Sacred Ladakh Tour 2025 Diary: Encounters with the Wild Himalayas
Sep 08, 2025
I was in Ladakh in July 2025, guiding meditations through one of the most spiritually charged regions on Earth.
Ladakh, in the far north of India near the Tibetan plateau, is a high-altitude mountainous terrain where devotion has shaped the land itself. For centuries, it has been a place of retreat for masters, monks, and mystics. It remains a sanctuary where lineages of enlightenment have been preserved.
With 17 participants from 13 countries, the journey unfolded as a shared initiation. We came to sit where Enlightened Masters once sat, and to meet the illumined aspects of ourselves that reveal themselves in places like this.
What follows is a look at our journey over 16 days.
July 10 - July 11, 2025 - Leh, Ladakh
By the time we reached Ladakh, on the auspicious day of Guru Purnima, the first priority was rest at our hotel, The Zen Ladakh. At this altitude, nearly 3,500 meters above sea level, the body has no choice but to slow down. Headaches, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, every participant felt it to some degree. It’s a rite of passage here. The mountains demand presence, and the only way to meet them is by surrendering the usual momentum.
The first day was about letting everyone acclimatize. Our guide, Rahi, held the space beautifully. His experience with mountain terrain was obvious in the way he managed the group. He was steady, relaxed, and responsive to each person’s needs. He handled everything with such quiet confidence that the group naturally settled into trust.
My role is to facilitate meditation at sacred sites. Over the coming days, we will be sitting in monasteries where centuries of prayer have soaked into the walls, and entering caves where enlightened beings have lived and meditated.
It was heartwarming to see how quickly people softened into one another, offering support and encouragement as they moved through the initial discomfort. We also have Danelle with us, my incredible behind-the-scenes support who usually works on newsletters and web optimization, but on this trip, stepped into a deeper role.
She came to document the journey, and is filming and interviewing participants for what will become a travel video and written diary of our pilgrimage. For those who couldn’t join us, she is helping give voice and form to the moments that would be difficult to explain in words alone. I will be contributing to the record of this experience also, through writing and through video sharing’s.
On the first night I gave a discourse for our participants of the tour and it basically came through as a channelling. I was completely off my head with both jet lag and altitude effects and yet somehow managed to invite everyone into a divine communion with the energy of Ladakh. I invited them, to really embrace the quality of awe, and if tears are flowing in awe at the grandeur and beauty of the landscape or during experiences of meditation in the sacred places we will be visiting, to allow these tears to flow, and that this is a returning back, a homecoming for the soul. Therefore, both heart and soul will be touched and transformation is inevitable.
On the second day, at 6:00pm we went to visit the Shanti Stupa in Leh.
This was created by a Japanese Buddhist Monk together with collaboration by Tibetan Buddhists of Ladakh. It contains at its core, a relic from Gautama The Buddha, infusing this special place with divine energy. It was built solely to be a beacon for world peace.
Of course for peace to become possible, each unique individual needs to work on themselves to the point where they discover Inner Peace. Who we are within is what creates the outer reality. The stupa is a marvellous architectural wonder, built on a hill overlooking Leh and the surrounding mountains. We walked up 500 steps to reach to the top.
The place was swarming with tourists but we managed to find a quiet space where we could practice a Meditation from the Vigyan Bhairav Tantra devoted to inner peace.
“In any easy position gradually pervade an area between the armpits into great peace.” - (The Sutra from the Vigyan Bhairav Tantra)
As our group settled, shoulders softened. Breaths lengthened. For some, a knot deep inside began to loosen immediately; for others, awareness spread into the chest slowly, like warmth from a fire. Then it happened: a cascade of feelings long locked in the heart began to surface.
The Sutra in Practice
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You begin by finding a truly easy position, sitting, lying, or however your body can rest without strain. Once comfortable, scan through yourself from the legs upward, noticing any areas of tension.
Osho says: "When you feel that the body has got to an easy posture, don’t make much fuss about it. Just feel that the body is relaxed, then forget the body. Because really, remembering the body is a sort of tension. That’s why I say don’t make much fuss about it. Relax it and forget it. Forgetting is relaxation. Whenever you remember too much, that very remembering brings a tension to the body. "
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If you find tension, make it stronger for a moment, tighten the muscles, bring it to a peak, then let it go completely. This sharp contrast makes release easier to feel. The face often holds most of our tension, so it helps to deliberately scrunch every facial muscle before letting them fall open.
As Osho shares: "So just close your eyes and feel all over the body. Start from the legs, feel whether there is some tension or not. If you feel there is some tension, do one thing: make it more tense. If you feel there is some tension in the right leg, then make that tension as intense as possible. Bring it to a peak, then suddenly relax so that you can feel how the relaxation settles there. Then go all over the body just looking everywhere for some tension. Wherever you feel the tension make it more intense, because it is easy to relax when it is intense. In just a mid-state it is very difficult because you cannot feel it."
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Once the body is at ease, forget it. The act of constant monitoring creates tension. In forgetting the body, the mind can drop its grip.
Place your hands at the hollow area between your armpits, Now, bring awareness directly to the space between your armpits, the heart area, and feel it filled with great peace. Notice how the peace is already there, and your awareness is simply touching it. The heart is the natural source of peace; any time you have felt genuine peace in life, it has radiated from here.
Osho shares: "Become aware of the area between the armpits and feel that it is filled with great peace. Just feel peace there and you will feel it is filled. It is always filled but you have never been alert about it. This is only to increase your alertness, to bring you nearer home. And when you feel this peace you are farther away from the surface. Not that things will not be happening there—but when you try this experiment and when you are filled with peace you will feel a distance; the noise is coming from the street but there is a great distance now, a great space. It happens, but it brings no disturbance; rather, it brings you a deeper silence. This is the miracle. The children will be playing, someone will be listening to the radio, someone will be quarreling, and the whole world will be going around, but you feel that a great distance has come between you and everything. That distance comes because you have retreated from the periphery. Things are happening on the periphery and they will appear to you as if they are happening to someone else. You are not involved. Nothing touches you so you are not involved, you have transcended. This is transcendence."
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As you stay in this awareness, the usual noise of life doesn’t vanish, but it moves farther away. Sounds, traffic, voices, the activity of others, may still be present, but they no longer touch you in the same way. It’s as if you have stepped back from the surface of life into a deeper, quieter space. From this center, love and peace become inseparable. But unlike ordinary love, which is tangled with need, this love is unpossessive and steady. You are no longer seeking love to find peace; instead, your peace overflows into love.
Osho shares:" So love can only give you glimpses of peace but nothing really established, rooted. No eternal peace is possible through it, only glimpses. And between two glimpses there will be deep valleys of conflict, violence, hatred, and anger.
The other way is to find peace not through love, but directly. If you can find peace directly—and this is the method for it—your life will become filled with love. But now the quality of love will be different. It will not be possessive; it will not be centered around one. It will not be dependent and it will not make any one dependent on you. Your love will become just a lovingness, a compassion, a deep empathy. And now no one, not even a lover, can disturb you, because your peace is already rooted and your love comes as a shadow of your inner peace. The whole thing has become reversed."
