🏔️ My First Solo Trip: Losing (and Finding) Myself in Ladakh
- Wanderlust Wasi
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
In October 2021, I boarded a flight that would change me forever.
I started my journey from Dibrugarh, Assam, flew to Delhi, spent a night (half-scared, half-excited) and caught an early morning flight to Leh, Ladakh. That restless night in Delhi was a blur, but when I opened my eyes mid-flight the next morning, the world outside my window wasn’t the same anymore.
Beneath me stretched the snow-clad Zanskar range, sparkling like powdered glass. As we drifted closer to Ladakh, the landscape transformed — stark, barren mountains crowned with autumn’s last gift: groves of golden-yellow poplars glowing against the cold desert.
When I stepped out of the plane, a crisp breeze greeted me. It felt less like air and more like a whisper: welcome to another world.
🏔️ Breathing at the Roof of the World
Leh reminded me quickly that beauty comes with its tests. At over 11,000 feet, even walking felt like climbing. The staff at The Grand Dragon Ladakh welcomed me with warmth and gently urged me to do the one thing every traveler in Ladakh must do first-rest, acclimatize and sip garlic soup (their trusted remedy against high-altitude sickness), to wait. But my heart was impatient (patience was never my strongest trait). I rushed into the Leh market, chasing color and life, only to return to my room dizzy, breathless, undone by altitude.
That night, a headache hit me like a hammer. Alone, scared and clueless, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Yet by morning, with the help of camphor, Diamox and a lesson in humility, I was back on my feet, a little wiser: in Ladakh, patience is survival.
🕌 Monasteries and Meeting Rivers
The days that followed were a pilgrimage of sorts.
I stood in the shadow of Thiksey Monastery, its whitewashed walls glowing in the autumn sun. I wandered through the silent courtyards of Shey Monastery, where time itself seemed to bow its head. At the Sangam, where the emerald Indus meets the slate-grey Zanskar, I watched two rivers embrace.
🛣️ Khardung La: The Road to Courage
Then came the climb to Khardung La, one of the highest motorable passes on earth. The road was a ribbon draped recklessly across the mountains, each bend a test of faith. My pulse raced, my breath shallowed, but when I finally stood at the top, prayer flags flapping wildly in the thin air, I felt as if I had reached not just the roof of the world, but a higher version of myself.
On the other side lay Nubra Valley — soft dunes, flowing rivers, villages cradled in green. I checked into Lchang Nang Retreat, an eco-luxury haven nestled in the Karakorams. They surprised me with an outdoor picnic amidst the Karakoram range — already magical.
But night held the real gift.
🌌 The Night Sky That Changed Me
The hotel had arranged a telescope, but I barely needed it. Above me stretched a sky so rich with stars it seemed ready to spill over. I saw the Milky Way stretching across the sky and the Andromeda (spiral) galaxy with my naked eyes. Through the telescope, I glimpsed Saturn’s rings and Jupiter’s brilliance. As an astrophile, I couldn’t have dreamed of a better night.
I lay there in silence, my heart weightless, realizing that the universe doesn’t just exist above us — it lives inside us. That night, under Ladakh’s eternal sky, I fell in love: with solo travel, with the unknown, with the sheer wonder of being alive.
🏡 The Last Village at the Edge of India
The next morning, I drove farther north — to the last village of India near the Pakistan border — a part of Gilgit-Baltistan that became India’s after the 1971 war. A place where histories of wars and frontiers echo, yet life continues with warmth and quiet dignity.
The culture, the people, the hospitality — everything amazed me. But there was one challenge: no network and for the first time, I felt fear not for myself, but for my mother, waiting anxiously back home. A kind villager, sensing my unease, let me use his VSAT phone. Only after hearing my mom's voice did I breathe easy.
That night, I stayed in the village, right at the edge of India. Alone. It felt surreal.
🌊 Where the Sky Meets the Lake
On my final leg, I visited Pangong Tso, the legendary lake that shifts its colors with the mood of the sky. When I first saw it, I froze — the water was impossibly blue, more like a dream than reality. The mountains stood guard around it, as if even they couldn’t believe such beauty existed.
Standing there, I knew this wasn’t just a trip. It was a transformation.
💡 Why Ladakh Will Always Be My First Love
This wasn’t just my first solo journey. It was the first time I realized:
Fear fades when you face it.
The world is kind, even at its edges.
Being alone can be liberating, not lonely.
Ladakh didn’t just give me mountains, monasteries and stars.
It gave me a new rhythm, a deeper breath, a stronger me.
✨ The Beginning of Everything
Every traveler has a place that becomes their compass. For me, it will always be Ladakh — the land where it all began, the land that showed me that solo doesn’t mean lonely and that adventure begins the moment you decide to go.
This was my first solo journey.
Because once you’ve seen the world from 18,000 feet, once you’ve watched galaxies swirl above Nubra’s sand dunes, once you’ve found peace at the border of two countries — you can never go back to being the same.
And that’s the magic of travel.
✨ If you’re reading this wondering whether you should take that first solo trip, here’s your sign: do it. Start scared. Start unsure. Start anyway. Because the world is waiting — and it’s even more beautiful when you meet it on your own.
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