Lost & Found in Ladakh: Nikita’s Solo Journey of Courage, Chaos, and Unexpected Connections
When Nikita told her friends she was travelling solo to Ladakh, she was met with raised eyebrows and scepticism.
"Alone? Are you serious?"
"What if something happens? Who will click your pictures?"
"Why not wait for a group trip?"
But waiting was something Nikita had done for far too long. Waiting for the perfect time. The perfect company. The perfect excuse.
This time, she did not want perfection. She just wanted to go.
So, on a September morning, she found herself staring out of an aeroplane window, watching the mighty Himalayas stretch beneath her. Her escape had officially begun.
First Encounters & First Hiccups
Landing in Leh was like stepping onto another planet - thin air, stark brown mountains, and an eerie silence that felt oddly peaceful.
Her driver greeted her with a smile. “Madam, first time in Ladakh?”
"First time travelling solo."
He laughed. “Good. Ladakh teaches many things.”
And he was right - lesson one came quicker than expected.
At the hotel, she realised her bag with all her essentials - power bank, snacks, medicines - was still in the car. But her driver was already gone. Panic set in.
Frustrated, she decided to step out for a walk to clear her head. That is when she met Tashi, an old shopkeeper selling handcrafted souvenirs.
Seeing her restless, he laughed, “You city people always rush. In Ladakh, we let things happen.”
And just like that, her driver arrived with her bag. The crisis passed, and the first lesson was learned.
The Road to Nowhere & Everywhere
The next morning, she headed towards Sham Valley, which is home to some of the most surreal sights of Ladakh.
At Magnetic Hill, the driver placed the car in neutral, and Nikita watched in disbelief as it rolled uphill on its own. Was it magic? An illusion? Or just the mountains playing tricks?
At the Indus-Zanskar confluence, she sat by the river, watching two powerful forces merge seamlessly. It reminded her of life - constant motion, change, and yet, somehow, balance.
But the real surprise of the day came when she reached Likir Monastery. As she wandered through its ancient halls, a young monk approached her.
"You are alone?" he asked curiously.
"Yes."
He smiled. “Then you are never alone. You have yourself.”
She did not reply. She just let the words sink in.
Khardung-La & The Highs of Going Solo
Day three took her to Khardung-La, one of the highest motorable roads in the world.
The altitude made her dizzy, but the view? BREATHTAKING.
She stood there, wrapped in layers, the icy wind biting at her face.
All around her, bikers celebrated, couples posed for photos, and groups huddled together. But she? She stood alone. And for the first time, that felt powerful rather than isolating.
This was her moment. And she was living it.
After Khardung-La, the road led to Nubra Valley, a place that made no sense - how could a desert exist at this altitude?
Riding a camel in the cold desert of Hunder, Nikita laughed at the absurdity of it all.
That evening, she sat by a bonfire at her camp, talking to fellow travellers. A couple from Bangalore. A biker from Punjab. A photographer from France.
Different stories and different journeys, yet here they all were - under the same Ladakhi sky, sharing warmth and conversations that would fade with the flames but never with time.
The Silence of Pangong
The journey to Pangong Lake was long, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
A lake so blue, so vast, it felt unreal.
The colours shifted with the sky - turquoise, deep navy, golden under the sunset. It was nature’s own masterpiece.
As she sat by the water, dipping her fingers into the freezing cold, she realized something.
This trip, this solitude, this silence - it was never about escaping life. It was about meeting herself.
That night, under a sky filled with a million stars, she felt found.
A Goodbye, Until Next Time
On her last day, Nikita decided to take one final walk through the bustling market of Leh. She wanted a souvenir that would be a piece of Ladakh she could carry with her.
As she browsed through stalls of prayer flags, turquoise jewellery, and handwoven shawls, she noticed a small shop tucked away in a corner. Inside, an elderly man was carefully etching intricate patterns onto a wooden prayer wheel.
Curious, she stepped inside.
"You like this?" he asked, looking up from his work.
"It is beautiful. Do you make all of these yourself?" she asked, running her fingers over a carved mantra.
He nodded. “Each one tells a story. What is your story?”
She hesitated, then smiled. "I came to Ladakh alone, searching for something. I am not sure what. But I think I found it."
The old man laughed, picking up a small prayer wheel. “Then take this. Let it remind you.”
As she held it in her hands, she felt the weight of the wood, and of the journey, the lessons, the moments she would never forget.
When she boarded her flight home, the prayer wheel was tucked safely in her bag. A reminder that Ladakh was a part of her now.
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