Candles in the streets of Pokhara - warm light fills the homes. Colorful Mandalas made of sand on the sidewalks, an orange trail leads into the shops and cafes, usually directly to the cash desk. It is Tihar, the festival of lights in Nepal. The candles and patterns should bring happiness and prosperity. And in Pokhara for many people their luck is ringing in the till. During our Dolpa Trekking the city has filled with tourists. It is high season, the streets are crowded with aimlessly strolling cultural hunters. They are all here to cut off their very personal piece of the Himalayas, slice-by-slice, until they become so thin that nothing remains but a few crumbs. A quick bite, a quick chewing. Swallowing.

Pokhara could be anywhere in the world, the same coffee shops with double espresso, hot chocolate, cakes, burgers and pizza, which are also found in Quito, el Calefate, Goa or Samarkand. And yet it is different today, with all the candle light and the dancers in the streets. A bit like Disneyland, Christmas and carnival together. Ten days have passed since we returned dirty but happy from the mountains. We showered at least twice a day, watched movies and ate. And then, some morning, like any other, we packed our stuff, hopped on the saddles, and left the whole turmoil, turned back to everyday Nepal.

Swings made of four long bamboo poles and a strong rope. The child yelling as it flies towards the sky. The festival in Nepal brings not only light and warmth but also joy and renewal. Bad feelings are simply swung away. And it seems to work. Nobody has a sad face. Perhaps we should also swing in the Western world from time to time.

We have selected minor roads from Pokhara to Kathmandu. On the paved highway, where all the crazy buses are crashing through the valley, cyclists have no place. Steep it goes up and down, often more than 1500 meter a day. There is nothing left of the Monsoon. The tracks are dust-drenched, a fine, ankle-deep powder, which is whirled up with every bus or moped passing by, and then covers everything with a fine brown veil.

Day by day the sun shines and the rice fields are harvested. A hard and time-consuming work which lasts from dusk till dawn. Rice is the main staple in Nepal. We would not mind, but the rice lands without exception in the standard Dal Bhat. Rice with lentil soup. Once we ask in a street kitchen for "fried rice". The owner stared at us helplessly, "I have no idea how to make that." And so our menu remains the same every day. Breakfast: Fried noodles of different quality, mostly well-stocked... Lunch, quick and everywhere available: instant noodles. Dinner: Dal Bhat. Soon we are dreaming of the rich menu in Pokhara. But at least it is cheap. Our daily budget: 10$. 2$ for each meal and 4$ for accommodation.

In Kathmandu we make another long break. Of course, we hate the city with its traffic, smog and muck. But nobody can skip Kathmandu. One week we wait for an Indian visa, a second one for the visa for Myanmar. In the meantime, we are applying for the necessary permits for another trekking, this time in the Everest region.

Nepal has two faces. On the one hand there are the superlatives: the highest mountains in the world, suspension bridges, which stretch over deep ravines, the land of mountaineers and heroes. Cozy tea houses, smiling sherpas, lonely trekking trails. But most of Nepal has a different face. Green hills, rice fields, simple mud houses. And there life is very unspectacular. Far away are all the tourists, the nice guest houses, the warm showers, fresh apple pies and fried snickers. Through this backyard we continue our journey, first on a brand new, Japanese built tar road, then again on dusty and rough tracks. A thousand meters down, a thousand meters up, and up and up. As far as the road goes. In Taksindo, on the edge of the Khumbu valley, we store our bikes at a guesthouse and from now on we continue on foot. We want to hike the Three Passes Trek in Sagharmata National Park. And as if Nepal had set up a mask, we are suddenly back again, in this hustle and bustle of the highest peaks.

Small propeller planes are landing every half hour on the rolling field in Lukla. There, they spit out the Everest tourists, followed by guides and porters. We wonder about the huge loads which are carried up, when there are heated guest houses, thick blankets and food awaiting the tired trekkers every evening. There are people on the way who would not take a single step out of their own house at home. But here everything is very simple. Porters are cheap, Sherpas friendly and helpful. A group of porters overtakes us. On their 100-liter bags is written, "responsible trekking - one trekker = one porter". When we check in to our guesthouse in the evening, the owner asks us, "where is your backpack?" We look at each other in amazement, "no, no, those are not only our day packs..." 80 to 100kg haul the porters which supply Namche Bazar, the main village in the Everest region with goods. At least 50% of all that is carried up are luxury goods. Mainly beer.

At noon we reach Renjo La on 5390 meter. When we cross the sharp ridge to the eastern side, the view is almost a shock. There they are, the mountain giants of our world, majestic, cold, brusque and beautiful. When we walk down from the pass it is, as we would hike through an imax cinema, with a canvas spanning over the whole horizon. And although we are feeling tired from the 1000 meter climb and the following descent, we cannot stop and climb another 600 meter up to Gokyo Ri to admire the sundown. We feel fit, are wide awake and a bit intoxicated by the thin mountain air. When the sun slowly goes down, fog rises in the valley and the panorama is painted in soft evening light, we know, that despite all the tourist side effects in the Everest region, it was no mistake to come here. We are astonished by the silence. And then the highest mountain of the world falls asleep

The next few days we hike over two other high passes, like two sleepwalkers in a sweet dream. Apart from the main trail to the Everest Base Camp, we now encounter hardly any other trekkers in the low season. Although we miss the cultural encounters and the total remoteness that we were able to experience in the Dolpa region, we can hardly get enough of the gigantic panorama, the archaic glaciers and turquoise lakes.

After twelve hiking days we are back in Taksindo and take our bikes. From here we ride on the "Midhill Highway" further to the eastern border. It is a rough and dusty mountain road. Nepal's mask falls, what appears beneath is this wet-weathered, open face, which we know so well already: wrinkled, unwashed and exhausted. But if you call a friendly "Namaste", you will find a laugh in its eyes. Sometimes a bit too overbearing, a bit too shrill, because it does not understand what happens when it sees the two cyclists.