Spiti - A Dustland Fairytale.

by Sarita Santoshini.

Three weeks after returning to Bombay, I shut myself from the frenzy outside and sit finishing my first story about Spiti. As I try explaining my struggle with words when sending postcards from what is believed to be the world’s highest post office back in Hikkim, the loud door bell interrupts me mid sentence, much to my annoyance. 

Spiti: A World Within a World.

by Charu Babbar.

Charu travelled with India Untravelled on our Spiti Kaleidoscope trip.

My trip to Spiti happened exactly a year after my Ladakh trip. The high altitude, arid mountains, and strong sun were reminiscent of Ladakh, but Spiti is a world within a world, as described by Rudyard Kipling in his book Kim. 

Auli, in the Himalayas of Uttarakhand: A Photo Essay.

By Abhigya Verma.


Nestled in the snow-capped Himalayas of Garhwal in Uttarakhand, Auli is a scenic weekend getaway along slopes dotted with green coniferous forests, offering panoramic views of the Nanda Devi & Mana Parbat peaks. Abhigya takes us on a virtual trek to the Gorson Top from Auli:


The Ganga is a constant companion on the road to Auli. National Highway-58, which leads to Joshimath, is built on the sides of the valley carved by the Ganga and the Alaknanda.

Devprayag is a settlement on the way to Auli. It is situated at the confluence of the Bhagirathi (left) and the Alaknanda (right). The river assumes the name Ganga here.

A few kilometres beyond Chamoli, the road drops in altitude to be almost level with the waters of the roaring Alaknanda. A nice place to take a break after a back-breaking 7 hour drive.

The objective of our trek – the snow covered Gorson Top, as seen from Auli. The trek took us through a dense coniferous jungle of Deodar and Oak which gave way to an Alpine meadow (Bugyal in local parlance), with the meadow finally giving way to the snow field.

The guardian Goddess of the Uttarakhand Himalayas - Nanda Devi - as seen from Auli.

After a long and taxing trudge, we finally made it to the beautiful meadow. Looking down from our position presented us with some of the most beautiful scenery to be found anywhere.

An ibex skull reminded us that a grim battle for survival rages even at this seemingly heavenly place.

Nanda Devi  from  Gorson Bugyal. The scale of the Himalayas suddenly dawned upon us!

The Trishul group of peaks from Gorson Bugyal.

We were almost there when…

…the weather changed suddenly. Weather in the high Himalayas can change swiftly and unpredictably. So without wasting more time, we decided to head back to our hotel in Auli.

During the descent, we came across a shepherd settlement. Life at high altitudes is harsh, yet the hill folk go about their chores with an alacrity that is both baffling and infectious.

Looking back up from Tapovan validated our decision to head back. The clouds seemed to have been descended on the mighty Himalayas.

The Bugyals received a fresh spell of snow. The magnitude of snow that fell upon the meadows in just 4 hours was incredible.

The following morning presented us with a wonderful view at sunrise. It was time to wind up our Auli trip and head home. The people, the mountains and the rivers of Uttarakhand have left me with some indelible memories to cherish.

The author is a software engineer by profession. He loves to go on short impromptu trips whenever he can find the time. He blogs at http://abhigyasblog.blogspot.in and tweets @abhigya.

 For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook and Twitter. To contribute guest posts / photo essays to this blog, please send your story ideas to shivya@indiauntravelled.com. 

14 years ago, a journey with no destination.

By Sapna Goel.


Wise men say “Life is a Journey”. Isn’t that true? It’s a remarkable journey where we all know the final destination (Death!) but are clueless about the route. And that’s what makes life so exciting to live; the unexpectedness, the feeling of adventure it entails. 


Let me backtrack a bit and say, that Siddharth and me were 22 years old when we married in the summer of 1998. We were both very young, very much in love and had very little money. Keeping the last in mind and the fact that Sids (Thats what everyone calls him!) had jaundice, we forego-ed the “traditional” honeymoon. So in August when the chance came up for me to travel to Bangalore  for work, we jumped on it and decided to make a trip of it. Being young/ foolish/ adventurous/ vagabondish (take your pick!), we did the following:

1. Booked a sleeper class ticket for Sids to reach Banglore on the day my assignment finished.
2. Booked a return ticket from Cochin for both of us for  a day, 25 days later from his date of arrival (sleeper class again). 
3. Indulged and bought a second hand copy of “Lonely Planet“

We booked no hotels, made no schedules, no itinerary, nothing. We just decided to take things as they came. Wherever we found ourselves, we spoke to the locals, took their suggestions about where we should go next and hopped on to the next state transport bus that took us there. We travelled at night (saved time and money on hotels!) reached mornings, saw the sights, ate at local joints and moved to the next spot. We travelled light. A rucksack with one spare pair of jeans and three  T shirts each. A few essentials.

