Nishant’s Solo Soul Search in Ladakh with Thrillophilia
Sometimes, life nudges you. Other times, it shouts. For me, Ladakh was a whisper that grew louder over the years - a gentle pull I could not ignore anymore. I was craving solitude, silence, and something to shake me awake from the monotony I had unknowingly let seep in. So, on May 29, 2024, I packed my backpack, left behind the noise of daily life, and boarded a flight to Leh alone.
The moment the plane descended into Leh, I knew this was not going to be just another trip. The mountains were not merely landforms here - they were guardians. There was a stillness in the air, broken only by the wind brushing against prayer flags. After checking in and catching my breath (literally, thanks to the altitude), I headed out to explore Leh.
The Leh Palace stood weathered yet proud, watching over the town. Shanti Stupa offered a view that made my heart pause for a moment. And then there was the Leh market - bustling yet composed, like the soul of the city wrapped in wool and turquoise.
Rivers, Riddles, and Rolling Landscapes
The next day, we set off for Sham Valley. Though I was travelling solo, I found a comfortable rhythm within the group, where conversations were easy and laughter was spontaneous. Sangam Point, where the Zanskar and Indus rivers met, looked like a painting still drying on nature's canvas. At Gurudwara Pathar Sahib, I found a moment of unexpected peace, bowing my head in quiet gratitude.
Magnetic Hill left all of us baffled. Our vehicle rolled uphill on its own, and while science had its explanations, I preferred the version where Ladakh itself was just playing tricks on us. SECMOL, the alternative school, was another revelation. The children there seemed to carry wisdom far beyond their age.
That evening, back in Leh, I opted for white water rafting. As the river surged beneath the raft and icy splashes hit my face, I felt more alive than I had in months. A part of me that had been dormant was waking up again.
From Mountain Tops to Desert Dunes
The journey to Nubra Valley was a change in geography as well as a shift in perspective. The road twisted and turned until we reached Khardung La, the highest motorable road in the world. I stood there, breathless from the altitude and the sheer majesty around me.
Descending into Nubra felt like entering another world. Diskit Monastery stood tall, its Buddha statue looking over the valley with eternal calm. I climbed to the top, stood by the statue, and just looked out. There were no questions in my mind at that moment, only an unspoken sense of clarity.
In Hunder, I could not resist the double-humped camel ride. The cold desert stretched endlessly, and I felt like a tiny dot moving through history. As the stars appeared one by one, we gathered by the campfire. Stories were shared, and silence was respected. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel alone in my solitude.
Lake of Dreams and Unscripted Stillness
The road to Pangong Lake was filled with challenges, but each one made the arrival even more magical. After reaching there, I realised Pangong Tso is an emotion. The lake changed colours with the sky as if mirroring the thoughts I was trying to untangle within myself.
I spent the day just... being. Watching. Listening. Breathing. At night, the temperature dipped, but I did not feel the cold. I wrapped myself in layers and sat under a sky littered with stars and let silence say what words never could.
Camping there reminded me that comfort does not always lie in luxury; sometimes, it lies in authenticity. In simplicity. In waking up to water that reflects heaven.
As we left Pangong, the return journey to Leh via Chang La Pass was a slow goodbye. We stopped at Thiksey Monastery, and I watched monks in maroon robes go about their daily prayers. The chants resonated deep within me.
The Rancho School visit was pure nostalgia. Besides the movie, it was about how that space embraced learning, imperfection, and possibility. There was joy in its simplicity, and I carried a piece of that joy with me as we returned to Leh.
A Village, A Meal, and A Memory Etched Forever
The final day took us to Stok Village. Set against the majestic Stok Kangri, the village felt like a frame from a forgotten postcard. We explored the palace, listened to tales of royalty and resilience, and took in panoramic views that would make even the most seasoned traveller sigh in awe.
But the highlight was a traditional Ladakhi home-cooked lunch. Sitting cross-legged in a modest home, I was served thukpa, skyu, and butter tea. The flavours were warm, unfamiliar yet comforting. The hospitality was genuine. It felt like a blessing in the form of a meal.
As we ended the day at Sindhu Ghat and watched the sun dissolve into the river, I realised something: this solo trip had never really been about being alone. It had been about coming home to myself.
June 4th came too soon. As I checked out of the hotel and made my way to the airport, I felt an odd mix of heaviness and lightness. Heaviness at leaving this magical land. Lightness because I was leaving with more than I came with.
At the airport, someone asked, "Travelling solo?"
I smiled. "Not really. The mountains kept me company."