Pic – Viewpoint en route to Khardung La from Leh
Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 14 Min Read
Prologue:
There are journeys that take you to a place, and then there are journeys that take you out of yourself. Ladakh is one of those rare lands where every turn of the road feels like a threshold into another world. This is the story of our 10 days in that otherworldly realm.
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Preparing for the Worst:
In the weeks leading up to the journey, we found ourselves oscillating between excitement and unease. Doctor consultations, a small pharmacy of medicines, and contingency Plans A, B and C became our safety net against the unknown. Yet, the more we read, the heavier the anxiety grew. None of us—my wife, my mother, or I—were in the pink of health, and that only deepened the doubts. Should we begin Diamox two days before the flight? What if the side effects hit harder than the altitude? Would our bodies withstand the sudden plunge into rarefied air? And beyond health—what if landslides or floods cut us off mid-journey? These questions clouded our minds right until D-day. In the end we had none of those medicines before leaving.
Day 1: 20th Aug 2025 – Learning to Breathe All Over Again
Pic – View from our hotel in Leh
Landing at 3,500 meters above sea level, you realize almost instantly that the normalcy you take for granted has to shift — beginning with something as fundamental as breath. We touched down at Leh’s Kushok Bakula Rimpochee Airport around noon, the sun blazing overhead, and even the short walk to the parking lot felt like a slow trudge. Our cab driver, Sonam, gave us the first and perhaps most important piece of advice: keep sipping water. In the dry, cold air of high altitude, fluid loss happens faster, and dehydration is a quick trigger for AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) — something we’d read about extensively before setting off. His reminder was a gentle nudge that here, you have to listen to your body, respect its limits, and ease into the 2-day process of acclimatization in Leh.
We were four: my wife (Kavita) and I, our ten-year-old son (Advay), and my 62-year-old mother (Meera) — who wears sweaters even in Bangalore’s 20°C nights. Here, we were bracing ourselves for sub-zero nights. But this wasn’t a solitary adventure. A classmate (Subhajit) from my MBA days had made a last-minute decision to join, arriving with his wife (Swati), and daughter (Adrija) that very morning. Together, our little group was about to begin a journey that we weren’t going to forget in our lifetime.
Pic – Our stay at Leh – Ladakh Himalayan Retreat
As we stepped out of the airport and into Leh, the landscape unfolded in all its stark grandeur. An expanse of arid land stretched out before us, hemmed in by rocky, rugged mountains. Those in the distance rose higher still, their snow-capped peaks gleaming under the sharp sunlight. During our descent, we had caught fleeting glimpses of the mighty Karakoram and Zanskar ranges, though heavy clouds had veiled them from view. But here, under the blazing Leh sun, the mountains stood unveiled—clear as day.
Having left home at 4 a.m., all we craved by then was a hot shower and the embrace of a warm bed. Fortunately, our hotel, Ladakh Himalayan Retreat, was barely ten minutes from the airport. A smooth check-in, a cheerful hello to our friends—already refreshed from their siesta—and we were ready for a quick lunch before surrendering to sleep. The first day in Leh is never about adventure; it is about yielding to the altitude, slowing down, and letting the body find its rhythm. Light meals, steady hydration, and deep rest became our only itinerary.
The key during acclimatization is to stay alert to the body’s whispers before they grow louder. Discomfort can surface in many forms—an innocent headache, a wave of dizziness, a touch of fever, or nausea. Each body responds differently, and it’s often the smallest symptom that goes unnoticed. The best remedy is simple: rest, eat light—preferably a fluid-based diet—and give the body time to settle into this alien altitude. Calmness is half the cure. Listen to the advice of drivers and hotel staff; they’ve seen enough stories of travelers struggling at this height to know what matters. Still, remember—such cases are the exception, not the rule. One in ten, perhaps. And in the rare event of trouble, you are never far from help. Drivers carry oxygen cans and basic medicines, can arrange for oxygen cylinders on request, and most hotels in Leh keep these essentials within reach.
After an hour’s rest, we gathered in one of the rooms over tea and snacks. It had been a while since we had last met, and in many ways this trip was a reunion—my wife, my friend, his wife, and I had all been classmates during our MBA days. The air was laced with a restrained excitement, waiting to spill over, yet undercut by a quiet nervousness. We were all past forty now, no longer as sprightly as in our college years, and altitude is a risk that spares no one. That evening, we drew up a plan together—with the unspoken caveat that if anything went wrong, we had each other’s backs. Better to be cautious than reckless. We agreed to scale down our ambitions if needed and follow the itinerary suggested by our cab drivers for the next day: a measured round of sightseeing spots close to Leh, spread over a manageable 150 kilometers.