The memory of every day  of that 25 day trip is etched in my mind forever. I could write a treatise on it, but to save you the reading, decided to write only about my favorite parts of the trip. But, like a mom who can’t choose a favorite from her many children, I couldn’t really decide on any one or two. Which one should I include? and which one could be left out? Should I write about...

• The day we reached “Jog falls” after 10 hours of a bone-breaking bus ride to realize that the falls were completely covered by fog and hadn’t been properly visible since 5 days. Disappointed, we sat at a wayside joint sipping tea. We could hear the loud thunder the water made as it fell from the cliff and had resigned ourselves to not seeing the famous falls. Just as we were to leave. I closed my eyes and fervently prayed to God. Suddenly, almost magically , the fog disappeared. And there right in front of our eager eyes was the most amazing sight of the highest waterfall in India.

• Or the time at Kovalam... when we found ourselves on the wrong side of a gun! Earlier that day we had alighted at the local bus stand. A skinny guy had offered to show us a good “cottage”. The cottage was beautiful and located right on the sea and surprisingly well within our budget. After settling in we went, hand in hand for a walk by the deserted seaside. On return we found this huge man standing outside our cottage, gun flailing in his hand, making threatening gestures at us and speaking  a strange tongue. In an unknown land, surrounded on one side by the desolate sea and on the other by a group of threatening villagers who seemed bent upon using that gun, as complete darkness enveloped us, we were terrified. we told each other what we imagined were our final words. At the last minute a “kashmiri” (Kashmiri in Kovalam! Life is strange) came and rescued us. As he spoke to the angry group we sensed the tension lower, the anger lessen and the nozzle of the gun lowered to a point on the floor…rather than us! When he spoke to us in his broken hindi we understood, that the guy who had rented us the flat was a local “Afeemkhor” (Drug addict) . The cottage that he had so magnanimously rented to us wasn’t his, and the money we had trustingly paid him , hadn’t reached the owner . The  huge angry man determined to “teach us a lesson” Assumed, we had broken into his “cottage”.   unknown to us, the “kashmiri’ had seen the transaction and vouched for us. We stayed in that cottage still feeling vulnerable. But in morning, the angry man with the gun, became a friend and we ended up staying in his cottage for four days.

• Or the day we felt hugely homesick. Tired of eating coarse rice, sambhar, tomato dosas  at small wayside eateries. Sitting in a small dhaba! A group of young men occupied the table near ours. When one of them approached us asking if were from IHM, we weren’t sure how to respond. Sids was wearing the IHM T-shirt and it seemed pointless to deny. A bit hesitatingly we accepted that he was an IHM, Bombay graduate.It turned out the boys were studying at the local branch of IHM. Backs were slapped, hands were shaken. And just like that we were surrounded by friends. They invited us over for lunch to their college the following day. We were served north indian food, family histories were exchanged, college stories were told  and we were homesick no more!

• A couple of years before this trip the movie “Roja” had been released. Besides liking the movie immensely , my imagination was completely captivated by the round basket boat ride so beautifully captured in the movie. I just had to do it! But no one we met or asked knew anything concrete about it. The Lonely planet had one short line on it being available in a place called “Hogenakkal”. We decided to chase it.  Three bus changes, 20 hours later, we landed in “Hogenakkal” . At the time a small village like place. We could see no eateries or hotels. No tourists or any tourist amenities. When we asked about the boat ride, almost sure that we had wasted our time on a wild goose chase. Somebody nodded and pointed us in a direction. We walked on a lane flanked on both sides by vendors selling fried fish. Unlike the usual we had seen, these were finger size fishes dipped whole in a batter and fried. To me, a vegetarian all those fishes cooked whole with their eyes and tails looked eerie. At the end was a non descript river bank, we asked a thin, severely tanned man about the round boat, using signs. He gestured us to wait. Soon he was back with another equally famished looking man carrying a big round cane basket (the kind flower sellers use) only much larger.. on his head. And we set off. What a ride that was! I have been on many boat rides since.. glass bottomed boats in andamans, speed boats in europe, snake boat in kerala, cruise ship in Europe, even a luxury yacht, once. But nothing matches in my mind. The sheer joy and excitement of that simple basket boat that is rowed by one man using one oar. He spinned it fast enough to make me laugh, he tied it to a rock to let us see the most fearsome waterfall I have ever seen and each time land came in the way, he simply lifted the boat  to his head and carried it to the other side, to plonk it again and row away!