When peace arises first, love becomes a gift instead of a bargain. And paradoxically, the more you give from this place, the more you feel it within yourself, like drawing water from an inexhaustible spring.
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The longer you remain in the heart, the more the world begins to seem dreamlike, distant in a way that prevents it from piercing you. The body may still register events, touch, sound, even pain, but the core of your being stays untouched.
And because peace has a physical presence, others can feel it. People are drawn to it instinctively, just as you might seek the cool shade of a tree on a hot day. Around a heart at rest, trust and openness grow naturally. And as this peace deepens, it begins to ripple outward. Inner peace naturally becomes outer peace, and through practices like this meditation, you become an instrument for peace in the world.
Osho shares: "when you are filled with peace everyone will behave differently toward you. They will be more loving and more kind, less resistant, more open, closer. A magnet is there. Peace is the magnet. When you are peaceful people come nearer to you; when you are disturbed everyone is repelled. And this is so physical a phenomenon that you can observe it easily.
Whenever you are peaceful you will feel everyone wants to be closer to you because that peace radiates, it becomes a vibration around you. Circles of peace move around you and whosoever comes near wants to be nearer to you, like you want to move under the shadow of a tree and to relax there.."
As we practiced on that mountaintop, the stillness was palpable. Even with the hum of visitors and the sound of wind on prayer flags, everyone in the group felt that subtle distance from the noise. When we finally opened our eyes, the landscape seemed to meet us differently—seen through the eyes of a quiet, steady heart.
12th July 2025 - Leh, Ladakh
In the morning we practiced Osho’s Mahamudra Meditation in our hotel in honour of the Thiksey Monastery where monks have been practicing their form of Mahamudra Meditation for hundreds of Years.
After lunch, we journeyed to Thiksay Monastery, the crown jewel of central Ladakh and one of the most architecturally stunning monasteries in all of the Himalayas. Belonging to the Gelugpa tradition, the so-called “Yellow Hat” sect of Tibetan Buddhism founded by Je Tsongkhapa in the 14th century, Thiksey is a microcosm of Tibetan monastic life. Its sheer size and dramatic placement on a hilltop make it look like a cascading fortress of devotion, often compared to the Potala Palace in Lhasa, once the seat of the Dalai Lama.
From a distance, the monastery looks almost like a village within itself, stacked tier upon tier with red, white, and ochre buildings. At 12 stories high and sprawling across the hillside, it is the largest monastery in central Ladakh, and houses nearly 120 monks. Its very existence is an engineering marvel, being built in the mid-1500s, long before modern machinery or roads reached this remote high-altitude region, it still stands resilient at 3,600 meters (11,800 ft) above sea level.
The Great Maitreya Buddha
One of the monastery’s greatest treasures is the 15-meter-tall statue of Maitreya, the largest indoor statue in Ladakh, built in 1970 to commemorate the visit of the 14th Dalai Lama. The project took four years and the labor of local artisans, who cast the statue in clay and covered it with gold paint. The Maitreya is seated in lotus posture, his gaze soft yet commanding, occupying a two-story chamber that radiates an aura of calm majesty.
Maitreya, whose name means “The Friend,” is revered as the Buddha-to-come, prophesied by Gautama Buddha 2,500 years ago. According to Buddhist cosmology, every 2,500 years marks a turning of the wheel of Dharma, a new spiritual era. In Buddhist thought, Maitreya’s age is the one we are entering, a time where spirituality will move from hierarchy and exclusivity toward friendship and collective awakening.
Jampa, the monk who guided us, explained that Maitreya symbolizes a world where every encounter, whether with a teacher, a stranger, or even a moment of adversity is understood as a meeting with “the friend,” a source of insight and transformation.
The Founding Legend
Monk Jampa shared the monastery’s origin story, rich with symbolism and the supernatural. In the 15th century, the revered teacher Sherab Zangpo, a disciple of Je Tsongkhapa himself, was instructed to establish a monastery in Ladakh to spread the Gelug teachings. His disciple, Palden Zangpo, carried out the mission. With the King of Ladakh’s patronage, he performed a ritual offering (torma) on the designated hill. But in a twist of fate, two crows swooped down, lifted the ritual cake, and carried it to another hill, where they placed it intact on a flat rock. The precision of the offering, undisturbed, was read as a message from the guardian deities.
The crows themselves are deeply symbolic in Tibetan iconography; they are seen as manifestations of Mahakala, a powerful protector deity, often invoked to remove obstacles to spiritual practice. By following the crows’ guidance, Palden Zangpo secured the monastery’s divine location. The word “Thiksey” means “in perfect order,” commemorating how the ritual cake was found perfectly arranged by unseen hands.
Thiksay Monastery Architectural and Cultural Riches
Wandering through Thiksay feels like moving through a living museum of Tibetan culture. The monastery houses ten temples, assembly halls, a library of scriptures, stupas, and a nunnery. Its murals, or thangkas, depict Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and fierce protector deities. In the Tara Temple, devotees honor the 21 Taras, the female embodiments of compassion, each offering a unique form of aid, from protecting travelers to overcoming fear.
In one chamber sits a statue of Cham-Sung, the protector deity of Thiksay, whose role is to safeguard the teachings and practitioners of the monastery. Another chamber contains relics and images of Tsongkhapa, the founder of the Gelugpa school. The library preserves ancient Buddhist scriptures written in Tibetan and Sanskrit, many painstakingly hand-copied and preserved.
The monastery is also home to the annual Gustor Festival, held in October or November, where monks perform sacred Cham dances wearing elaborate masks. These dances enact the triumph of good over evil and are believed to cleanse the land of obstacles for the coming year. Visitors from across Ladakh and beyond gather to witness the ritual, making Thiksay a community focal point.
Tibetan Buddhist Training and Practices
Jampa shared with us the rigors of monastic training. Novices begin not with complex meditations but with a deceptively simple discipline of carrying a bowl of water without spilling a drop from morning until night. He himself undertook this training for three years before being allowed to practice Vipassana. The exercise, he explained, develops skills foundational to meditation.
Beyond this, monks are trained in Mahamudra, the meditation on supreme emptiness. Jampa described how only after years of water-bowl practice, Vipassana, and advanced visualizations are monks initiated into Mahamudra. At its highest levels, the practice leads to mastery of both waking and sleeping states, so profound that a monk may remain fully alert even in dreamless sleep. The ultimate fruit, according to the lineage, is attainment of the Rainbow Body, where the physical body dissolves into light at the time of death, transcending the cycle of birth and rebirth.
That evening, over dinner, we watched a documentary exploring the so-called “lost years of Jesus,” which spoke of his sojourns in India and Tibet. The narrative referenced manuscripts said to be kept at Hemis Monastery, a short distance from Thiksey, detailing Issa’s (Jesus’) travels, encounters with yogis, and studies of Eastern traditions. Whether legend or fact, the story highlighted what Ladakh has long been, a place where spiritual currents from across the world meet and intermingle.
