Nepal is a narrow strip of country 1,930 kilometres long and, at its widest, 200 kilometres across, lying between India and China with the Himalaya running down the middle of it. That shape decides almost everything about travel here. The plains in the south are hot, flat and full of wildlife; the middle is a band of hills where people farm terraces into hillsides; and the top two thirds is mountain, most of it above four thousand metres, where the roads run out and the walking begins.
The country's centre of gravity is the Kathmandu Valley, a bowl of limestone about twenty kilometres across in the middle of the hills, where three old cities grew up within a few miles of each other and stayed separate: Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur. They are the densest concentration of temple architecture anywhere, and a hundred and fifty years of kings and carpenters produced a built landscape that reads as one continuous piece of work. Most visitors never leave the valley, and they never have to, because there is enough to see in a week.
North of the valley the road climbs to the Tibet border through the middle hills, and beyond that the roads stop. The trekking routes fan out from the valley into the high Himalaya: to Annapurna in the west, to Langtang and the Langtang Himal close by, to the Solukhumbu and Everest in the east. Each is a walk of days or weeks rather than a destination you drive to.
South of the hills, the Terai is a strip of tropical grassland and sal forest that runs the length of the country. It is flat, hot, and the only place in Nepal where you might see a one-horned rhinoceros, a tiger or a sloth bear in the wild. Chitwan and Bardiya are the parks; Lumbini, in the far west, is a sacred site and a monastic zone at the same time.
What makes Nepal worth the trouble is the combination: the density of history in the valley, the wildlife in the Terai, and the mountains, which are not a detour but the reason most people come. The same trip can hold all three, and most of the ones we write about do.