In the Silence of the Mountains: Shikha’s Solo Ladakh Journey with Thrillophilia

If someone had told me a year ago that a silly challenge at an office party would send me to the Himalayas ALONE, I would have laughed in their face. Yet, that is exactly what happened.

There was the usual coffee and chaos in the office cafeteria when my teammate dared me to do something "completely un-Shikha-like" before my birthday. "No rules, but it has to scare you a little," she said.

Weeks passed. I forgot. Or so I thought. Then one quiet Sunday, while scrolling through pictures of snow-covered mountains and glassy blue lakes, I stumbled on an ad for Ladakh. I clicked and scrolled, and by the end of the hour, I had booked a solo trip from Thrillophilia.

Not for self-discovery. Not for wanderlust. Just to prove a point.

But Ladakh had other plans. And what started as a dare became something I would never trade for the world.

Landing in a Different World

When I landed in Leh, the world felt different. The altitude hit me almost instantly, but the air itself was thin, dry, and pure. The landscape outside the airport window was unlike anything I had ever seen: endless brown stretches broken by streaks of snow.

My hotel owner greeted me with a warm smile and a hot cup of butter tea. "First day, take it slow," he advised kindly.

I wandered later that afternoon to the Leh Palace. From the top, the town spread below me. Then I made my way to Shanti Stupa. As the sun dipped behind the peaks, I sat cross-legged near the dome and let the wind speak the words I could not find.

Leh Market was alive that evening. Prayer flags fluttered above as I browsed local handicrafts and sipped ginger lemon honey tea at a tiny cafe.

That night, I wrote one line in my journal: *"The silence here is full of answers."

The Stories the Mountains Tell

Our driver, Rigzin, picked me up early the next morning. "Today we go west," he smiled.

And our first stop was the confluence of the Indus and Zanskar rivers. Two rivers, though different in colour, met and flowed together.

At Magnetic Hill, I laughed in disbelief as our vehicle rolled uphill. Science or magic, I did not care. I laughed so hard that it made me feel like a child again.

Later, we went to the Gurudwara Pathar Sahib, where I covered my head and sat in silence for a while, as a sense of peace wrapped itself around me.

It was SECMOL that brought a smile to my face with its vibrant energy, innovative spirit, and memories of "3 Idiots."

At night, I had dinner and then walked under the stars instead. Alone, but not feeling lonely even for a moment.

Deserts and Lakes of My Dreams

Crossing Khardung La Pass was like driving through a snow globe. The snow had blocked the routes, but Rigzin assured me, "Change of plan, but beauty stays."

Nubra Valley opened up like a secret. I stopped at Diskit Monastery and stood before the Maitreya Buddha with my arms folded in peace. There, I whispered a prayer without words.

But the surprise came when we reached the Hunder Sand Dunes. Cold desert winds, double-humped camels, and laughter echoing from ATV riders. I did not ride, but watched the other adventurers.

The next morning, we drove toward Pangong Tso, and the Shyok River was our guide on the route.

When I saw Pangong for the first time, I almost forgot to breathe. The colours shifted every second from blue, green, and silver to something in between.

I sat on a rock by the lake until my fingers went numb.

In my tent that night, wrapped in three blankets, I wrote: "You do not conquer nature. You let it change you."

The Return and the Realisations

The road back to Leh took us through Chang La Pass. At the top, there was silence and snow. And the tiny Chang La Baba temple, where travellers left behind scarves, coins, and wishes.

We stopped at the Druk Padma Karpo School, where the colourful walls, giggling kids, and ages of wisdom were prevalent in the simplest ways.

Thiksey Monastery was our final stop. There, I sat in the prayer hall as a group of monks chanted, and their voices echoed like waves. It was indeed a beautiful moment.

Back at the hotel, I hugged the humble owner goodbye. "Come next year. These mountains wait for no one, but they welcome everyone," he said.

What the Mountains Gave Me

On my last morning in Ladakh, I stood outside the airport staring at the mountains.

I came here on a dare. But I left with something quieter and deeper.

I let go of my need to explain, impress, or prove. The mountains did not give me answers. They gave me better questions.

Back home, people asked, "Weren't you scared going alone?"

I smiled. "Not even once."

Because sometimes, courage does not roar. It just quietly reflects.

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Thrillophilia Leh Ladakh Reviews