13th July 2025 - Leh, Ladakh
We left the hotel at 6:30am to travel for one hour to the famed Hemis Monastery, one of Ladakh’s most important spiritual sites. Though today it belongs to the Drukpa lineage of Tibetan Buddhism, Hemis is believed to have existed before the 11th century, with oral traditions tracing its origins back even further. The monastery rose to prominence in the 17th century under King Sengge Namgyal, who granted it royal patronage. Since then, it has remained a vibrant center of Vajrayana practice, renowned for its annual Hemis Festival, where masked cham dances honor Padmasambhava.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by a monk who invited us to sit and meditate in the Tara Temple, a sanctuary dedicated to the 21 Taras, each embodying an aspect of compassionate action. The air in the temple felt soft, luminous, as though centuries of prayer and mantra had soaked into the very stones.
This meditation was our preparation for what lay ahead: a 1.5-hour trek up the mountain behind Hemis to an even more ancient monastery site, Gotsang Gompa.
The Trek to the Ancient Hermitage
The path was steep and the altitude demanding, but every step was filled with awe. Along the way, we passed mani walls, stone structures engraved with mantras like Om Mani Padme Hum, and prayer flags fluttering wildly in the high mountain winds, sending blessings across the valley below. The trail wound upward to a cliffside hermitage said to have sheltered great saints, and, as legend tells, even Jesus during his so-called “lost years.”
The hermitage is built around a cave sanctified by centuries of meditation. From the terrace outside, we looked down on sweeping valleys, snow-dusted ridges, and the Indus River threading its way like a silver ribbon far below. Here, amidst the silence and stark beauty, it is easy to believe this place could hold the memory of a wandering sage seeking truth.
We sat in a circle on the terrace to share our simple picnic breakfast, poha, fresh fruit, and warm tea generously prepared by our hotel staff. At this altitude, even humble food takes on a sacred quality. Every bite felt grounding, nourishing, earned through the climb.
The Words of Jesus
After our meal, I read aloud a passage from Prayers of the Cosmos by Neil Douglas-Klotz, which offers translations of Jesus’ words directly from Aramaic, his native tongue. Douglas-Klotz emphasizes that many of Jesus’ sayings were altered when first rendered into Greek, then Latin, and finally into English. In that long chain of translation, subtle layers of meaning, especially those connected to breath, sound, and embodied spirituality, were lost.
The passage we read, a translation of the opening lines of the Lord’s Prayer, recast Jesus’ invocation in poetic, cosmic imagery:
“O Birther! Father-Mother of the cosmos. You create all that moves in light. O Thou! The breathing life of all. Creator of the shimmering sound that touches us.
Respiration of all worlds. We hear you breathing in and out in silence. Source of Sound; in the roar and the whisper. In the breeze and the whirlwind, we hear your name. Radiant one; you shine within us. Outside us, even darkness shines, when we remember
Name of names, our small identity unravels in you; you give it back. As a lesson, wordless action, silent potency where ears and eyes awaken, there Heaven comes. O Birther! Father-Mother of the Cosmos!” - (Jesus, from the book Prayers of the Cosmos)
Meditation in the Cave
Afterwards, we entered the cave itself. Its walls, darkened by centuries of butter lamps, carried an almost tangible vibration. Sitting in silence for an hour, each of us found our breath deepening, our minds softening into stillness. The cave felt like a womb of stone, at once grounding and elevating. For many, it was a homecoming, a place that reminded us of something ancient within ourselves.
Sites like this are often called “power spots” in Himalayan traditions, places where the earth’s energies converge and amplify spiritual practice. In Tibetan Buddhism, caves such as these are revered as places where Milarepa, Naropa, and Padmasambhava once meditated, achieving visions and insights that carried into their teachings. The fact that this cave, too, is linked to Jesus in the legends surrounding Ladakh makes it a crossroads of traditions, a site where East and West meet in shared reverence for the sacred.
Honoring Padmasambhava at Hemis
Descending the mountain, we returned to Hemis Monastery proper, dedicated above all to Padmasambhava, the great tantric master who carried Buddhism into Tibet in the 8th century. Known as the “Second Buddha,” Padmasambhava is said to have subdued the local spirits of Tibet, transforming them into protectors of the Dharma.
The monastery courtyard is vast, encircled by painted colonnades. Here, every summer, monks perform the Hemis Festival Cham dances, wearing elaborately carved masks representing deities, demons, and animals. The dances reenact the triumph of wisdom over ignorance, of compassionate action over harmful forces, in a vivid theatre of sound, color, and movement. The festival also commemorates Naropa, one of the great Indian mahasiddhas, whose relics are said to be housed at Hemis. Naropa was the teacher of Marpa, who in turn trained Milarepa, the poet-saint of Tibet. In this way, Hemis is a living link to the transmission lineages that shaped Tibetan Buddhism.
The monastery itself houses rare treasures: ancient thangkas, scriptures, and relics, some displayed only during special festivals. Among them is the famous thangka of Padmasambhava, unfurled once every 12 years during the Hemis festival, so large it covers the entire side of a building.
After such a profound morning, we returned for a late lunch and then welcomed a stretch of free time. Some chose to rest, while others wandered into the local market.
14th July - Uleytokpo, Ladakh
Today, after breakfast, our caravan of cars, luggage strapped high on the roofs, set out once again, winding our way through Ladakh’s dramatic terrain. The road seemed like the thinnest ribbon etched into the mountainsides, dwarfed on every side by the vast, jagged Himalayan peaks. Every turn revealed new vistas: barren cliffs striped with mineral hues, sweeping valleys shaped by ancient glaciers, and sky so intensely blue it almost looked painted.
The Confluence of Rivers – Sangam
We stopped at the famed confluence of the Indus and Zanskar Rivers, known locally as The Sangam. From the viewing point, we watched the two rivers merge in a spectacular display of contrasts, the Indus with its shimmering green currents, flowing calmly from Tibet, and the Zanskar with its muddier, darker waters rushing from the Zanskar Valley. This natural phenomenon, located near the village of Nimmu, is considered one of Ladakh’s most awe-inspiring sights.
In summer, the Zanskar swells with glacial melt, feeding into the Indus with wild force. In winter, the Zanskar freezes solid, becoming the legendary Chadar Trek, where adventurers walk for days on sheets of ice through narrow gorges. Along the Indus banks one of the world’s earliest civilizations, the Indus Valley Civilization (3300–1300 BCE), flourished.
Our guide, Rahi, reminded us of the river’s deep cultural importance. Known as Sindhu in Sanskrit, the Indus gave India both its name and its civilizational identity. Ancient Persians referred to the people living beyond the Sindhu as Hindus, while the Greeks, influenced by Persian pronunciation, called the river Indos. Over centuries, Hindu became a cultural term, and under the British Raj, “India” was cemented as the country’s name. Within India itself, however, the traditional name has always been Bharat, as referenced in the country’s ancient texts like the Mahabharata and Puranas.
