The Call of the Mountains: Swathi’s Ladakh Trip Review with Thrillophilia
There’s something about mountains that pulls you in. Maybe it’s the air - Ladakh’s adventurous yet calming air. Or maybe it’s the roads, winding like promises waiting to unfold.
For me and my two friends, our Ladakh trip with Thrillophilia was more than just a getaway—it was a chapter, one where every curve of the journey revealed something extraordinary.
When we boarded the flight that took us closer to the clouds and the mountains—little did we know—it would be an adventure of a lifetime.
Hello Ladakh!
Landing in Leh felt surreal. The crisp air, the skies bluer than we’d ever seen, and the mountains stood like silent guardians. And then, it hit us—altitude sickness!
Our driver, Mr. Sonam, chuckled and reassured us, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Ladakh teaches patience.” Little did we know, he was the unsung hero of our trip.
And if Ladakh were a story, Mr. Sonam, our driver, would be its narrator. Behind the wheel of his sturdy vehicle, he didn’t just navigate the treacherous Khardungla passes; he spun tales as smooth as the winding roads. Every mountain had a legend, every village a secret, and Sonam was our bridge to it all.
“Did you know these mountains glow golden during certain sunsets?” he asked once, eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. And sure enough, as if on cue, the sun dipped low, painting the peaks in hues of amber. We were spellbound.
Sonam had this knack for turning mundane drives into captivating sagas. Be it his stories about surviving blizzards or his warnings about marmots stealing snacks, every tale was laced with humour and a deep reverence for the land.
Of Roaring Rivers and Adrenaline Rushes
The highlight of our Ladakh adventure was definitely the river rafting at Sangam. The icy waters of the Zanskar River roared beneath us and our boat captain kept yelling, “Paddle harder, team!”
I distinctly remember my friend yelling, “This is not what I signed up for!” while simultaneously laughing like a madman as the raft tilted over a rapid. By the time we were done, we were drenched, freezing, and grinning.
Halfway through, our raft got stuck on a rock. “This is it. This is how it ends,” one of us joked, clutching the paddle like it was a lifesaver. But our guide simply laughed, jumped into the freezing water, and pushed us back on course. By the time we reached the end, shivering but victorious, we felt like warriors who had conquered not just the rapids, but a part of ourselves.
But the calm after the chaos was just as memorable. Sitting by the river, soaking up the sun, Sonam shared stories of Ladakh's ancient trade routes. “The mountains have their secrets,” he said with a smile. It felt like the mountains were whispering their secrets to us, too.
A Lake, A Dream, A Memory
They say Pangong Tso changes colours, but no one told us it also changes moods.
The moment we arrived, we were greeted by the bluest of blues, mirrored perfectly in the lake's still waters. Jimmy, the cheerful host at our cottage, welcomed us with hot butter tea and a smile that could outshine the Ladakhi sun.
That night, under a blanket of stars, we huddled around a campfire, listening to Jimmy’s tales of life by the lake. “Pangong is more than a lake. It's a living, breathing being,” he mused. Akash, always the sceptic, joked, “Is it breathing enough to keep us warm? Because I’m freezing!” Jimmy laughed and handed him another blanket.
But the drama wasn’t over. At midnight, a sudden gust of wind nearly knocked over our tent, leaving Nisha shrieking, “This is it! The mountains are done with us!” By morning, though, everything was calm again, as if Pangong had forgiven our intrusion.
A Taste of Local Life
On the last evening, we visited a local Ladakhi family, and it felt like stepping into a warm embrace. Their home was simple yet beautiful, with wooden carvings and a kitchen that smelled like heaven. They greeted us with butter tea and momos, the kind that made you close your eyes and savour every bite.
The family shared stories of harsh winters and bountiful summers, their words painting vivid pictures of a life so different yet so inviting. “We don’t have much, but what we have, we share,” our host said, passing us a bowl of freshly made apricot jam.
By the time we said our goodbyes, we all were teary-eyed. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” the grandmother asked. We nodded, swallowing lumps in our throats.
Lessons Learnt
Ladakh wasn’t just a destination; it was a teacher. It taught us to slow down, to appreciate the smallest joys—a steaming cup of chai, a child’s laughter, the play of sunlight on a distant peak. It reminded us of the resilience of both nature and the human spirit.
Thrillophilia had promised us an adventure, but what we got was an experience that tugged at our souls. From Mahika patiently handling our endless pre-trip queries to Sonam’s storytelling and Jimmy’s contagious cheerfulness, every person we met added another layer to our journey.
As we boarded the flight back home, the mountains seemed to whisper, “You’ll be back.”
And I knew we would. Because Ladakh was a feeling, one that had firmly nestled itself in our hearts.
Read more: Thrillophilia Ladakh Reviews