I had seen the Andes and Patagonia. I had experienced the Nepalese Himalayas. I knew mountains held an essence that evoked sublime feelings. I had no idea what was in store when I decided to go to Tibet, on a journey that would take me to two of the most sacred mountains in the world.
Why Tibet
My desire to visit Tibet had been with me a long time. I'd always been inquisitive about the nature of reality, and discovering Alan Watts in my early twenties set me on a path that led me to largely adopt Buddhism as the philosophy that best resonated with my experience of the divine. After reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead and being amazed by its description of the intermediate state after death, I was convinced Tibetan Buddhism was the most provocative branch of Buddhism, maybe even cooler than Japanese Zen, though I practised Zen more.
While travelling in Asia, I became aware of Mount Kailash through bohemian friends I'd made in northern Thailand and Nepal. I was really into chakras at the time: energy centres in the body, each governing a different flavour of vibration in the soul. One buddy told me Kailash was the crown chakra of the earth, the crown being the pinnacle, the connection to the universe. To me, that made it the point where heaven and earth meet. Outside new-age spirituality, Kailash is the abode of Lord Shiva to Hindus and the "axis mundi" (centre of the world) to Buddhists.
Going to Kailash stayed a pipe dream during my first Asia trip. I had vague plans, and had even arranged some of the paperwork, like the Chinese visa, and talked to tour operators. But I'd started a travel relationship in Bali in May 2025 (it would last a year), and I didn't feel like leaving her to go to Tibet. "Kailash will always be there," I told myself, and I stayed in Indonesia.
Ironically, skipping it in 2025 worked in my favour. We had an incredible year together, and in Vietnam I finally did the bike trip I'd missed the year before, this time with her by my side.
What's more, it turns out some years are better than others to visit Mount Kailash...
The Fire Horse
2026 is the Year of the Horse in the Chinese calendar, which comes round every 12 years. The calendar also cycles through elements on top of the animals, and 2026 is Fire, making it the Year of the Fire Horse. That combination only comes round every 60 years.
Visiting Kailash in a Horse year is hugely significant to Tibetans. They say that in a regular year, walking the circuit around the mountain (the circumambulation, or "Kora") carries enough spiritual merit to wipe out a lifetime's karma. In a Horse year, it's said to be the equivalent of 13 Koras.
And to add to all of that, our tour date coincided with Saga Dawa, the Tibetan festival commemorating the Buddha's birth, enlightenment and passing. That meant thousands of Tibetan pilgrims would be doing the Kora at the same time as us, creating a human river of energy.
13 lifetimes of karma cleansed? Man, I need that. Let's do it!
When I brought it up with my girlfriend at the time, she was beside herself with worry that I'd never return. That's the nature of travel relationships: you need to stick together as long as you can before someone has to or wants to go home, and we'd already had a break the previous summer when I went home to visit family. She was worried it would happen again. Still, the opportunity was too great to miss.
Lhasa
And so I left her. After a last incredible week together in Indonesia, I flew to Lhasa to meet my guide.
My initial feelings were mixed. It was an expensive group tour, since Chinese government restrictions mean you must be with a certified guide the entire time in Tibet. I was once again far from the people I loved. The price and the hand-holding format put off the young bohemian backpackers I was used to, so my fellow tourists were a bit older, and I felt out of place. Not that it mattered. We were all there for the same thing.
Lhasa itself was a massively perspective-shifting experience. I'd never been anywhere with such a feeling of holiness. The ancient temples were beautiful, of course, but what took me aback was the devotion of the people. Almost everyone going about their business on the streets was holding prayer beads and reciting mantras under their breath. Some were even prostrating as they walked: three steps, lie on the ground, pray, get up, three more steps, and continue. I'd read about this, but seeing it in person moved me to tears.
After a few days in Lhasa, we got in the van for a truly immense road trip, covering hundreds of kilometres a day until we reached Mount Kailash in the far west of Tibet, with some great sights on the way. The Tibetan Plateau is often called "the roof of the world", and by one of my friends "God's true country", a result of the deeply spiritual culture, the incredible landscapes, and the solemnity of high-altitude life.
Everest
All mountains look up to Everest, but Everest looks up to no one.
One of the stops on the way to Kailash is a little-known mountain called Mount Everest. On the Tibetan side, base camp is thankfully accessible by road. Up to this point the clouds had been parting at every stop we reached. One of my Indian buddies on the trip would exclaim, "Look! How holy we are! See how the clouds part for us every time!" When we arrived at base camp, it was no different. There in the not-so-far distance stood the one and only Everest.