Pic – At the dinner table on Day 1
Our hotel, just a few kilometres from both the airport and the charming Leh market, was tucked away in a maze of alleys lined with similar lodgings. It had come recommended by our driver, and we decided to give it a shot. The choice turned out well—spacious, clean, and cosy rooms with all the essentials, and a meal plan that included breakfast and dinner. Like most hotels in Leh, it had neither ceiling fans nor air conditioning—hardly necessary in this climate—but a portable standing fan helped with the warm afternoons. When we arrived, the sun was sharp and the air unusually hot, but Leh’s weather is a fickle companion; it can swing dramatically, with temperatures plummeting without warning. That evening, we settled for an early dinner. The buffet was far from extravagant, yet the food was hearty, tasty, and thoughtfully inclusive of dishes for children—enough to leave us content.
We turned in early for the night, hoping to catch up on some much-needed rest after spending the better part of the day in airports. But sleep proved elusive—at least for me. I found myself waking up multiple times, restless and uneasy, without immediately understanding why. It was only later that I realized how the thinner air at this altitude affects even the simple act of breathing during sleep, leading to what I later learnt—thanks to a quick search—as hypobaric hypoxia. There wasn’t much to do except wait it out until sleep claimed me again. By morning, I discovered I wasn’t alone—my friends too had been kept awake by this subtle but unnerving reminder of Leh’s rarefied air.
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Day 2: 21st August 2025 – Stepping Out
The breakfast buffet the next morning was simple yet satisfying. Hunger pangs kicked in, and we ended up eating more. After a relaxed, unhurried meal, we set out around 9 a.m.
One of the first things you notice in Leh—and across Ladakh—is the unmistakable presence of the Indian Army. It’s hardly surprising, given the region’s turbulent history and the fact that this newly declared Union Territory shares sensitive borders with both Pakistan and China. We were to learn much more about this in the days ahead, but our first stop that morning set the tone: the Hall of Fame, the War Memorial located right in the heart of the city.
The museum is a tribute to the soldiers who laid down their lives in the Indo-Pak wars. Inside, it houses preserved artefacts, weapons, and equipment seized in battle, along with a poignant section dedicated to Siachen. For anyone with an interest in war history or the Indian Army, the place is a trove of stories and relics. Yet, it’s only one of several war memorials scattered across Ladakh, each with its own story.
That day’s highlight, however, was an impassioned address by an army veteran who had himself seen action in these mountains. With a fiery voice and deep conviction, he recounted tales of courage from the ’71 war and the Kargil conflict of ’99—both etched in the landscape of Ladakh. His words stirred goosebumps in the crowd and drew tears from more than a few eyes.
Pic: Enemy weapons seized by the Indian Army in battle
If you happen to be in Leh in the evening, the memorial also hosts a sound-and-light show that is well worth attending. Managed and maintained by the Army, the Hall of Fame is not just a museum—it’s a living reminder of the sacrifices that continue to shape this land.
We spent about an hour at the museum, and even picked up tickets for the evening sound-and-light show. Soon after, we were back on the road, taking NH1 as it gradually led us out of the city. With every passing kilometre, the landscape seemed to expand around us. The sheer magnitude of it all suddenly struck—the vast, arid stretches of dusty land, rugged mountains rising on every side, and the mighty Indus flowing alongside, twisting and turning yet somehow keeping pace with us throughout.
The climate, much like the terrain, is a study in extremes. Even at a modest 22°C, the sun scorched the skin, reminding us why sunscreen and sunglasses are not optional but essential companions here. There’s a rawness, almost a brutality, to the elements in Ladakh—yet all of it is wrapped in a breathtaking beauty that commands both awe and respect.
Guphuk’s Viewpoint:
Pic – Guphuk’s View Point
After a short drive, we arrived at Guphuk’s Viewpoint, a vantage spot that opened into sweeping views of towering mountains and lush valleys. Serene and picturesque, it’s the kind of place that seems made for photographers and nature lovers alike. We lingered a while, soaking it in and capturing a few candid moments against the backdrop of this grand, untamed canvas.
We continued along NH1 under the blazing sun as it edged closer to midday. About half an hour later, we arrived at Pathar Sahib Gurudwara.
