Traveling Ladakh, the chill of the morning air clings to the peaks as two monks, draped in their traditional robes, lift their horns to the heavens, the deep, resonant notes of the dung dkar echoing through the quiet expanse of Thikse monastery. The town of Leh, nestled in the Ladakh region of northern India, is more than just a destination; it’s a memory etched into the very soul of those who visit.
Leh is a place where time moves differently, where the past is as vivid as the present. I wandered into a small shop, its walls adorned with vibrant prints and the faint scent of ink lingering in the air. The owner, a man named George Sher Ali, looked up from his work as I entered. There was a familiarity in the space, a sense of having been there before, though years had passed since my last visit. “I’ve been here before,” I said, almost to myself, but George’s ears caught the words. “What did you buy?” he asked, a curious glint in his eye. He reached for a pile of worn notebooks, their pages yellowed with age. “I’ll tell you exactly when you were here.”
Eight years had slipped through my fingers since that last visit. I mentioned the postcards, just a few, that I’d purchased back then. George flipped through the pages, his fingers tracing the handwritten entries, until he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he said, pointing to the date—Sept. 19, 2010. “Five postcards. That was you.” A single line, a fleeting moment, preserved in ink.
Leh, with its ancient palaces and towering monasteries, has an enduring spirit. It’s a place that holds onto its history, even as the world around it shifts and changes. Over the years, more visitors have found their way to this remote corner of the Himalayas, drawn by the allure of its rugged landscapes and the warmth of its people. Yet, despite the influx of tourists and the new restaurants and guesthouses that have sprung up, Leh remains true to itself—an adventure waiting to be lived, a story waiting to be told.
If you’re planning a journey to this high-altitude haven, consider flying. The flight from New Delhi to Leh’s Kushok Bakula Rimpochee Airport is a swift escape from the chaos of the plains below, and if you’re lucky, you can find a ticket for less than forty dollars. But remember, the mountains have their own rules. Flights arrive and depart in the early hours, when the weather is most stable. Don’t count on catching an evening flight; the mountains won’t allow it.
Delhi was my gateway, a city that pulls you in with its noise and colors. I spent a few days there, adjusting to the rhythm of the place, before boarding an early flight to Leh. This trip was just one chapter of a longer journey through India, a country that demands patience and persistence. Bureaucracy is woven into the fabric of travel here—have your papers in order, your itineraries printed, and your credit card at the ready. This is India, after all, where every detail matters.
From the vantage point of Likir Monastery, the rugged terrain of Ladakh stretches endlessly, a place where time itself seems to pause. Situated about 34 miles west of Leh, this remote sanctuary stands as a silent witness to the complex dance of territorial claims among China, Pakistan, and India. Yet, in the midst of this geopolitical tension, the path to Leh remains unimpeded for travelers—no special visa or permit is required for the journey to this high-altitude town or along the Srinagar-Leh Highway that winds westward. But should you wish to venture into the deeper recesses of the region, like the Nubra Valley to the north, an Inner Line Permit is necessary. The cost is nominal, a few hundred rupees, yet it serves as your passport to the more hidden corners of this land.
My return to Leh was greeted by familiar faces—Tundup, a local whose roots run deep in these mountains, and Sina, a Swiss traveler who has made Leh a regular stop in her wanderings. They met me at the airport and whisked me away to the Hotel Spic-n-Span on Old Leh Road, a modest lodging where double rooms range from $45 to $60 a night. The town offers countless places to stay, but I’d suggest choosing one close to the Main Bazaar. Here, within walking distance, you’ll find the heart of Leh’s bustling life—a tapestry of sights, sounds, and scents.
On your first day in Leh, the Main Bazaar is the ideal place to begin, a space where the pulse of the town can be felt with every step. The altitude here demands respect; take it slow, sip water often, and let your body adjust to the thin air. Once open to the roar of cars, the bazaar is now a pedestrian haven, its walkways adorned with banners from the mosque and vibrant Buddhist prayer flags fluttering overhead. Street dogs move with unhurried grace, weaving between vendors selling apricots by the handful, while shopkeepers entice passersby with promises of the finest pashmina shawls and handmade trinkets. Above it all, the ancient Leh Palace looms, a silent guardian over the chaotic scene below.
Tucked away within the Tibetan Refugee Market, you’ll find the Central Asian Museum—a modest but meaningful collection of artifacts that speak to the history and culture of this storied region. A mere 50 rupees gains you entry into a world of long-forgotten tales and customs.
No visit to Leh is complete without the ritual of buying a scarf. But this is not a simple transaction—it’s a conversation, a slow unfolding of trust and understanding. At the Pashmina House, nestled at the far end of the bazaar, Majid, the shopkeeper, invited me in with a warm smile and a cup of tea. For nearly an hour, he spoke of the origins of pashmina, the softest wool woven from the undercoat of Pashmina goats. The discussion of price was a reluctant afterthought, exchanged via calculator with the slightest hint of distaste.