Arrival at Ule Ethnic Resort
Following the Indus upstream, our cars finally rolled into Ule Ethnic Resort, nestled on a rocky hill overlooking the river. The place felt like a hidden oasis, almost too beautiful to be real. The resort’s eco-conscious ethos is evident everywhere: cottages built in harmony with the land, solar-powered lighting, and abundant gardens where apple, apricot, and walnut trees grow in profusion. Ladakh is famous for its apricots, introduced by Silk Road traders centuries ago, and during harvest season, locals dry them in the sun, turning them into one of the region’s most beloved staples.
Our group instantly fell in love with the resort’s rustic elegance. The cottages, more like luxurious glamping pods, were scattered among orchards where the sweet smell of ripening fruit perfumed the air. Climbing the steps to the dining hall, we were greeted with a vibrant vegan banquet, steaming lentil dishes, fresh greens from the garden, handmade breads, and inventive desserts infused with local apricots. After hours on the road, the meal was a feast for both body and spirit.
Osho’s No-Mind Meditation
In the afternoon, we gathered for Osho’s No-Mind Meditation in preparation for our next spiritual destination, Alchi Monastery. Osho’s meditation method emphasizes releasing the constant stream of inner chatter. Through cathartic movement and gibberish speech, followed by silence, participants drop into a profound space of stillness. Practicing it against the backdrop of Ladakh’s wild beauty made it feel even more powerful, like emptying ourselves so we could meet Alchi’s sacred presence with clear hearts.
Alchi Monastery - A Living Time Capsule
Later, we set off to visit Alchi Monastery, one of Ladakh’s oldest and most unique monastic complexes. Built between 958 and 1055 CE by the translator Rinchen Zangpo, who is said to have constructed 108 monasteries across the Himalayas, Alchi is a treasure trove of early Tibetan Buddhist art. Unlike other monasteries perched on hills, Alchi is nestled in the valley, along a shady lane lined with poplar and willow trees, giving it a gentle, almost hidden atmosphere.
Stepping inside felt like entering a time capsule. The low wooden doorways forced even the shortest among us to bow, a physical gesture of humility before the sacred. Inside, the walls are covered in murals, some of the oldest surviving in Ladakh. Painted in a distinct Kashmiri style, these frescoes depict Buddhas, bodhisattvas, mandalas, and intricate patterns that blend Indian, Tibetan, and Central Asian influences. Scholars often point out that Alchi preserves an artistic style largely lost in Tibet itself, making it invaluable for understanding the evolution of Buddhist art.
Though many of the murals are fading with age, their detail is breathtaking: serene faces outlined with delicate gold, intricate lotus motifs, and cosmological diagrams illustrating Buddhist philosophy. Massive clay statues dominate the temples, some reaching two stories high, their expressions a mixture of serenity and majesty.
We were particularly drawn to the small Manjushri Temple, built around a sacred cave. Manjushri, the bodhisattva of wisdom, is depicted here with multiple heads and arms, each symbolizing different aspects of awakened insight. Despite the tiny space, our entire group managed to squeeze in and sit together in meditation. For nearly an hour, we remained in silence, enveloped by the presence of centuries of prayer and by the etheric aura of Manjushri himself.
Osho has spoken on Manjushri. His quotes offer a powerful indication about the nature of this rare being.
“Manjusri was rare because he had the greatest quality of being a master. Whenever somebody was too much of a difficult problem, somebody was a problematic person, Buddha would send him to Manjusri. Just the name of Manjusri and people would start trembling. He was really a hard man, he was really drastic. Whenever somebody was sent to Manjusri, the disciples would say, "That person has gone to Manjusri's sword." It has become famous down the ages - the ‘sword of Manjusri’ - because Manjusri used to cut the head in one stroke. He was not a slow-goer, he would simply cut the head in one stroke. His compassion was so great that he could be so cruel. So by and by the name of Manjusri became a representative name- a name for all Masters, because they are all compassionate and they all have to be cruel. Compassionate because they will give birth to a new man in you; cruel because they will have to destroy and demolish the old.” (Osho )
Alchi is also significant because it was not continuously maintained by monks like other monasteries. Instead, it was preserved largely by the local lay community, who considered it too sacred to abandon but too fragile to populate with daily rituals. This unusual circumstance may be why its ancient murals and statues survived Mongol invasions and natural erosion better than elsewhere.
15th July - Uleytokpo, Ladakh
After a delightful breakfast, we left at 9:00am for the traditional eco-village of Tar, nestled in the folds of the Himalayas. Tar can only be reached on foot, making it one of the most secluded inhabited valleys in Ladakh. Our cars carried us as far as possible along a long and precarious dirt road, before grinding to a halt at the end of the track. From there, the path narrowed into a trail winding upward into the mountains. It was here that our guide, Urgyan, a villager from Tar, appeared from behind a massive boulder, smiling warmly. Astonishingly, he was wearing nothing but a pair of simple house slippers, an almost humorous reminder of how lightly the people of these mountains tread upon terrain that feels impossible to outsiders.
Trek Into a Hidden Valley
The ascent began with a sensory immersion into Ladakh’s living wilderness. A narrow river rushed down between enormous boulders, its waters crashing into cascades and tumbling into whirlpools, before settling into serene natural pools that sparkled like turquoise mirrors under the Himalayan sun. Urgyan explained that though the pools look inviting, the water comes directly from glacial melt high above, and is icy enough to numb the body within moments.
At one point, our guide stopped and gestured to a spring bubbling directly from beneath a large rock. He encouraged us to drink, explaining that it was considered medicinal. Glacial spring water, untouched and mineral-rich, is prized in Ladakhi culture for its purity and vitality. The villagers believe such springs are blessings of the local deities, and drinking from them is both a physical and spiritual act. As I took a sip, I felt a rush of effervescent energy ripple through my body, a reminder of how alive water can feel when it has not been tamed or processed.
Further along, Urgyan showed us a remarkable rock formation resembling the face of a wise lama. To the villagers, this natural feature is a sacred sign, a reminder to live in accordance with spiritual wisdom. Such features are often seen across the Himalayas, where nature itself is read as scripture and landscapes are imbued with teaching. The lama’s face, eternally gazing over the valley, seemed like a guardian.
Shrine to Goddess Dolma
Our path took us to a small shrine built into a cave, dedicated to Goddess Dolma, another name for Tara, the female bodhisattva of compassion. Tara is one of the most beloved figures in Tibetan Buddhism, seen as the “Mother of Liberation” who rescues beings from physical and spiritual suffering. Ladakhi villagers often invoke Dolma before beginning journeys, planting, or new ventures. The shrine, simple and adorned with prayer flags and butter-lamps, radiated a palpable sense of protection. We paused to offer prayers, knowing we were stepping deeper into a valley held by her guardianship.
