The Disney Forest Was Real, After All

It was one of those unplanned adventures.

I had been living in Kasar Devi for nearly three months. Time moved differently there. Slower, softer. It often felt like we were in an alternate reality. My routine had shifted completely from life in the city. My friends and I had settled into the land, made local friends, and spent most days working on our project, hiking, journaling, cooking, or simply staring at the mountains.

One morning, a local friend casually asked,

“Want to come to Dhakuri?”

They told us there was a trail through the forest, a place to camp, and views of the Himalayas that were beyond words. We’d have to leave that very day.

We didn’t ask too many questions. We just said yes.

The journey from Kasar took nearly seven hours by car. We reached a small village by late evening, just as the sun dipped behind the hills. From there, we had to hike another three to four hours, uphill and in the dark.

By the time we arrived in Dhakuri, it was pitch black.

There was nothing around us except a faded government lodge tucked into the trees. The rooms were run-down. No electricity. No proper bathroom. No toilet paper. Just the forest, the cold, and the wind. I remember standing outside with my friend, both of us holding flashlights, when we spotted a cow carcass nearby. It was eerie. My first thought was, Where are we? What are we doing here?

We cooked something simple — probably Maggi on a fire — and slept restlessly under thick blankets in creaky old beds, trying to ignore the sounds outside.

But the next morning, everything changed.

I stepped out and saw the Himalayas.

Clear. Snow-dusted. Glowing in the morning light.

The forest around us looked like something out of a dream. Rhododendrons were in full bloom — reds, pinks, and soft whites scattered across the green hills. The air smelled of earth and pine. Everything felt untouched, as if the forest had been waiting for us, and only us.

It didn’t feel like we were in a forgotten government lodge anymore. It felt like we had wandered into a secret world. One that only reveals itself when you let go of comfort.

We cooked over wood we gathered ourselves. No signal. No people. Just us, a few shepherds passing through with their flocks, and a lone baba walking barefoot toward a temple somewhere higher in the hills.

The forest looked like it had been lifted straight out of a Disney movie. Rhododendrons were in full bloom, and their petals had carpeted the forest floor in soft pinks and reds, as if someone had scattered them there for a celebration we hadn’t been invited to but were lucky enough to witness.

Even the sheep looked trippy. They moved slowly through the trees, soft and wide-eyed, almost glowing in the morning light. It felt like we had wandered into someone else’s story — a quieter, more magical one.

It didn’t feel real.

And yet, I’ve never felt more awake, more present, or more held by nature.