“The machine-made pashminas,” he confided, “are laced with nylon, 10 percent at least. No one else will tell you this, but it’s the truth.” His words hung in the air, and the choice was mine: handmade pashminas at a price exceeding 8,000 rupees or the machine-woven ones at half that cost. I opted for the latter, content with the feel of spun clouds in my hands, and added a couple of beautifully patterned Merino wool scarves to my purchase for 2,500 rupees each.
Bartering, here, is an art form. It’s a dance, a delicate interplay of intentions. Don’t rush it—sit down, enjoy the tea, and let the conversation flow. If the price doesn’t suit you, express your disappointment with a sigh and walk away. But if you know you’re destined to buy, give the vendor the satisfaction of victory. After all, they likely need those extra few dollars far more than you do.
Breathing in the thin air of a new and unfamiliar place can leave you feeling winded, almost as if the very atmosphere resists your presence. When this happens, take a moment to rest and refill at Dzomsa, a modest shop with an eco-friendly ethos. Here, you can replenish your water supply—just 7 rupees for a refill if you bring your own bottle—and peruse a selection of local artisanal goods. I couldn’t resist a jar of their sweet apricot jam, which set me back 130 rupees. The shopkeeper, a lively woman named Stanzin, offers same-day laundry service too, at a reasonable 95 rupees per kilo.
For those times when water alone won’t do, the town has seen a welcome addition since my last visit—an array of coffee spots that offer a much-needed caffeine fix. Brazil Cafe, with its welcoming staff and a rooftop deck perfect for soaking in the view, quickly became a favorite of mine. It was a reliable place to catch some Wi-Fi (a scarce resource in Leh) and enjoy a 150-rupee cappuccino, paired with an unexpectedly delicious slice of banana bread for 100 rupees. Another good find was Yum Yum Cafe, tucked away in a courtyard off the main market. Their coffee, priced at 80 rupees, was accompanied by crunchy peanut cookies, each one a bargain at 50 rupees.
But for something more traditional, Leh doesn’t disappoint. The Himalayan Cafe offers not just hearty local dishes but also a panoramic view of the palace and the bustling bazaar below. A bowl of vegetarian thenthuk—thick, hand-pulled noodles swimming in a savory broth—was just 110 rupees, and the rich Tibetan butter tea that came with it, though pungent and savory, was the perfect complement for another 40 rupees. No visit to Leh would be complete without sampling momos, the classic dumplings filled with goodness. At Amdo Food, also in the Main Bazaar, the potato and cheese momos, with their tender exteriors and creamy fillings, were exactly what I needed before setting out on a mountain trek.
For a modern twist on Ladakhi cuisine, Namza is a must-visit. Part cafe, part upscale clothing store owned by designer Padma Yangchan, it’s a place where food and fashion blend seamlessly. The clothes might have been out of my price range, but the vegetarian o-chu tagi, a soup featuring delicate, ear-shaped pasta, was well worth the 300 rupees. Later that evening, we sought out Bon Appetit, a restaurant tucked away off Changspa Road. The search wasn’t easy—especially after dark—but following the trail of fellow diners, their path lit by cellphone flashlights, we finally found it. The reward was a beautifully designed space with food to match. A hefty mutton burger with fries cost 300 rupees, and the tangy sea buckthorn juice, at 100 rupees, was the perfect drink to wash it down.
Exploring the outskirts of Leh is part of what makes the experience so enriching, and with my friend Sina’s car at our disposal, we set out early one morning to visit some of the area’s sacred sites. After a quick stop to capture the breathtaking confluence of the Indus and Zanskar Rivers, we arrived at Likir Monastery. Perched on a hill, this ancient gompa, originally established in 1065 and rebuilt in the 18th century after a fire, stands majestically against a backdrop of snow-capped peaks. The entry fee was a mere 30 rupees, a small price to pay for the serenity it offered.
If time permits, I highly recommend continuing west along the Indus River. The journey takes you through a landscape that feels untouched by time, the mountains rising and falling like the breath of the earth itself. After about 43 miles, you’ll reach Lamayuru Monastery, one of the oldest and most revered in the region. Admission is 50 rupees, and the place exudes a tranquil energy. Legend has it that Arahat Madhyantika, who brought Buddhism to this land, once stood here and foretold the flourishing of the teachings. The monastery sits in an area known as Moon Land, where the rugged mountain contours soften into gentle waves.
For those who prefer a shorter excursion, Thikse Monastery is less than 20 kilometers west of Leh. Resembling Tibet’s Potala Palace with its cascading white buildings, Thikse is a sight to behold, especially at dawn. We arrived early, just as the sun began to rise, and witnessed a moment of pure, unadulterated beauty. Two young monks, clad in robes and orange headpieces, stepped onto the roof and blew into their dung dkar, the haunting sound of the conch shell horns echoing through the still morning air. It was a moment of quiet reverence, leaving us awestruck by its simple grace.
The Reference Article ラダック旅行：魅惑のヒマラヤ