Ancient Petroglyphs
Not far beyond, we encountered petroglyphs of ibex carved into a rock face, their lines weathered but still visible. Urgyan explained that they are at least 10,000 years old, remnants of Ladakh’s prehistoric hunter-gatherer inhabitants. Archaeologists note that Ladakh has one of the world’s richest collections of petroglyphs. The ibex, still revered in Ladakh, is a symbol of agility and survival in these harsh terrains.
Arrival in Tar Village
At last, the valley opened and we entered Tar Village itself. The effect was breathtaking. Green meadows spread across the valley floor, hemmed in by towering cliffs. The river wound its way gently past orchards and fields. Willow, poplar, and apricot trees gave shade, while the sound of water and birdsong created an atmosphere of total serenity. The village looked like a living Shangri-La, a place outside time, protected by its remoteness.
Sitting in the grass beside the river, Urgyan shared the story of Tar’s origins. Around 500 years ago, two brothers who were pastoral nomads settled here. They raised sheep and goats, weaving their wool into clothing and blankets, trading with nearby valleys. The village grew to about 80 residents at its peak. But as the modern world pressed into Ladakh, people began leaving, seeking education, jobs, and conveniences elsewhere. By the early 2000s, Tar was nearly abandoned.
What saved it was the vision of its youth. A group of young villagers who had left realized that their greatest treasure was not the outside world but their ancestral home. They returned, formed a youth collective, and reimagined Tar as a model of sustainable living. They revitalized agriculture, restored old homes, and developed eco-tourism with homestays built from mud bricks, straw, and stone, blending tradition with ecological innovation. Their efforts were so successful that Tar was recognized nationally as the Best Eco-Tourism Village in India.
Urgyan also told us about the village’s name. In Ladakhi, Tar means “ice sheet.” Centuries ago, a boy asked his father if he could cross the frozen river in winter to visit his uncle. The ice became the defining feature of the valley’s identity. To this day, locals remember that story whenever the river freezes over in the long winters.
A Glimpse Into Village Life
We toured organic gardens where barley, potatoes, and vegetables grew alongside medicinal herbs. Apricot trees hung heavy with fruit, Ladakh’s “golden crop” used to make oils, jams, and dried snacks. We peeked inside one of the eco-homestays with the walls plastered with clay, the rooms warmed by traditional wood stoves, and every item handmade, from rugs woven on backstrap looms to lamps crafted by hand.
Not everything was idyllic. We were shown the traditional dry compost toilets, which consist of a hole layered with earth to decompose waste. Though ingenious in preserving scarce water resources, the small enclosed spaces smelled unpleasant compared to the fresh mountain air outside.
A Day of Bliss
By midday, our group had dispersed into their own rhythms. Some sat in meditation by the river, others wandered the meadows, while a few napped in the sunshine, lulled by the sounds of water and wind. For lunch, the resort staff had prepared a lavish picnic feast, carried up the mountain path in neat containers. There was brown rice, fragrant vegetable pulao, curried tofu and vegetables, richly spiced potatoes, warming dal soup, and fresh salads. Eating such abundance in this remote paradise felt almost miraculous.
As I sat there, looking at the timeless beauty of Tar, I couldn’t help imagining the possibility of settling here, building a life rooted in the rhythms of land, river, and sky. The thought lingered: perhaps this is the kind of place where humanity might find its way back to balance, with the blessings of Goddess Dolma guiding the path.
I have to admit, my imagination ran riot, visualising the possibility of simply moving to Tar village and helping to establish a thriving eco community there. Let’s see what the Goddess Dolma has in store…
16th July 2025 - Uleytokpo, Ladakh
After a fabulous breakfast, we set off for an hour’s drive through Ladakh’s vast moonscape terrain to Lamayuru Monastery, one of the most revered and atmospheric gompas in the region. Lamayuru is sometimes called the “Eternal Monastery”. Local tradition holds that it was founded by the Indian sage Nāropā in the 10th–11th century, though its roots may stretch back even earlier, into the pre-Buddhist Bon tradition. The village surrounding it is famous for its strange, eroded landscape known as the “Moonland,” barren yellow slopes that look otherworldly under the high-altitude sun.
The monastery is dedicated to Naropa. Born into a wealthy Kashmiri Brahmin family, Naropa received the finest education of his age. He studied at the great Nalanda University, the intellectual heart of Buddhist India, mastering both Sutra (the philosophical and ethical discourses of the Buddha) and Tantra (the esoteric teachings that transform ordinary experience into spiritual realization).
At Nalanda, Naropa became a celebrated scholar and debater. In those days, public debates on philosophy and religion carried real stakes. The one who lost the debate accepted discipleship under the victor. Naropa’s brilliance meant he attracted hundreds of followers. After one such debate, it is said, 600 Hindus converted to tantric Buddhism under his guidance.
One day he encountered a terrifying, disheveled old woman, whom he later recognized as a dakini, a fierce embodiment of feminine wisdom. She asked him, “Do you understand the scriptures through knowledge or through experience?” When Naropa first replied that he had embodied their wisdom, she accused him of lying. Confronted, he admitted that his knowledge was intellectual, not experiential. The dakini was pleased with his honesty, and she instructed him to seek her brother, Tilopa, a wandering tantric master. The moment Naropa heard Tilopa’s name, he felt a profound resonance, as if destiny itself had spoken.
Naropa abandoned his scholarly life, wealth, and status to find Tilopa, a search that became legendary. Tilopa disguised himself in countless forms (a beggar, a fisherman, a wandering yogi), testing Naropa’s persistence. When Naropa finally found him, Tilopa did not immediately accept him but subjected him to twelve major and twelve minor trials, ordeals that shattered his pride and dissolved karmic obstacles. These trials, though brutal, sometimes involving physical danger or humiliation, purified Naropa completely. His unwavering surrender eventually led to his full awakening, and he was recognized as Tilopa’s successor.
The Six Yogas of Naropa
Among Naropa’s many contributions, his Six Yogas became foundational to Tibetan Buddhism, especially in the Kagyu lineage. These advanced tantric practices are:
- Tummo (Inner Heat) – generating subtle heat in the body through visualization and breath, a practice still used by monks to meditate in freezing Himalayan caves wearing only thin robes.
- Illusory Body Yoga – realizing that all phenomena, including one’s body, are like dreams or illusions.
- Clear Light Yoga – awakening to the pure luminosity of consciousness itself, beyond thoughts and form.
- Dream Yoga – becoming lucid within dreams, transforming the dream state into spiritual practice.
- Phowa – the conscious transference of awareness at the time of death to ensure a higher rebirth or liberation.
- Bardo Yoga – mastering the intermediate state between death and rebirth, bridging past lives and future destinies.
Together, these practices formed a map of liberation that monks and yogis have followed for centuries, a path said to lead all the way to the Rainbow Body, the dissolution of the physical form into pure light.
At Lamayuru Monastery
When we arrived, we climbed up to a private room near the roof, where I led our group in the Samadhi Breath Meditation, preparing us to tune into Naropa’s frequency. After an hour of sublime stillness, we entered the main temple, where a cave once used by Naropa is enshrined. Sitting in meditation so close to the very rock where he once practiced, I felt a current of powerful energy, as if his uncompromising devotion still reverberated through the walls.
