Documenting the changing face
of the valley,
one block at a time.

When I was starting out with photography, there was no YouTube, no online tutorials, no Instagram photographers to learn from — nothing like what exists today. If you wanted to learn, you either stumbled through it by yourself or you didn't learn at all.

Walking the streets alone was the hardest part. You hesitate. You second-guess. You feel awkward pulling a camera out in a busy square, and that hesitation eats into the time you should be spending on the craft. There was no one to ask, no one to walk with, no one going through the same thing.

That's why Photowalkersnp was started in 2014 — so newcomers wouldn't have to face those difficulties alone. Walk together, and the shyness has somewhere to go. Other people are carrying cameras alongside you. The focus stays on learning, on shooting, on getting better — not on that knot in your chest.

The walks were always free. Open to anyone, no prerequisites, no fee. That was the whole idea: share what you know, help each other, and make the street feel a little less lonely.

The crowds thinned over time. Life moves on, priorities shift — some drifted away. Over the years, the numbers quietly fell, until what was left of the Saturday walk was just two people.

Me and my eight-year-old son.

The Saturday walk still happens — same city, same streets, smaller purpose. It's become less of a public gathering and more of a private ritual, which is its own kind of good thing. It belongs to us now, and I wouldn't trade it.

The tradition hasn't stopped. If you want to join my son and me for a mindful stroll through the hidden corners of the Kathmandu Valley, you are always welcome. Just send a DM before Saturday to tag along.

What remains on this page is everything the walks taught: the lessons, the ethics, the locations, the photographs. The shape changed. The reason didn't.