• Or the night when dead tired and in the  mood to sleep in a proper bed, we approached hotels after hotels in Salem. But none would give us a room. Dog tired and frustrated, when the next guy refused, I demanded to be told why we were not getting a room? Red faced he said because we didn’t look married and he didn’t want any trouble by shielding “runaways”. We showed him a wedding photograph (That someone had smartly advised us to carry!). Convinced , we got our room and slept like never before.

• Or the time we discovered that food in Kerala was very cheap. This was the pre “God's own country time” . Kerala was beautiful, but not really ‘discovered’ by tourists.  Munnar was still a sleepy town populated mostly by Tata tea employees. We were guided to the local restaurant. It was filled with factory goers. Water served to us was warm and flavored with jeera (cumin). Good for digestion we were told. We ordered the local speciality “malabari parantha” . Two fluffy paranthas with a vegetable stew that tasted divine was served to us at a princely sum of 15 Rs. We were shocked, but as we travelled to other parts of the state. We discovered that this was the norm, not an exception. The water served was always lukewarm and jeera flavored and the  malabari paranthas, always yummy. The only change being in the price. It got lower.. the cheapest we found were for Rs 2.. and every bit as delicious.

There are numerous memories of that trip in my mind. Memories that bring a smile to my face even this day, or make us laugh enough to bring tears to our eyes. The town where every hotel was owned by one smuggler, the majesty of the  chinese fishing nets that lined the sea side in Cochin, the “spice plants” we saw in the spice garden. The story we heard about the “sin door” tree. That it is a slow poison and no animal will ever eat it. It is applied by women on their forehead everyday in the hope that they die before their husbands. Sids made me promise that day to never use it! “I love you too much to live without you. If one of us has to go early… Let God decide. Lets not do anything to bias the decision!”. The pubs in Bangalore, The sunrise in Kanyakumari, The children using dingy boats to ride upto the buses that will take them to school in rain-flooded Kerala. The friends we made on the long train ride back home.. every moment of that trip is etched in my mind forever.

Almost fourteen years later, we have travelled, Sids and me, to many places. The beautiful but quiet sad valleys of Kashmir, the enthralling jungles of Ranthambore, the gorgeous Scotland, Historical London, Stunning Paris, Hitler’s Germany, breathtakingly beautifully Salzburg, Romantic Vienna, my all time favorite Prague, Dazzling Dubai, Children’s paradise Singapore... and yet the trip that I remember most fondly, the one that till date makes us laugh till our bellies ache, is this trip we took. No set destinations, nothing to cover. No schedules, no bookings. Nothing. Just a desire to see the world together. To travel!

The author is a social worker by training,  a change maker by choice. She is also a home maker, a stand-in designer for her restaurant, old music lover, a voracious reader, and passionate about writing. She blogs at justanotherwakeupcall.wordpress.com and tweets @justwakecall. 

For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook and Twitter. To contribute guest posts / photo essays to this blog, please send your story ideas to shivya@indiauntravelled.com. 

The Enchanted Woods of Talakona.

By Dwithiya Raghavan.

Living in and enduring the sweltering Hyderabad heat, the very sound of Horsley Hills was music to my ears. I imagined it to be a place where the sun’s merciless rays would not penetrate the thick cover of the trees; I would wake up to the sounds of the birds chirping instead of the milkman’s scooter and watch the sunset behind the hills instead of the HSBC building. And I was not disappointed. It was one of those rare occasions where my imagination was outdone by reality!

Tucked away in a quiet corner in the Chitoor district of Andhra Pradesh, and miraculously untouched by the ravages of tourism, Horsley Hills was the answer to all my prayers. The drive from Hyderabad is a pretty good one, with the roads punctuated with ample number of decent ‘chai stops’. It can also be reached by air/train to Tirupati, followed by a 50km cab ride. As soon as we were in the vicinity of the forest, it felt like entering a new planet. It was for me a throwback to the days of Enid Blyton, when all I wanted was to be in the woods!