My immersion was briefly interrupted by a grumpy monk who told me off for perching in a windowsill, seeking some quiet away from the stream of spiritual tourists. Even this became a kind of teaching, the reminder that spiritual practice unfolds amid the interruptions of life.
The Sacred Rock of the Little People
After Lamayuru, we visited a site on the bank of the Indus River that remains cloaked in mystery. A vast rock formation rising like a fortress is said to be the dwelling place of elemental beings, the so-called “little people” of Ladakh. Local lore insists that only highly realized lamas can see and communicate with them. These elemental beings are considered guardians of the land, maintaining its subtle balance.
The area is now fenced off by the military, perhaps because of its strategic location, but stories persist of lamas entering to commune with these beings. We found a gap in the fence and approached the sacred rock to meditate.
By midday, we returned to the resort, our personal Eden by the Indus. Lunch was a lavish feast of Himalayan flavors, followed by free hours for rest, Ayurveda massages, or simply lying in the gardens, sun on our faces and mountain air in our lungs.
17th July - Nubra Valley, Ladakh
We left our resort at 6:30am, hearts heavy from saying goodbye to a staff who had cared for us like family. The manager and his team lined up at the entrance, smiling and waving until our bus disappeared from sight. Their warmth stayed with us as we braced for a six-hour drive toward the legendary Nubra Valley.
Ladakh’s roads are surprisingly well-engineered, many of them carved by the Border Roads Organisation. Despite the region’s extreme weather, they remain some of the highest and most reliable motorable routes in the world. This meant our ride was smoother than expected, giving us time to watch the stark, high-altitude desert unfold in front of us. About two hours in, we stopped for a picnic breakfast in the gardens of a friend of our host, Rahi. The spread; still warm parathas, fruit, and spiced chai, felt especially luxurious against the raw Himalayan backdrop.
From there we climbed toward Khardung La, once known as the highest motorable pass on Earth at 5,359 meters (17,582 ft). Even though newer surveys now give that record to other passes, Khardung La remains an extraordinary crossing. Historically, it was a critical artery of the ancient Silk Road, where traders carried silk, tea, and spices on camelback between Leh and the markets of Central Asia.
Once in Nubra, the landscape shifted dramatically. Wide and fertile, fed by the confluence of the Shyok and Siachen Rivers, the valley has long been called Ldumra, “the valley of flowers.” For centuries it remained sealed off for much of the year, accessible only during the summer months when snowmelt opened the passes. This isolation preserved its sense of purity, giving visitors today the feeling of stepping into a place less touched by modernity. Around us, sheer mountains shimmered in tones of rust, gold, and violet as the sun moved, while above, an impossibly blue sky framed wandering white clouds like brushstrokes on a canvas.
Our eco-hotel, Lchang Nang Retreat, welcomed us with quiet elegance. Run by relatives of the Dalai Lama, the retreat embodies Ladakhi traditions of simplicity and respect for the land with solar power, mud-brick cottages, and meals sourced from local farmers.
Later, we headed to the famous white sand dunes of Hunder, where the unlikely sight of double-humped Bactrian camels awaited us. These camels are living relics of Silk Road caravans; legend has it that some strayed and remained here when Panamik village was a key resting post along the route. Their descendants now graze in the valley, offering rides that evoke the romance of bygone traders.
Our group couldn’t resist the playfulness of the setting. Some rode camels, others chased the golden light with cameras. As the sun sank, painting the mountains in soft pink hues, something shifted, laughter spilled out, a few began to dance barefoot in the dunes, and joy overtook self-consciousness.
The Nubra Valley is working its magic...
18th July - Nubra Valley, Ladakh
What a delight it was to rise before dawn and make our way to the Panamik sulphur hot springs, famed across Ladakh for their mineral-rich waters. Nestled at 10,500 feet, Panamik lies along the old Silk Road, where weary traders once stopped to rest both their bodies and their camels. The hot water here gushes almost boiling straight from fissures in the mountainside, cooled as it is channeled into descending pools of different temperatures. Rich in sulphur, calcium, and magnesium, these springs are believed to soothe arthritis, skin ailments, and muscle fatigue. Even the Indian Army maintains pools here for soldiers stationed along the frigid Siachen Glacier.
Soaking in the steaming pools as the crisp morning air bit our cheeks, we gazed out at snow-clad peaks. It was a paradox of fire and ice, our bodies held in liquid heat while our breath formed visible clouds in the cold dawn. Local custom dictated that women enter covered in T-shirts while men bathed bare-chested, a rule that felt unnecessarily modest given the medicinal purpose of the springs. Yet such cultural codes, however puzzling, are part of travel; they remind us that sacred places are lived differently by each community.
From the springs we set off on a short trek over a rocky ridge to a hidden lake revered as sacred by villagers. The lake has no visible inlet or outlet, yet remains full year-round, a phenomenon that inspires both geological curiosity and spiritual reverence. Local lore holds that its waters are blessed, and that meditating here magnifies one’s prayers. The silence was profound, broken only by the wind skimming the surface and the occasional call of a Himalayan magpie. We settled into stillness, some circling the lake in walking meditation, others resting in shaded nooks until our picnic breakfast arrived.
In the afternoon, we visited Diskit Monastery, the oldest and largest in Nubra, founded in the 14th century by Changzem Tserab Zangpo, a disciple of Tsongkhapa, founder of the Gelugpa order of Tibetan Buddhism. Perched on a rocky hill, Diskit once stood watch over the caravan routes that wound through Nubra toward Central Asia. Inside, we were greeted by flickering butter lamps and the heady smell of juniper incense. Ancient murals of guardian deities covered the walls, their fierce faces painted to ward off misfortune.
A particularly strange relic drew our attention: a statue of the goddess Kali clutching the severed head and hand of a Mongol marauder. According to legend, this man attempted to loot the monastery centuries ago but was slain in the act. The tale embarrassed Mongol rulers so deeply that they sent lavish gifts of silk and gold in apology, transforming an act of violence into a bridge of diplomacy.
Another chamber contained a humble room where the Dalai Lama once stayed during his visits. Its walls are lined with photographs of him as a young man, reminders of the monastery’s continuing ties to Tibet’s spiritual lineage.
Just below the monastery, we approached the colossal 32-meter Maitreya Buddha statue, consecrated in 2010 by the Dalai Lama himself. Facing the Shyok River and Pakistan beyond, the statue was built both to promote world peace and to serve as a spiritual protector for Diskit and the Nubra Valley. Draped in robes painted pink and green, the hues of the heart chakra, its golden face glowed in the last rays of sunset. Seeing it shimmer against a backdrop of indigo mountains, it felt less like a statue and more like a living presence watching over the valley.
By evening, we returned to our resort, our bodies still humming with the day’s impressions. After dinner, the staff surprised us by setting up an open-air theatre beneath a starlit sky. Wrapped in shawls, we watched The Little Buddha, its scenes of Himalayan landscapes eerily mirroring the majesty surrounding us.
