, and the usual basics. There is one important thing to remember, though: this is a national park. Lighters, cigarettes, and meat products are not allowed inside, and bags may be checked at the entrance. It is better to know this before arriving than to discover it at the gate. [4, 5]

Start With Breakfast:

Before heading uphill, we stopped near the entrance for breakfast. Dal bhat. Eggs. Chiya. There are probably more sophisticated ways to begin a hike, but I am not sure there are many better ones in Nepal. There is also a motorable road through parts of the area for people who don’t want to walk the entire route. The road is rough in places and feels much more suited to vehicles built for uneven terrain. For us, the trail was the better choice. We wanted the forest. We wanted the quiet. And we wanted the feeling of actually walking away from the city. [5, 6]

Thirty Minutes In, the Forest Starts to Change

About thirty minutes into the hike, we reached a helipad point — an open clearing where the forest briefly gives the sky room to breathe. It is one of those places where you naturally stop for a moment. From here, you start to understand just how many possibilities Shivapuri offers. Depending on how much time and energy you have, you can choose different routes and destinations: [6]

• Shivapuri Peak (2,732 m): The highest point in the park and a much longer, more demanding day. [7]
• Bagdwar (2,514 m): Traditionally regarded as the source of the Bagmati River and an important spiritual destination. [7]
• Deurali (2,885 m): A quieter ridge with expansive views towards the valley. [7] • Nagi Gumba (1,981 m): A Buddhist nunnery hidden among the hills, and the destination we chose. [7]
• Sundarijal / Mulkharka: An alternative direction and exit area, with road access. [7]

If you only have half a day, Nagi Gumba makes a wonderful objective. If you're looking for a proper full-day mountain experience, Shivapuri Peak is the bigger adventure. [7, 8]

Walking Toward Nagi Gumba

From the helipad, we turned towards Nagi Gumba. The walk took roughly fifty minutes. Mostly uphill. Mostly shaded. Mostly quiet. Every now and then, the trees opened just enough for sunlight to fall across the trail. It was the kind of walk where your legs are busy, but your mind slowly becomes quieter. There was no rush. No traffic. No notifications. Just footsteps, birds, wind moving through the leaves, and the occasional sound of someone further along the trail. The closer we got to the gumba, the more the forest seemed to slow everything down. [8, 9]

Nagi Gumba Wasn't What I Expected

When we arrived at Nagi Gumba, I expected a beautiful viewpoint and a peaceful monastery. It was both. But it was also something more. The gumba felt alive. We could hear monks reading scriptures in low, steady voices. Prayer flags moved in the wind. The surrounding hills seemed almost too quiet for a place this close to Kathmandu. There were a few visitors around, but mostly it was simply the nuns going about their day. That distinction mattered. This didn't feel like a tourist attraction that happened to have a monastery. It felt like a working monastery that happened to welcome visitors. And that made the experience much more meaningful. [9, 10]

Meeting the Women of Nagi Gumba

I ended up talking with a few of the women living there. One had spent around forty years at Nagi Gumba. She was sixty-five. Another was ninety. Both were kind, calm, and completely unhurried. They didn't seem particularly interested in being photographed or in performing a version of monastery life for visitors. They were simply living there. At one point, they told us we were welcome to enter the main prayer hall. I had assumed we would need some special permission or arrangement. We didn't. The welcome was simply there. But it came with something equally important: respect. Places like this don't need visitors to make them more interesting. They need visitors to understand that they are entering someone's home, workplace, spiritual space and community. So, we slowed down. We listened. We spoke quietly. And we stayed for a while. [10, 11]

Sitting Outside the Gumba

After talking with the women, we sat on the steps outside. For a while, nobody needed to say much. The hills stretched away below us. Prayer flags moved gently in the wind. Clouds drifted through the valley. And Kathmandu felt very far away. I remember thinking something that surprised me: I would like to live somewhere like this one day. Not necessarily here. Not necessarily inside the mountains. But somewhere small. Somewhere quiet. A simple house in the hills, away from traffic and noise, where the loudest thing you hear at night is the wind moving through the trees. Sometimes a place doesn't give you an answer. It gives you a thought. That thought stayed with me. [12, 13]

From Nagi Gumba to Tarevir

After about an hour at the gumba, we continued towards Tarevir, a small settlement on the ridge. The walk itself became part of the reward. Eventually, the trees opened and the valley appeared. From Tarevir, the view stretches across much of the Kathmandu Valley. On a clear day, you can make out the surrounding hills, the urban haze, temple structures and landmarks across the valley, and Buddhanilkantha far below. There are a few teahouses here, which makes it a perfect place to stop. We ordered snacks. Then we asked for something I hadn't expected to find on a simple day hike: niigaar. [13, 14]

A Taste of Something Local

Niigaar is a traditional homemade fermented rice drink. Depending on the household and season, it may also be prepared using kodo, or millet. It is mild. Slightly sweet. A little cloudy. And gently warm with the character of something that has been fermented slowly over several days. It isn't the sort of drink you rush. It almost seems to insist that you sit down. So, we did. We spent about an hour at the teahouse, eating, drinking, looking at the valley and trying not to think about anything in particular. For perhaps the first time that day, we had nowhere else to be. [14, 15]

The Walk Back & Leaving Nothing Behind

Eventually, it was time to head down. The descent took roughly an hour. The same forest looked different on the way back. Or maybe we were different. Going uphill, you are usually thinking about the next turn, the next climb, the next place to rest. Coming downhill, the destination is simple: home. The forest felt quieter. The light had changed. And everything seemed slower. We left the park already making plans for the next visit. Next time, we said, we would start earlier. Next time, we would go farther. Next time, we would climb Shivapuri Peak. But that was for another day. [15, 16] There is one thing I hope anyone making this trip remembers: Please do not leave anything behind. Take your plastic. Take your wrappers. Take your empty bottles. Take whatever you carried into the forest back out with you. If you need to dispose of something, carry it down and use a proper dustbin at the entrance or once you're back in the city. The forest is not a dustbin. It is a home. It is home to the people living around and within these hills, to the nuns at the gumba, to birds and animals, and to thousands of small lives that exist there without anyone noticing them. We are not separate from nature. We are part of it. The least we can do is leave it the way we found it. [16, 17]

Nepal Doesn't Always Ask You to Go Far

One of the things I love most about living in Nepal is how easily an ordinary day can become an adventure. You can leave Kathmandu in the morning, walk into a forest, sit in a monastery, eat local food, look across the valley, and still be home by evening. You don't always need to climb the highest mountain. You don't always need to travel for weeks. Sometimes Nepal only asks you to walk into a forest, sit down, and pay attention. That is enough. And maybe that is why we promised ourselves we would come back. Next time, Shivapuri Peak. For now, Nagi Gumba was enough. [19, 20]