Thanks to some of my well-networked friends, we had rooms in the forest guesthouse, maintained by wonderfully warm people. The Punnami resort, run by AP Tourism, also provides decent accommodation. I was delighted to see that our rooms were on stilts, nestled in the breathtaking expanse of green and brown against the beautiful blue sky. After a quick shower we were treated with what can only be called heaven; the exquisite delight that is the cuisine of Andhra Pradesh, fragrant yellow dal, spicy red chicken with warm white rice. There are no words to describe it. The rest of our day was spent doing exactly what we had on our itinerary. Nothing!  

The next morning, we took in a sunrise over the hills, a sumptuous breakfast, a 150 year old eucalyptus tree – Kalyani, a wide array of rather curious looking insects, a pleasant hike through the hills and tales of Horsley hills during the British rule recounted by the locals. Our next stop was the Talakona waterfalls. A short drive away from Horsley hills, Talakona is reachable by car/bus but the climb up to the waterfalls has to be done on foot. It is a fairly easy climb to the top and the route is well shaded by trees. 

The waterfall is gorgeous, the water cascades down steep rocks and I was knocked off my feet by the sheer force of it. According to the locals, the origin of the water is difficult to trace as an underwater spring suddenly surfaces here. The water is also believed to have medicinal properties as it takes its course through rare medicinal herbs found in the area. We climbed down and before we stepped back into our cars we dipped our feet into the waterfall, now transformed into a gentle stream, and let Mother Nature give us a pedicure. The best things in life truly are free! 

The Talakona forests host certain rare and endangered species of animals like Golden Gecko, Panther, Porcupine, Chital and Sambar. If you are up for it, there can be arranged, a drive through the forest to observe wildlife in their natural habitat. Beware however, of the various insects that will take a keen interest in you. Insect repellent and quick reflexes are a necessity in the circumstances. However, once indoors you can be assured of a good nights sleep with the jungle creatures singing you lullaby. We woke up the next morning, refreshed, recharged in body and spirit, already planning our return.

So the next weekend trade your concrete jungle for the real jungle. Pack your bags, (don’t forget the insect repellent), leave behind the watch, and head straight to Talakona. A place where it’s not the minutes, but the moments that count.

Author bio: Dwithiya is a chartered accountant by profession and a yoga instructor by passion. A foodie and travel enthusiast, she is still trying to figure out what her true calling is! Join her on her edible adventures at http://cookiesandquiche.blogspot.in/ 

For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook. To contribute guest posts / photo essays to this blog, please send your story ideas to shivya@indiauntravelled.com. 

Pabbu ki Dhani: Adventures in the desert.

By Rakhee Ghelani.

This was my home for 24 hours when I visited this small, isolated village in the Thar desert. To call it a village is probably too big a word, it is a simple home which has 4 small huts for visitors, this is Pabu ki Dhani.  Pabu welcomed us into his home so we could experience a little piece of the Rajasthani desert. Unlike other desert treks near Jaisalmer (I went on another with my father over 10 years ago), there are no other tourists in sight, this is a true rural experience.  There is no running water, no electricity and no glamourous permanent tents. This is real life.

Pabu (along with his wife Capucine who was not there on our visit) aim to support the local villages and expose their visitors to the crafts that are practised every day.  There is no big sales push, just the chance to see people doing what they do every day.

We visited one village where we watched this man create candlestick holders, bowls and cups from a lump of clay.

The village that he lived in looked isolated.

Of course in each village there are children who followed us begging to have their photo taken and then squealing with delight when they could see there visage back on the digital screen.


These young girls were not at school even though it was a weekday, the privilege of education that is something afforded only for the boys in this village. Sadly when we asked their age none of them could tell us because they didn’t know. This was just an afternoon for us, but for them this isolated village is their life. My heart sank as I saw the squalid conditions in which they lived. Rajasthan is one of the least educated states in India and also one where poverty is more marked.

I have written before (here and here) about how helpless I feel when seeing poverty here, I now don’t even think I can verbalise how I felt after meeting these young girls.


As we drove from village to village, the long empty roads of the desert stretched before us.

The landscape is eerie but spectacular.  It seems incomprehensible to me that people have survived in this inhospitable environment for hundreds of years.  It is certainly easier nowadays with jeeps and mobile phones, but even in this modern age one cannot escape the harshness of the desert.

Of course as a guest in someone’s home I was spared the harsh reality of desert life.  Instead I was treated to fabulous home cooked food and had comfortable shelter.

Being a tourist I couldn’t resist the obligatory camel ride in the desert. I recall the last time I was in Jaisalmer I took a camel ride with my father, at the end of which he declared that it was unlikely he would travel with me again (camels didn’t agree with him  ).  Despite this memory I decided to give this odd looking beast one more chance.