19th July 2025 - Nubra Valley, Ladakh
Rahi, our tireless organiser, insisted we leave immediately after an early breakfast. In Ladakh, the summer sun melts glaciers at a rapid pace, and by midday, mountain streams can swell into flash floods. Roads that look perfectly passable at 9am may turn into gushing torrents by 2pm. We learned quickly to respect his wisdom.
After an hour’s drive we reached Ensa Monastery, a little-visited gem whose origins trace back to the 15th century. Perched high on a hill above the Nubra River, it is surrounded by legends. Oral tradition tells of the wandering monk Sherab Zangpo, renowned for his mystical abilities, including the power of flight. Searching for the ideal site for the Dalai Lama’s palace, he alighted at Ensa disguised as a beggar. The villagers, seeing only rags, treated him with disdain. By rejecting him, they forfeited the chance to host what could have become Tibet’s spiritual heart. History instead crowned Lhasa with that honor, and Ensa remained a quiet sentinel overlooking the valley.
The monastery itself radiates a sense of age. In the courtyard, a towering tree spreads its branches like a guardian that has witnessed centuries of devotion. The oldest section lies in partial ruin, under slow renovation, its murals weathered but still striking. Among them, one detail startled us, paintings of Buddhas with breasts. At first, I wondered whether this temple had once been dedicated to a feminine Buddha, which would have been radical within Ladakh’s male-dominated monastic traditions. A monk explained that these images symbolized the androgynous nature of the Buddha, transcending dualities. His answer made me smile, though it also highlighted how rare it is for religious institutions to openly honour the feminine principle.
Climbing the steps to the newer sanctum, I entered meditation. The stillness there felt thick, almost palpable. As I sat, I sensed what could be called the whispers of a new dawn, a spirituality that will no longer be confined to caves, monasteries, or ascetics. For centuries, Sat Chit Ananda, truth, consciousness, bliss, was thought attainable only by those who renounced human experience: emotion, eroticism, joy. Yet sitting in Ensa, I felt strongly that humanity is shifting. The possibility of this unified field of consciousness belongs equally to women and men, to monks and mothers, to lovers and seekers alike.
From the monastery we continued to a set of ancient petroglyphs, carved into boulders that scatter the valley floor. Some are believed to be over 10,000 years old, remnants of Stone Age hunter-gatherer communities. At first, we saw fresh graffiti, two names inside a heart pierced with an arrow, modern love scrawled over ancient reverence. But after some searching, the real carvings emerged: ibexes etched in sharp lines, their horns curving like crescents. Archaeologists say these were sacred animals, worshipped as symbols of survival and abundance. As I looked closer, I imagined hunter-shamans invoking the spirit of the ibex, calling them telepathically closer so their tribes could eat and live. In those carvings, I felt the echo of chants, incantations, and the primal intimacy between human beings and the wild.
A short ride brought us to the Murgi waterfall, a cascade tumbling down from glacial heights. Its sound filled the valley like a hymn. Here, our resort staff had somehow managed to deliver a lavish picnic, laid out as if the forest itself had prepared it. Eating beneath the roar of falling water was unforgettable, nature’s theatre and dining hall in one.
The return journey was more dramatic. By late afternoon, the snowmelt had transformed the road into a coursing stream. Our driver guided us carefully across what looked like a riverbed. Had we been minutes later, the crossing might have been impossible. It was a sobering reminder of Ladakh’s fragile and ever-shifting environment.
That evening, back at our retreat, we shifted focus. Our small team gathered to decorate the meeting room in preparation for a three-day immersion into the Vigyan Bhairav Tantra. Having spent days visiting monasteries and outer sanctuaries, it felt timely to turn inward, to explore our own Inner Temple.
July 20 - 22 - Nubra Valley, Ladakh
From July 20–22, Lchang Nang Retreat became our monastery. Each day we practiced meditations from the Vigyan Bhairav Tantra, ancient methods of sensory awakening using breath, sound, touch, and slow, mindful movement. In the silence of the Nubra Valley, these practices took on a profound depth.
By the time we departed for Pangong Tso, something had shifted. The group carried a new quality of presence, more grounded, more tender, more awake. When we stepped into the cold wind and raw beauty of Pangong, we were no longer just tourists seeing another lake. We were pilgrims meeting the sacredness of nature with newly cleansed eyes.
23 July 2025 - Pangong Tso
We rose at 4:30am to finish packing, slipping quietly through the hushed resort to meet the group in the lobby by 5:30. The staff, ever thoughtful, had prepared picnic breakfasts for each of us, packed neatly for the road ahead. At 6:00am, we departed for the fabled Pangong Tso, a lake that has stirred poets, monks, and travelers alike for centuries. At an altitude of 4,400 meters (13,862 ft), Pangong stretches across the high Himalayan plateau, its body shared between Ladakh and Tibet, its waters both Indian and Chinese, and partly disputed in between.
Our planned route was blocked by an avalanche of rocks, a reminder of how alive these mountains are. Forced to take the longer way, we faced eight hours of driving and two high passes. The effort was rewarded. Each turn revealed vistas that defy description: mountains in hues of copper and violet, valleys etched by glacial rivers, and skies so crystalline they felt closer than the air we breathed.
The land here belongs equally to humans and to the wild. Ladakh’s biodiversity is extraordinary, though elusive. The mountains are home to snow leopards and Himalayan wolves, ghost-like predators seldom glimpsed even by locals. Ibex, with their majestic spiraled horns, still roam the cliffs, as they did in the petroglyphs we had seen in Nubra. On this day, we were greeted by wild horses, kiangs (Tibetan wild asses), shaggy yaks, and playful marmots sunning themselves along the roadside. Each sighting felt like a blessing, a reminder that life flourishes even in such extremes.
When we finally arrived, the effect of Pangong Lake. Words fell away. Cameras clicked, but even as shutters snapped, everyone seemed to realize the futility, no photograph can hold what this place radiates. Before us stretched a body of water 134 kilometers long, reaching so far that its edges seemed to dissolve into the horizon. At our elevation, where vegetation barely survives, the surrounding mountains were bare and elemental, painted in striations of ochre, mauve, and stone-grey. Near the shoreline, however, green meadows and groves of willow trees softened the austerity.
Politically, Pangong is a contested frontier. Roughly 40% lies in India, 50% in Tibet (now under Chinese control), and the remaining 10% remains in dispute. Military presence is everywhere as a reminder that even a place of such serene beauty is entangled in human conflict.
The lake itself is a marvel of paradox. Though it lies at such altitude, it is a saltwater lake, its mineral-rich waters fed by glacial melt carrying salts from the surrounding ranges. Unlike freshwater lakes, Pangong has no outlet. Its brackish composition means no fish live in its depths, though migratory birds like the bar-headed goose and Brahminy duck make seasonal visits. Swimming and boating are prohibited, both to preserve its delicate ecology and because of the bitter cold. Yet standing on its shores, the stillness nourishes body and mind alike. Depending on the angle of the sun, the waters shift from turquoise green to sapphire blue, to inky navy at dusk.
