Nepal: Walking Far Enough to See Differently

04 Mar Nepal: Walking Far Enough to See Differently

My journey to Nepal was about ticking an item off my bucket list. It came from a deep desire to step sideways out of my usual life and into something entirely different. A place with different rhythms, different comforts, and different measures of what matters.

Our medical volunteer trek took us to four remote villages, each reached by long days of walking, anywhere from 12 to 20 kilometres between stops. In each village, we stayed at the local school, sleeping in tents. For many villagers, these tents were a curiosity in themselves, something entirely unfamiliar.

The schools became everything at once: home, clinic, and kitchen. A kitchen, in this case, meant a tarp laid out on a concrete classroom floor. By day, classrooms transformed into medical spaces. The children were educated and entertained by us with toothbrush models, Australian games, and joyful playground time.

Each clinic day unfolded with a steady, purposeful flow. Locals arrived from surrounding villages, often after hours of walking. Everyone registered. Vital signs and a brief history were taken. Triage determined where they went next. From there, they would see the doctor, the pharmacist, or me as the physiotherapist. Often, they saw all of us.

We treated well over 100 people per clinic day. Across the four clinics, just under 500 people were helped, educated, and cared for.

Our team was extraordinary. A true blend of cultures and skill sets working seamlessly together.

On the Nepali side, we had a male and female doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist, a chef, a guide, and eight porters who were far more than porters. They cooked, translated, carried, laughed, solved problems, and quietly held the entire operation together.

From Australia, we had three paramedics, one physiotherapist, and four non-medical helpers who were endlessly curious, eager to learn, and deeply committed.

One of the greatest gifts of this journey was the time I spent with my daughter, Kiana. Real time. Shared effort. Shared fatigue. Shared laughter. Watching her immerse herself so fully, connecting with the children, the patients, and the entire team. She learned from the Nepali team and asked thoughtful questions about life, work, and purpose. She experienced what it means to work with people rather than screens. That alone made the trip priceless.

As a physiotherapist, I was confronted daily by the limits of my own assumptions. These were strong bodies, built for survival. Bodies that carried heavy loads, climbed steep hills, and squatted for hours. And yet the concept of movement for anything other than function was unfamiliar. Stretching to relieve pain. Exercise as rehabilitation. Body awareness as a tool. These ideas often did not land, no matter how carefully I explained them or how clearly I demonstrated.

Watching my words lose meaning in translation, or seeing a beautifully corrected movement dissolve the moment I asked someone to change sides, reminded me how privileged my work in Australia is. How much education, time, and space are required for people to explore movement beyond survival.

And yet, people were deeply grateful. Relief mattered, even if brief. Being seen mattered. Being listened to mattered.

Between clinic days, we walked. Long, dusty treks through hills and villages, past goats and curious chickens. Somewhere along those paths, the soles of my shoes met the stretch of my soul.

The toilets were confronting. Smells that even essential oils could not disguise.

But what I loved far outweighed all of that.

I loved the team energy. The laughter at the end of long days. The shared beers in villages. The dancing. The stories. The sense that everyone belonged, regardless of role or culture. I loved getting to know Nepal not as a visitor passing through, but through deep immersion: staying in schools, sharing meals, working side by side with Nepali colleagues, learning through doing rather than observing.

I loved giving back through my expertise, even when it felt imperfect. I loved doing something completely different. Something that challenged my professional identity, my expectations, and my comfort zone.

Nepal did not just remind me how lucky I am.
It reminded me how alive I feel when I step outside the familiar.

This journey did not change what I do as a physiotherapist.
It deepened my understanding of why I do it.

And it gave me memories with my daughter, my team, my new friends, and a culture that will stay with me long after the dust has washed from my shoes.

I made a video that will show the highlights of this trek: