Apricots, Stars and Silent Roads: Oshin’s Ladakh Trip with Thrillophilia
Oshin never imagined that a simple conversation would turn into one of the best journeys of her life.
It was a warm April evening, and her living room was cluttered with fabric swatches, half-packed gift boxes, and wedding playlists echoing from a phone speaker. Yamini, the bride-to-be and Oshin’s closest friend, looked up from her pile of bangles and said, “Before I get married, I want to do something wild. One last girls’ trip.”
Nandini, lounging on the beanbag with her chai, laughed. “Where? Goa?”
“No,” Oshin said almost instinctively, “Ladakh.”
There was a moment of silence. And then, like clockwork, laughter, cheers, and Google searches began. Within hours, they were browsing through itineraries and came across Thrillophilia, whose Ladakh package felt like it had been written just for them.
Into Turtuk
They arrived in Leh and eased into the altitude with a couple of relaxed days by exploring monasteries and the old market lanes. But it was on their third day, en route to Turtuk, that the real journey began.
The Nubra Valley had already cast its spell with rolling dunes, distant snow peaks, and camels roaming. But the drive to Turtuk was something else entirely.
The landscape started shifting slowly. The deserts gave way to luscious greenery. Apricot trees bloomed beside narrow lanes, and their petals fell like confetti. The mountains also seemed closer.
In the heart of the village, the trio wandered through cobbled alleys, tasted dried apricots and waved back at children who seemed genuinely delighted to see them. They met an elderly local who brewed them fresh butter tea and shared stories of how the village once belonged to a different country.
“This land,” he said, “has changed names, flags, and even languages. But it remembers.”
That evening, as they sat around a small fire back in Nubra, wrapped in shawls and warmed by laughter and silence alike, Oshin stared at the stars.
“There is something ancient here,” she whispered. No one replied, and they did not need to.
Through Memory and Mountains
The next morning, they packed their bags again and headed towards Pangong Lake for a brief stop before continuing their journey to Hanle.
But they were not prepared for the emotional pause at the Rezang La War Memorial.
The site stood quiet, marked by names and dates. The wind carried the stories of men who had stood against the odds during the 1962 Indo-China war. It was not loud or theatrical. It was just... still and respectful.
Yamini, who usually filled every silence with a joke, was silent.
“It is strange,” Nandini said, finally breaking the hush. “How sometimes a place speaks louder than people.”
From there, the road turned wild and lonely. Hanle was remote, untouched, and rested at the edge of the known world. Their vehicle moved through vast open plains with prayer flags fluttering occasionally, as if they too were travelling.
They visited the Indian Astronomical Observatory at night. A kind guide pointed out planets and galaxies, but Oshin was moved to see through the telescope across the sky.
In that quiet, among the constellations, something inside her shifted.
A Warm Pause on a Cold Journey
The journey back to Leh was a soft return.
On their way, the Chumathang Valley welcomed them with meadows and rivers. The trio took a break at the hot springs, where they dipped their hands into the mineral-rich waters that steamed in the cold wind.
Yamini laughed. “Ladakh knows how to balance everything. Harsh roads and gentle warmth.”
As they sat by the stream, Oshin looked around. There was no rush of city life. Just the three of them, breathing in landscapes that did not need any filters.
They reached Leh by evening and checked into their hotel. Familiar beds, warm kahwa, and stories now filled with inside jokes and shared silences.
Later that night, as they sipped tea in the hotel lounge, Yamini said, “You know, I thought I wanted fun before the wedding. But what I really needed... was stillness.”
Oshin nodded as her thoughts drifted back to Turtuk, the stars in Hanle, and the names on the war memorial. These were great travel memories.
Where the Journey Loops Back
A week later, back in her city apartment, Oshin scrolled through the photos. Most were blurry, while some captured stunning peaks. But the one she returned to again and again was an apricot tree in Turtuk, whose branches reached out over a stone wall.
She realised something then.
They had started this trip to give Yamini one last adventure before her wedding. But they came back with something deeper.
Ladakh had been a story. And Thrillophilia had helped them live it as wanderers.
There are places that impress you. And then there are places like Turtuk, Hanle, and Chumathang that stay with you.
Oshin knew one thing for sure.
One day, she would go back to Turtuk. Maybe not to visit, but to return.
Read More:
Thrillophilia Ladakh Reviews