Mountains, Milestones of One’s Life: Tanya’s Solo Ladakh Trip Review with Thrillophilia
I never planned to be a solo traveler. Honestly, I didn't plan much beyond coffee and code. But, one night, while sipping chai in my apartment, something hit me: I needed to escape.
Ladakh came to me like a calling, its whisper hidden in Instagram feeds and stories of strangers who seemed far braver than me. But I was done overthinking.
Book ticket, pack bag, get out- That was the plan.
Leh, Day One: Altitude and Attitude
The plane touched down in Leh, and as I stepped out, the air seemed to slap me in the face- thin, crisp, and oh-so-different from Pune’s sticky warmth. I was a bit dizzy, to be honest. But that might have been excitement, or the altitude- I couldn’t tell.
As I walked into the hotel room, a guy with a camera swung around his neck (Rahul, I would later find out) grinned at me. “Welcome to thin air and thick jackets,” he said.
And that’s how it started. A room full of people who weren’t friends yet, but something told me we were about to become more than just fellow travelers.
Karma (The Camel, Not the Cosmic Force)
You know how people say, "travel changes you"? Well, they’re wrong. Ladakh didn’t change me- it rearranged me.
One of the most random yet unforgettable moments was in Nubra Valley, with Karma. No, not cosmic justice. I’m talking about the camel.
There I was, riding on Karma’s back, trying to stay balanced as we swayed through the cold desert of Nubra Valley. He had a face that looked like it had seen the world's weirdness and didn’t care anymore. And somewhere between laughing at Rahul’s poor jokes and holding on for dear life, I realized I wasn’t thinking about work, deadlines, or city’s traffic. I was completely in the moment.
High on Life, Little of Oxygen
The climb to Khardung La was... well, I would say, interesting!
Have you ever laughed and wheezed at the same time? That's how we all were, gasping for breath while trying to snap selfies at 18,000 feet.
Rohan, a guy from Delhi who brought along a guitar, suddenly strummed a few notes. “Sing something, Tanya!” Shreya shouted.
So, there I was, singing “Pehla Nasha” at the highest motorable road in the world, as the wind nearly froze my vocal cords and the mountains echoed my out-of-tune melody.
I realized something right there: “Life doesn’t have to make sense to be perfect.”
Where Silence Speaks
You’ve seen the mesmerizing photos of Pangong, I’m sure. But they don’t prepare you for the real thing- The blues here are Unbelievable. The silence here is Unbreakable.
We all sat there, by the water, and for once, no one spoke. There was just this collective feeling of awe filled in everybody. Rahul had his camera, but even he wasn’t clicking. It felt like the lake demanded stillness.
And in that stillness, I found the long-lost clarity that I was looking for- about work, life, the need for these moments away from routine. Sometimes, silence says everything we can’t put into words.
A Little Madness
Chang La Pass was not just a stop on the itinerary. It was a test of endurance!
Picture this: 12 humans wrapped like mummies in layers of wool, shivering and yet laughing as we tried to warm our hands around cups of Maggi noodles. Sonam, our guide, suddenly announced, “Let’s have a snowball fight!” And so, there we were, pelting each other with snow, laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
At that very moment, I realized that this trip wasn’t about the destination, but about the absurd little moments, like trying to build a snowman at 17,000 feet with hands too frozen to function.
The Roads That Take You Inward
The roads in Ladakh are like life. One moment, smooth and beautiful, and the next, full of bumps and uncertainty. I didn’t always know where we were headed, but that was the beauty of it.
The conversations in the group were equally bumpy and beautiful. Rahul asked, “If you could leave everything behind and start over, would you?”
Rohan said, “In a heartbeat.”
Shreya, the philosopher, added, “Maybe it’s not about leaving behind. Maybe it’s about finding what you never knew you needed.”
I sat there, looking at the vast emptiness of the mountains, and realized that I wasn’t trying to escape life. I was just trying to live it better.
A Poem for the Peaks
On the last night, we sat around the guesthouse dining table, wrapped in blankets, sipping butter tea, and reminiscing about the trip.
Rohan took out his guitar, and without any word, began strumming a tune. He looked at me and said, “Tanya, you’re the writer. Give us something to remember Ladakh by.”
So, I wrote:
"Mountains tall and roads unknown,
With every mile, I found my own.
Lakes so blue, skies so wide,
In this land, I learned to ride.
Not just the roads, but life’s great ride,
With strangers who became my guide."
The Goodbye that Wasn’t Really a Goodbye
On the last day, as we hugged and promised to keep in touch, I felt this strange mix of happiness and melancholy. Happy because I knew I had gained something beautiful. Melancholy because I was leaving it behind.
This wasn’t just a trip; it was an experience that reshaped how I see the world. The landscapes stole my breath, and the moments we shared will stay with me forever. And like everyone who falls for this place, I know I’ll be back. Ladakh doesn’t just give you memories- it leaves a part of itself with you, wherever you go next.
Read more: Ladakh Trip Reviews