Nepal was a study of extremes. For every adjective I would use to describe this country the adverb ‘very’ or ‘extremely’ or even ‘ridiculously’ proceeding it would be appropriate. The treks are very enjoyable, the people are extremely lovely and the landscape is ridiculously gorgeous. The cities are very chaotic, the temperature extremely freezing and the hygiene ridiculously filthy. Travel in Nepal is very confusing, bus rides extremely dangerous, and the taxis ridiculously jarring. 
We arrived into Kathmandu with the expectation of being overwhelmed by the traffic, touts, and pandemonium; however, we must have been well travelled, because we were pleasantly surprised with how calm and great we thought this city was despite other tourists claiming culture shock. There are plenty of eye catching shops and businesses in the tourist district of Thamel with a mind-blowing density that can cause sensory overload. Braden said I was like a goldfish – anything shiny would stop me in my tracks. Thamel was a plethora of colorful pashmina/carpet shops, ‘like-real/real-fake’ mountaineering stores, trekking agencies, cafés, and painting studios. The streets were a bit like bumper cars between the taxis, tourists, and rickshaws. Overhead was just as busy as the ground with powerlines at eye level, a collage of advertising signs and prayer flags.
Typical street scenes in Kathmandu
Subtle differences that we noticed between the Middle East and southern Asia are the relaxed nature and general acceptance of environment and other people by the locals. After being in the Middle East, especially Egypt, we were relieved to not being exposed to the obvious conservatism and relentlessness of the people. People in Nepal seemed generally happy to be alive, I didn’t have to cover my blond hair, Braden noticed that I wasn’t being glared at on regular intervals, and there were women (I don’t know where they are in Jordan, but women/girls are not seen in public).
The first step in preparing for our trek was to acquire the appropriate permits and decide if we wanted to hire a porter. The three levels of trekking personnel in order of decreasing clout are: (a) guide, def. a person to guide you around and has the knowledge of the landscape and history of the people to share with you, will be your personal photographer, and will help you with accommodation and necessities; (b) guide cum porter, def. someone who will carry a bag of your gear and will assist in finding accommodation, etc.; and (c) porter, def. a really strong man that carries a ton of weight and follows you around.
As independent (probably to a fault) travelers and priding ourselves on being comfortable in the mountains, the idea of hiring someone to go hiking was difficult and required serious deliberation. Arguments of supporting the local economy, getting a more authentic trip, and not having to carry all of our weight won out and we decided to get a porter for our 18-day trek on the Annapurna Circuit. At the third trekking agency we visited, we got a good feeling from the people and the guy there talked us into getting a guide cum porter instead of a porter so he would speak English.
We met our guide cum porter, Apar, the day before departing Kathmandu. It was Apar’s first of his second dozen times that he has hiked the Annapurna Circuit (i.e. his 13th time). He was a pleasant and funny guy, who we became very close with after spending 18 straight days with. He was also in training to be a guide, which we took to mean that he was not happy with carrying our bag. After we lugged 60- and 75-pound bags containing camping equipment, climbing gear, and a 17-inch high stack of books around for two months, we thought our 25-pound bag was pretty light, Apar did not. Aside from that difference, we all got along very well.
The trek began with a rough eight-hour bus ride (with a goat as a passenger), then another hour in a jeep that made us glad that we were walking the rest of the way. Every night we would stay in tea houses, which are generally homes that have been remodeled and expanded to accommodate the trekkers to be like little mountain hotels. Accommodation along the trek consisted of small (well ventilated) guest rooms made from plywood and stone with two twin beds containing thin foam mattresses. The tea houses also contained a common area with tables and a wood-fired kitchen providing home cooked meals. The most common, and only local meal, was Dal Bhat, which usually consists of a plate of rice, lentil soup, curried potatoes and pickle (a spicy radish-like vegetable). Braden attempted to eat Dal Bhat for lunch and dinner for every meal like the Nepalese and did very well for nearly 10 days. Other specialties that we enjoyed included garlic soup, warm milk with muesli, Tibetan bread, fried rice with vegetable, and apple pie.
For the first 7 days, we would hike 8-18 kilometers (5.5-11 miles) with an elevation gain of 200-900 meters (650-3,000 feet) daily. These first days were pleasant, with easy walking through beautiful rain-forested countryside and humongous waterfalls. The evenings were filled with Nepalese dancing and singing in the tea houses. At lower elevations, the farmers were harvesting rice by cutting the rice stalks with sickles, once the stalks were able to dry for a week or so, the people would go back and beat the rice out of the stalk. Food gathering and processing was observed daily, including many barefoot women spreading drying wheat and beans by walking on them on the front porch. This may also be the reason we would bite into sand in at least one meal per day. 
Construction of a new road was happening for the distance that we covered over the first five days of the trek. Our first encounter was when we came to an armed guard that had sticks crossing the trail. Apar, our guide, was having some heavy discussions with the guard with a lot of hand pointing to the trail ahead and the rickety bamboo bridge over the raging river to our right. Then Apar turned around and said, “Run”. So we ran! Then we realized why we were running – about 300 feet above us on a slope, the road construction crew was knocking rocks down the slope. We used the donkeys as a shield and kept running. At the end of the section we questioned Apar as to why we did that. His response was that the alternative was to cross the temporary bamboo bridge and that it was far more dangerous than rock fall. Later that evening, other tourists corroborated Apar’s theory saying that crossing the bamboo bridge was the scariest thing that they had ever done in their lives.
The second time we were affected by the road construction was when we were lounging during lunch that overlooked a gorgeous waterfall. More armed guards came by and ushered us back down the hill. The guard in front of me kept hitting his AK47 fully automatic machine gun on the rocks by the trail. It took everything I had to not say, “Dude, be careful with that thing.” The reason they were moving us was that 500 feet below us in the canyon, they were dynamiting for the new road. We moved to the ‘safe area’. The locals were huddled under a slightly overhanging boulder, us tourists hung out on the slope. Note: do as the locals do. The blasting began with a ka-boom that was so loud the ground shook and it hurt our ears. Then we noticed the grapefruit to basketball-sized rocks flying straight up from the canyon below and into the sky. When the rocks started raining down all around us, we dove in with the locals while the nearby houses were being bombarded by these flying death balls. I ended up on the lap of a local lady. For the rest of the day we listened closely to the guards, hurried along, and kept a sharp eye out for natural cover hiding places.
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