Thankfully she was kind to me.

She took me through the sand dunes that seemed to stretch on for hours.

As evening approached we settled on the verandah and listened to some local men sing folk songs around the fire.  Looking up at the stars, I closed my eyes and just listened to the serenity.  This really must be the most peaceful place in India.

The author blogs at aussiegirlinIndia.com and tweets @aussiegirlindia.


For more stories off the beaten path in India, visit www.indiauntravelled.com or join India Untravelled on Facebook.

Spiti: Ladakh's lesser known cousin.

By Shivya.

As I walk along the green fields of Pin, I smile in delight at the pink, purple and yellow flowers in bloom; I haven’t seen greenery for the last 3 days in the mountain desert terrain of Spiti. I carefully walk the fragile bridge across the Spiti River, to the village of Gulling, where I hope to hitch-hike my way back to Kaza, Spiti’s capital, instead of waiting for a bus the next morning.

 I have never hitch-hiked in India before; it would be a parent’s worst nightmare for their 23-year-old daughter in the northern cities of India. But 2 weeks in Spiti have convinced me that there isn’t a safer alternative to travel the region. The mountain people welcome you with big hearts, space or no space, and it’s a great way to meet fellow mountain travelers.

As I reach Gulling, I’m greeted by a gorgeous view of green slopes topped by snow-capped peaks, some of which have melted into swift waterfalls. The aroma of freshly cooked breakfast draws me in to a little dhaba. I chat with the cook as he beats some eggs, and ask him if any cars will be heading to Kaza soon. Immediately, he calls out to an elderly gentleman, who in turn, summons some boys to find me a ride; by the time my breakfast is done, the entire village is scrambling around to find a way to get me to Kaza.

 The cook invites me to take refuge in the shade of his dhaba for the few or many hours before a car passes by their humble village, but I insist on taking my restless self to walk the single road of the village under the trees. As I stroll along, every passer-by has a smile to give and help to offer. A young man tries to initiate a conversation in English. I oblige, and gradually break into Hindi, to which he seems surprised. Immediately, he insists that I join him for tea, and as I run out of excuses, I follow him into a shed by the roadside. He calls a boy and tells him to make us his best tea, and as the boy heads out, I look at the tattered, isolated surroundings of the shed. Over the next hour, I hear everything about this man and his family, his entrepreneurial spirit, and his move to Pin from Manali. It’s only in Spiti, I think to myself, that my eyes didn’t subconsciously dart around for escape routes.

I find a ride just after noon, and as we drive through the precarious mountain roads, with the majestic Himalayas watching over us, I feel glad, yet again, that Spiti has salvaged the notion of atithi devo bhava for me; all the world has heard of Indian hospitality, but living in the cities made it seem like a hoax.

 Traveling to & in the Spiti Valley:

I am charmed by the landscape in some of the highest villages in the Himalayas; the sky seems to get bluer as I go higher, and surprisingly, the mountain slopes get greener. Typically, these mountain villages have a population of merely 50-100 people in a dozen or less households, and are 5-10 hour hikes away from Kaza, Spiti’s administrative headquarters and a good base to explore the region. Perhaps it is this unique geography that hasn’t allowed the peculiarities of urban India to seep into its hospitable culture.

Recommended: The villages of Langhza, Komic and Kungri.

 I am convinced that life couldn’t be easy in these villages during the winter months, when temperatures dip below -30 degree Celsius on average, practically cutting off the valley from the rest of India. The locals must hoard food and wood during the summer to be able to survive the extreme conditions. Despite their hardships, the spirit of the locals is heartening. They derive much of their conviction from the teachings of Tibetan Buddhism, some of the oldest monasteries of which are perched precariously on hills in the valley and associated with fascinating folklore & legends.

Recommended: The monasteries of Key, Dhankar and Tabo.

 Spiti’s location on the leeward side of the Himalayas has deprived it of much rainfall, but the Spiti River and the Dhankar Lake can charm any traveler.

Summer (May-October) is the best time to visit Spiti, either via the 20-hour paved road from Shimla or the 10-hour dirt road from Manali. While the journey is not for the faint-hearted, it is certainly one of the most spectacular routes I’ve ever traveled.

It is upon every independent traveler to protect and conserve Spiti’s fragile ecology. 

Travel can also be organized via India Untravelled; our partners in Spiti ensure that all trips into the trans-Himalayas are carbon neutral. Volunteering options are also available.