After an early morning flight from Hyderabad to Delhi and a swift hop to Dharamshala, I found myself driving through crisp mountain air toward my resort perched high above the valley and overlooking the serene, snow-capped Dhauladhar peaks. The resort felt like a quiet promise of all that awaited me.
The cold of the lower Himalayas greeted me the moment I stepped out, but the warmth of my beautiful suite gently wrapped itself around me. Wooden furnishings, soft rugs, and artwork celebrating Himachali culture created an inviting cocoon. Each morning, I woke to glorious sunrises spilling gold over the mountains; each evening, to a hush filled with birdsong and pine-scented breezes. My private balcony soon became my sanctuary—my window to the endlessly shifting moods of the mountains.
“Dharamshala is not just scenery,” the resort’s genial general manager briefed me soon after check-in. “It’s spirituality, adventure, and culture—and, above all, birding. Of course, for the adventurous, there are activities like trekking, paragliding, ziplining, and ATV rides. You may spot rare birds right from this balcony,” he added. Then, with a laugh, “If you’re lucky, perhaps even a leopard or a couple of bears!”
My Himalayan escape began with an exquisite Tibetan lunch. Bowls of steaming thukpa, silky thenthuk, and delicate momos appeared in succession. I relished the flavours of chicken phingsha, the earthy heat of mutton shapta, and the pillowy softness of tingmo bread. But the showstopper was the unexpectedly delightful Chinese Jalebi—crisp, honey-soaked spirals paired with vanilla ice cream.
Echoes of faith and history
Driving toward McLeod Ganj, I stopped at the 150-year-old St. John in the Wilderness Church, tucked into a breathtaking deodar forest. Built in 1852, its neo-Gothic structure stood solemnly in the shade of towering pines. Streaks of late afternoon sunlight danced through Belgian stained-glass windows, illuminating the stone interiors with jewel-like hues. As the mellow toll of the church bell echoed through the forest, I felt a deep, unexpected stillness.
Further uphill, the Dalai Lama Temple Complex radiated a gentle, pervasive peace. The central temple, home to the magnificent golden statue of Avalokiteshvara, was alive with silent worshippers and a stream of visitors. Rows of prayer wheels spun under my palms, each turn releasing a silent prayer into the crisp mountain air.
Namgyal Monastery, the Tibet Museum, intricate murals, fluttering flags, and the tranquil courtyard created an atmosphere where spirituality seamlessly blended with everyday life. I left feeling blessed, lighter somehow.
Wandering through McLeod Ganj
In the charming lanes of McLeod Ganj Market, time simply dissolved. Tibetan and Himachali handicrafts spilled from tiny shops: woollens knitted by local women, prayer wheels, singing bowls, and chunky ethnic jewellery. I indulged in a well-cut woollen coat and a traditional Tibetan chhupa, its warmth a reminder of the mountains. Kashmiri dry fruits, Buddha keychains, and colorful knick-knacks completed my treasure hunt.
A taste of Kangra’s legacy
A four-hour guided tour at the Himalayan Brew Tea Factory in the heart of Kangra Valley unfolded like a beautifully brewed story: the 150-year-old British machines still whirring perfectly, the methods unchanged.
We sampled over 30 teas (naturally flavoured, preservative-free)—each a single spoonful of aroma and history—and indulged in nine handcrafted tea-based gelatos created by the owner, Rajiv Sud, who revived the legacy of Kangra Tea. A stroll through the tea gardens ended with me gently plucking delicate white tea flowers blooming shyly on the bushes.
Stone, legend and timeless beauty
A two-and-a-half-hour drive took me to the stunning Masroor Rock-Cut Temple—an eighth-century marvel carved from a single sandstone rock. Local legends link it to the Pandavas, who are believed to have begun building it during their exile. The reflection of the monolithic complex in the pond below created a breathtaking, almost mystical tableau.
I walked through the storied gates of the mighty Kangra Fort, the largest in the Himalayas and one of India’s oldest. It has survived invasions by Mahmud of Ghazni, Tughlaq rulers, and the Mughals, along with the devastating 1905 earthquake that flattened much of Kangra town. The ruins stand haunting yet majestic, echoing tales of the once-rich Kangra treasury. Watching schoolchildren race through its stone pathways, chattering and laughing, I felt history breathe again.
At Norbulingka Institute, a cultural haven set amid serene Japanese-style gardens, I watched artisans painstakingly practise centuries-old Tibetan crafts—woodcarving, metalwork, and thangka painting. The doll museum was a charming window into Tibetan life, and in the meditation centre I met travellers from Mongolia, Tibet, and Russia, each seeking serenity in this cultural sanctuary.
My days at the resort were filled with moonrises that cast silver spells over the mountains, while sunrises painted them in molten gold. Bonfires and barbecues warmed the evenings; at mealtimes a flautist played soulful Pahadi tunes, and the Himachali folk dances added a festive glow.
A taste of tradition
My final evening was devoted to the traditional Himachali Dhaam—a rice-based community feast served on leaf plates. The meal unfolded in aromatic succession: fluffy rice, yoghurt-rich madra, tangy mahni, tailey maash dal, kadhi, sepu badi, and meetha bhaat. Each dish, slow-cooked in brass pots over wood fire, sang of heritage and devotion. The chefs who cooked the meal lovingly served it themselves as per the custom.
Dharamshala had welcomed me with mountains, monasteries, memories—and murmurs of peace that still linger long after my journey ended.