Pic – At Pathar Sahib Gurudwara
According to legend, Guru Nanak himself visited this site. Folklore tells of a demon who once tormented the people of this region. When the Guru was deep in meditation, the demon hurled a boulder at him in an attempt to kill him. But instead of causing harm, the stone turned soft like wax. In a fit of rage, the demon kicked it—only to find his leg trapped. Realising his folly, he sought forgiveness, and Guru Nanak advised him to dedicate his life to serving mankind if he wished to find peace.
Even today, devotees can get a glimpse of this sacred stone inside the Gurudwara. Photography is strictly prohibited within the sanctum, and as with all Sikh places of worship, visitors are expected to cover their heads and wash their feet before entering.
Just a stone’s throw from the Gurudwara lies the curious Magnetic Hill. Here, the terrain creates an optical illusion—what actually is a gentle downhill slope appears to rise uphill. Park your car in neutral at the marked spot, and it seems to defy gravity by rolling uphill—only, in reality, it’s moving downward, masked by the deceptive topography and lack of a visible horizon. Scientifically, it’s a classic “gravity hill,” not magnetism at work.
About ten minutes from Magnetic Hill, we reached Sangam Point, the confluence of the Indus and Zanskar rivers. What makes this spot truly special is the opportunity to view the meeting of the rivers from strikingly close quarters. On most days, the Indus carries a clear shade of blue while the Zanskar flows in a muddier green, creating a dramatic contrast where the two merge. But in August, with rains and landslides feeding the streams, the Indus too had taken on a muddy hue—yet the sight was no less captivating.
We lingered for nearly half an hour, letting the quiet energy of the place wash over us. Watching the waters of these two mighty rivers mingle felt almost like witnessing a natural symphony. For those seeking adventure, activities like zip-lining, rafting are also offered here, adding another dimension to the experience.
Pic: Our table at Alchi Kitchen
Our last stop for the day was Alchi Monastery, about an hour’s drive away. But before that, we paused for lunch at a charming little restaurant just beside the monastery—Alchi Kitchen. Run entirely by women, it has carved a niche for itself in Ladakhi cuisine, offering a true farm-to-fork experience with creative twists on traditional dishes. For a group of famished travellers, it felt like stumbling upon exactly what we needed. We sampled a variety of vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes, each exquisitely presented and bursting with flavour. It was a one-of-a-kind experience, one my wife had long kept on her Ladakh bucket list, and it turned out to be every bit as rewarding for all of us. The restaurant buzzed with a steady flow of visitors, conversations flowing easily over food and the shared wonder of Ladakh’s landscapes.
With contented stomachs, we took a short walk to the monastery. Unlike many others in Ladakh, Alchi does not demand a steep climb to reach its temple. Instead, a quaint lane led us in, lined with little shops offering souvenirs and local handicrafts. The monastery itself exuded serenity, its Tibetan Buddhist architecture radiating a quiet grace. In the stillness of its courtyards and prayer halls, we found the perfect note on which to end our first day of exploration.
By 4 p.m., we were back at our hotel. That evening, we attended the Sound and Light show at the Hall of Fame War Memorial. Spanning an hour, the show takes you through the many battles fought in Ladakh, honouring the courage and sacrifice of the soldiers who laid down their lives to protect our borders. While it was engaging, I felt that listening to such stories firsthand from a soldier, as we had that morning, carried a deeper impact. Yet, with army jets roaring into the night sky as the backdrop, the show still stirred a profound sense of patriotism within us. It was good end to the day.
Our bodies, though tested, were holding up well. We felt ready—cautiously so—for the adventures that awaited in the days ahead. Ladakh had already begun to reveal its stark beauty and quiet challenges, and we couldn’t wait to discover what lay beyond.
Coming up in Part 2:
Next, we travel to Nubra Valley passing through the famous Khardung La Pass at an elevation of 5359 meters above sea level. We see the cold deserts of Ladakh and take a ride on Bactrian camels which was introduced to the region in the 19th century from Central Asia. The valley is part of the ancient silk roads that connected this region with Central Asia. Later, we go to Thang the last village of India, near the LOC (POK-India border) and also visit Turtuk, another village close to the border with its own unique history.
Coming soon! So stay tuned!
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About the author:
Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).
All rights reserved by whatsonsidsmind.com
Lovely especially to see your pictures. I was there twenty years ago. Lovely place.
Thanks Mick! Good to know that you have experienced it too. Lovely place, indeed!