It's truly difficult to summarise what it feels like to look at her. This is the tallest mountain on the planet, after all. The energy of the mountain... even thinking about it now as I type this leaves me thoughtless. All mountains look up to Everest, but Everest looks up to no one. My friend Isabella and I sat as close as we could and meditated, both teary-eyed with gratitude that we were there to experience it. What's more, it was a full moon that night. We got to see a full moon over Mount Everest. Jesus.
After almost three hours of just sitting there looking at the mountain, we headed back to camp for food and sleep. The next morning we returned to the viewing point and visited a monastery facing Everest. Inside, a gathering of monks were in a chanting meditation. We walked around the room a couple of times in reverence and left a donation. The atmosphere was really ethereal: a bunch of mountain monks in Tibet, in a chant-induced trance, singing towards Everest. I get chills thinking about it.
Kailash
For me, it was always the missed opportunities in my life that caused the most suffering.
As the days passed, we drove further west across the plateau, with Kailash approaching. I was jubilant knowing I was about to redeem my sins: for me, it was always the missed opportunities in my life that caused the most suffering. The original Greek word for sin, hamartia, literally means "to miss the mark", whether a target, a goal, or just being plain absent to the greater thing.
We arrived in Darchen, the base town of Kailash. Bad news: officials were blocking tourists from starting the Kora because of weather concerns on one of the passes. We'd driven all the way across Tibet on a tight schedule and couldn't miss what we came for. For a moment I was a little bummed, but we all knew intuitively that we'd somehow do it.
The next day there was still no news. One of our drivers had been queueing at the government office for hours, waiting for a go or no-go. Then at midday we heard we could go. I ran to a local store for hiking poles, warm trousers and a day pack, got on the bus to the start point, and Isabella and I hiked off fast, knowing the first night's rest stop had a great view of Kailash.
After a few hours of trekking, we made it. Mount Kailash. What the actual fuck. I mean, I'd just seen Everest, right? But something about Kailash is beyond human comprehension. They say "Kailash" means "crystal", and I could see why: it seemed like some massive, throbbing, cosmic energy centre. I went to my room to drop my stuff and noticed a viewpoint that was technically off limits, but I could see other trekkers up at the prayer flags, so I ignored the signs saying not to go any further.
I sat at the prayer flags, reliving the feelings I'd had at Fitz Roy and in Nepal: worshipping the mountain. Only this time it wasn't something I was silently doing by myself. There was an entire congregation of Tibetans and pilgrims from across the world worshipping this god incarnate. I sat and meditated in reverence, but I had an itching feeling that I wanted to be closer. Lo and behold, I saw a couple of Chinese travellers I'd recently befriended walking up the glacial moraine path to the base of the mountain. The route was officially off limits to foreigners, but I decided to bite the bullet and follow them, and as soon as they saw me they beckoned me along.
The trek up to the base of Kailash was both emotionally and physically draining. Confronted with the most divine presence I'd ever felt, I was deeply aware of all my personality flaws and everything I'd done wrong in my life. I even felt like I was tripping at points, which you could attribute to the powerful energy vortex they say surrounds the mountain, if you believe that kind of stuff. It was one of those typical hikes where you always feel you're about to reach the highest point, only to find another incline past your believed stopping point.
When we finally made it, the mounting dread that had been building during the ascent faded away and we celebrated. We were literally the only people there, except perhaps the Buddhist monk they say lives in a cave at the base of the mountain. Strangely, I didn't feel the need to "spiritually capture" the moment by meditating there. We were all so excited that we spent most of the time taking pictures of each other. I guess that's a sign of the times: you make it all the way to the other side of the planet from where you were born to see god incarnate in a mountain, arguably the holiest sight on earth, and right at its foot you spend most of the time taking selfies. This life we live, eh?
Thirteen lifetimes
I went on to complete the rest of the Kora, with some difficulty at times. The highest point of the trek was the highest I've ever been, at around 5,600 metres. I declined oxygen for the sake of the physical and mental challenge. All the while, many Tibetan locals were doing prostrations around the entire 52km circuit. That blew my mind. These people truly put their god above everything else. Needless to say, the experience was incredible, and the rest of the trek had the beauty you'd expect from the Himalayas, in many ways more beautiful than Annapurna in Nepal the year before.
When the trek ended I was both relieved and proud of myself. Completing what I considered a major life milestone left me feeling I'd redeemed myself for past misgivings and regrets. But had I cleansed the karma of 13 lifetimes? I'm not so sure. One thing I will say: I felt called to that mountain. Everything in my life seemed to have been building up to it. God had looked me in the eyes, and I looked back. Though I was meek at first, I claimed my ground as a grateful child of existence.