The drive to our resort was not without challenge. We encountered at least fifteen pagal nalas, “crazy streams,” which are seasonal torrents created by the day’s snowmelt. Some were shallow trickles; others surged into road-wide rivers. Each crossing felt precarious, as if the mountain tested our determination to reach its heart.
From our resort, the view was otherworldly. Across the valley rose a snow-capped peak marking the border with China, silent yet charged with geopolitical weight. After a late lunch, we attempted a walk to the lakeshore, but icy winds swept down suddenly, carrying sheets of rain. We retreated, laughing at our failed expedition, and consoled ourselves with the thought that Pangong is as moody as it is majestic.
Locals had told us this was one of the best places on Earth for stargazing, where the night sky reveals not thousands but millions of stars, with the Milky Way arching in luminous clarity overhead. Sadly, the weather turned against us. Clouds smothered the heavens, and rain drummed through the night. Wrapped in blankets, we watched the storm instead, aware that in the Himalayas, nature decides when it will reveal its mysteries.
24th July 2025 - Leh, Ladakh
The next morning dawned brilliantly clear, as if the heavens had opened to reward our patience after the storm. A few soft clouds clung to the jagged ridges, framing the snow-capped peaks in painterly strokes. We drove a short distance to a secluded stretch of Pangong’s shoreline, a pristine beach where the turquoise waters lapped gently at the sand. Cameras came out quickly, but so did laughter, soon we were skipping stones, splashing at the edges, and simply marveling at how light and water could combine into such unearthly beauty.
After some play, our group gathered in stillness to practice the Infinity Meditation, a practice designed to expand awareness into boundless space. Standing before a lake that stretches 134 kilometers into the horizon, it felt perfectly suited. As we traced the flowing figure-eight of infinity with our breath and awareness, it seemed that the shimmering waters mirrored our own consciousness.
By mid-morning we began our six-hour return to Leh, the route carrying us over the Chang La Pass, which rises to 5,360 meters (17,585 ft). Known as the “Pass of the South,” it is one of the highest motorable passes in the world, second only to Khardung La. Prayer flags fluttered furiously in the thin air, their colors sending ancient mantras into the wind. The air was thin, our steps unsteady, yet there was a kind of exhilaration in standing where only sky and rock truly belong.
On the descent we stopped to meet Himalayan marmots, who proved to be natural comedians. Rather than scurrying away, they posed like seasoned performers, sitting upright and motionless, watching the tourists as intently as we watched them. Their golden-brown coats glistened in the sun, and for a moment it felt like a shared curiosity between two species, both fascinated by the other.
Further along, we entered a valley carpeted with wildflowers. Streams cascaded down from the melting snows, threading silver ribbons through meadows thick with purple asters and yellow primulas. The scent was intoxicating while the sight of butterflies dancing among the blooms made the valley feel like a living shrine. It was easy to see why Ladakh is often described as a land where the harshest mountains cradle the gentlest surprises.
Arriving at the Ladakh Eco Resort, we were welcomed with platters of fresh fruit and tall glasses of carrot juice, simple gifts, yet deeply refreshing after hours of mountain roads. This being the final evening of our Sacred Tour, the day gave way to ceremony. As twilight fell, we gathered around a crackling bonfire. A vegan feast was served, abundant and colorful, and afterward each person in the circle shared their reflections. Gratitude wove through every voice: gratitude for the landscapes that had tested and blessed us, for the guides who had protected us, and for the fellowship that had grown between strangers turned companions.
Rahi, who had shepherded us with discipline and care throughout the journey, suddenly revealed another side. He stepped into the role of DJ, and with a mischievous grin began to play music that pulled everyone to their feet. Under the Ladakhi night sky, stars veiled by wisps of cloud, we danced.
I would like to express my profound gratitude to Rahi, our organiser and guide and to Arnava, who has managed all of our food needs to perfection. He worked at length with each resort we stayed at to make sure they would prepare healthy and delicious Vegan food with no sugar, no garlic, no gluten and no MSG. His role has been really valuable as it means we could trust in having amazing meals throughout the entire journey.
Deep appreciation also goes to Danelle, who has been proactive in taking photos and posting this regular newsletter about our Sacred Tour with writing from me and a selection of photos, some by her, some by Rahi and some by other members of our Tour. In many cases the internet was not working well and somehow she managed to get the newsletter out in a timely manner, even when it was really challenging to do so.
If anyone reading this feels the itch to bring people from your own friends or following for such a Sacred Tour, you can contact Rahi. I consider him to be the most supreme organiser and guide, whether that be for trekking in the Himalayas or visiting Sacred Sites. His many years of meditation practice and his years of trekking creates a quality of security, totality and dedication rarely experienced in this world. He truly cares for each participant and strives to make sure everyone is cared for and comfortable in spite of the challenging nature of high altitudes and sometimes rough terrain.
Contact: [email protected] to plan your Sacred Tour. (You will need to bring a minimum, 18 participants.)
Or, alternatively, stay tuned to my Newsletter to find out about our next Sacred Tour. The destination is not yet decided, but for sure, wherever it will be, it is bound to be pure magic!
Here are some words from our participants:
Anthony:
Thank you.
That's a thank you obviously to Sarita, to Rahi, to the team, and to everybody around here. I've never been in a gathering where everybody has had such… I don't know what the word is. Energy? Compassion?
I've faced one or two of my demons. I've learnt about Indian stretchable time. Which is a challenge for a control freak like me. I can't say that the control freak is dead, but he is a lot thinner than he was.
I have seen a lot of beautiful places. I have seen a side of Ladakh that I didn't manage to see when I was here a very long time ago. I have had a brilliant time. Some of the memorable moments have been finally getting to the top in the cave at Hemis Monastery and really feeling some energy in the cave. Another moment was in Diskit, and the lake, and I could make a list that is long. The real thing that I can take away is that I have a greater belief in myself and what I can do. Thank you.
Daphne:
Sarita, I am so grateful for your meditations and taking us to those caves. I love your energy and presence, you're like a big Tachyon in person! Sitting with you anywhere is like easily merging with any temple or what holy space that is, it's like this transmission that happens, and that is very spectacular. I'm intending to participate in several different programs. I'm really grateful that I have come, this has been the best decision of my life. I'll continue this path. Thank you.
Tuuliki:
This was the best choice ever to come here. It wasn't easy at all for me, but I made it. I'm very proud of myself, and thank you for the team who made it possible. Thank you. Thank you all for all the details and for all the wisdom and all the hard work that you have put behind this. I'm so grateful to meet the group because I really feel that each and every single person has a bigger meaning in this life and I've never seen so many people who have a bigger meaning in their life come together. This work is so powerful. The energy we all create together, you can manifest anything with this. I didn't expect this, to be honest. The place itself, the energy, the nature, all the monasteries, all the rivers that we had to cross with the cars. This is just amazing. It's beyond explanation. I can't go home and tell somebody what I experienced. You have to experience it and it's amazing.
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