It was a back breaking, nail biting, fly infested, stinking, buffalo blinking, rice filled week. Bugs buzzed, goats bleated, roosters screeched and the sound of death filled my ears. No, this was not me accidentally getting stuck in an abattoir (heaven forbid), but voyaging through the villages around the Kathmandu Valley and 'getting in touch with nature'. I had been teaching at a school in Nepal for a month, and was reunited with my volunteer friends for seven days of hiking up hill and down dale. We had forsaken our daily comforts - makeup, showers, light at night, beds (Nepal's beds aren't the most comfortable, but they are still beds!) - for a life without running water or electricity, to really get to grips with Nepal's countryside culture.

We started off with a bus ride out of the city, followed by the traditional meal of daal bhaat (rice, curry and lentil soup with pickles). We strode off into the hills, carrying all our stuff for the week, including sleeping bag, first aid kit and other essentials (chocolate and Oreo cookies in my case). After crossing fast flowing rivers in our bare feet and tramping up goat trails, we arrived at our first house for the night in the hills. Our guide, Birman Dai (older brother) prepared what he called a "five star hotel" for us - essentially the four of us crammed in a little room in the “Land of the Thousand Flies”. You get the picture.

As I sat to take in the view, a frisky chicken ran by and goats jumped on the walls. A short while later, Mr Frisky met his match. I was just looking at the mountains when our host came out with a massive knife, and there was the noise of a very unhappy chicken - a chicken with its very life flashing in front of its eyes. Over the week, I would get used to this noise, as other chickens faced their sentences. The next thing I knew, the chuck was being prepared, its guts being removed.

The following days were filled with more new experiences, trekking through valleys and up mountains, over rivers and long bridges. We sampled chang, the local rice beer, and raksi, the traditional and potent alcohol that is brought out on special occasions - it's not that bad, but it does kind of remind me of drinking meths. We got used to living without being able to wash our faces, to watching meals cooked over a fire with no electricity, roosters waking us up with their squawking, trying to breath in the smoke filled houses and having everyone stare at us as we walked by (most of the locals had never seen white people before). We had also started grading the toilets of everywhere we went, based on factors such as accessibility, space, water, smell and general grossness – if there was a toilet that is!

There were some definite tough moments, cramped together every night on the floor, sleeping in lofts among the corn as the roosters crowded, the flies buzzed and chickens tried to sleep on my head. One day, we had to go steeply downhill in the blistering heat, before hiking up the river bed - 'The Valley of the Shadow of Death' - where we saw massive jaw bones and teeth and nearly collapsed with heat exhaustion. We stopped to soak our towels in water to manage the slog uphill, only to find the "restaurant" Birman had in mind for us was closed (basically a hut on the hill above the river bed).

Another day it was particularly hot, and we came across a river that was just crying out to be swum in. There was a gorgeous clear pool, a waterfall and a natural jacuzzi, so we stripped off and jumped right in. I even washed my hair under the waterfall - I've always wanted to do that!

I don't think I've ever sweated so much - we were hiking around six or seven hours a day, and at home you wouldn't dream of doing that without taking a shower, let alone doing it for seven days straight! Physically there were some tough moments, when my brain was screaming "stop this madness and go and get a beer", but somehow I always managed to find that little bit extra. This is definitely the roughest I've roughed it, away from any creature comforts. Unless you count animals getting a little too close for comfort, such as the friendly buffalo that stood in front of the toilet as I tried to get in, nuzzling me (by toilet I mean shack with a door that didn't shut, which the buff could open!).

Seeing how Nepali people really live was incredible. It was like stepping back in time at least a hundred years. Most of the houses are small, made of mud or similar, with the animals living downstairs - generally we'd sleep on the floor above them in a loft-style situation - and we ain't talking Manhattan-style loft apartment here! The lives of the locals were so simple, but difficult, working on the land and struggling to put hand to mouth. It was quite humbling, and something very few 'tourists' would ever get to encounter - we didn't see a road, let alone any kind of vehicle or another white person, during our whole trip.

Everyone was so kind and friendly and generous, despite the communication difficulties and despite having so little. One day, we spent ages singing and playing with the little kids - the whole village had turned up to see us. And of course the scenery was spectacular, with awesome views of mountains, rivers, streams, graded farmland, so much variety - it was like being in Lord of The Rings. And so still and quiet at night - I loved standing outside and looking at the stars in the clear night sky, or watching fireflies zoom over the maize and corn fields. It's definitely an experience I'll remember for the rest of my life.