Lamayuru was not on our itinerary. The entire Leh trip was planned all of a sudden. I and three of my friends visited it during the month of September, and had some places narrowed down in our itinerary. Flight tickets were booked and I was excited to visit one of the most beautiful places in the country, not knowing that it was going to steal a quiet place in my heart for life. Instagram reels made me imagine it as a place already exhausted by hashtags and motorbike convoys, but all these were soon going to be shattered.So, there I am on the flight. And as soon as I was up in the air, I knew that I had made the right decision. The beauty of the landscape was more than we could have asked for. If you loved watching those Insata reels, be aware that the reality will bowl you over. Landed and reached our guesthouse. Took that day off for acclimatization. Nothing to worry about, you would be fine after some good rest, as it allows your body to adapt with the changing environment.
Lamayuru/Picture credit: Panchali Dey
Ours was a 7-day itinerary. Cut to chase, why am I talking about Lamayuru.So, it was maybe the 3rd or 4th day in Leh, when we decided to visit Lamayuru. It was basically suggested by our cab driver. One moment the landscape was rugged, familiar in its Himalayan sternness, and the next it simply… collapsed into something lunar. It suddenly felt like the Earth turned the colour of bone and ash. Someone in the cab said it’s ‘Moonland,’ and for once the name didn’t feel like a tourism exaggeration. It felt accurate. Brutally so.We stopped near the monastery. I stepped out, and the silence too hit us, not the gentle, poetic kind. It was a thick, ringing quiet that makes you hear your own breathing too. Usually, we are overenthusiastic, but that time, we paused for once, as if unsure whether this place wanted us at all.I had come without expectations, which is perhaps why Lamayuru crept up on me slowly. There were no crowds waiting to be dodged, nothing overtly demanding attention. A handful of prayer flags fraying in the wind and monks walking with the unhurried confidence of people who belong exactly where they are. I followed a narrow path upward, not sure where it led. There are many places in Leh, where you will find endless paths, and you would just want to explore, with no crowds to bother you, and air so fresh that you won’t mind also.We approached a monastery that sat like it had grown out of the rock itself, stubborn and calm. I remember thinking how arrogant cities are, always trying to dominate landscapes, while this place had simply learned how to coexist. I sat on a low wall, legs dangling, and watched clouds drift across the valley. They moved fast, impatient even, as if they had somewhere better to be. Unlike me, who suddenly wanted to go nowhere.
Altitude does strange things. It strips you of drama. There’s no energy left for overthinking, no room for overwhelming emotions. All you can do is exist, see, feel all the places an come back with memories. I walked, drank water, counted my breaths, and realised how rarely I allow myself to do nothing without guilt. In Lamayuru, doing nothing felt like the most respectful thing I could do.Lunch was a simple affair at a small restaurant, or it was a canteen. Perhaps we had pakoda (I don’t remember that much) ate slowly, partly because my appetite had abandoned me, and partly because there was no reason to rush. The owner asked where I was from, nodded politely, and didn’t ask follow-up questions. It was the kind of conversation I didn’t know I needed.Later, I walked again. Every photograph I took felt inadequate. How do you frame vastness without shrinking it? How do you capture quiet without interrupting it? I put the camera away eventually, defeated and relieved.At some point, I realised I wasn’t thinking about work. Or deadlines. Or the next trip. This, for me, is rare. Travel usually sharpens my restlessness, it feeds the constant urge to move, to collect, to narrate. Lamayuru did the opposite. It slowed me down to the point where even my thoughts seemed to echo before forming.As evening crept in, the temperature dropped without warning. Shadows stretched across the valley, while changing its colours from pale gold to something bruised and blue. I wrapped my jacket tighter and felt an unfamiliar gratitude, not the loud, Instagrammable kind, but a quiet relief at being small and unimportant in the best possible way.
Lamayuru/ Picture credit: Panchali Dey
We boarded the cab again. And as we descended, the moonland faded into ordinary mountains, and I felt an unexpected resistance rise in my chest. I hadn’t done anything in Lamayuru. No checklist ticked, no dramatic revelation unlocked. And yet, it felt like one of the most honest travel experiences I’d had in years.Later that night, we all sat together to chill. Sharing travel, personal stories, and anything and everything under the sun. There was no hurry for deadlines, or preparing food. This is what travel gives you, freedom to sit for endless hours with your friends for a change. Lamayuru gave us this time and space, and it all felt unreal.Somewhere between the moon-like hills and the thin mountain air, I realised that sometimes some places teach us to slow down, and that the most meaningful journeys are the ones that are not external, but the one within.
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