Julley Ladakh! An Adventure In The Land Of Lamas

“Do you want to go to Ladakh?” my editor asked on a random Tuesday morning. The question landed in my head like coins in an empty bowl. In that instant, I saw a montage of Pangong Tso’s serene blue waters and the silent grandeur of mountains I had only ever dreamt of.

“It will be a foraging trip, so you might find it interesting,” she continued. I peeled my imagination away and, without any hesitation, said, “Yes, why not?”

By the evening, my family and friends knew. My parents were thrilled, my sister was excited, and my younger brother was slightly apprehensive. Friends generously lent me jackets and coats for the cold. And yet, even with the boarding pass in hand, I could not quite believe I was going to Leh.

From 1st to 6th August, OMO Café organised the adventure, as part of their #OMOAdventures series, in collaboration with Namza Dining, The Pal Hotel Leh, and The Stone Hedge Hotel. It would take me thousands of feet above sea level, into unfamiliar company, and into a landscape where cellular networks simply disappear. I was ready.

First Impressions

From the plane, I looked out at clouds rolling like a sea over mountains stripped bare of vegetation. It was a sight I will never forget, not only for its scale but for its symbolism. Ladakh had been just a dream since my graduation days in Dehradun, but now I was only a few hundred feet away from touching down.

At the baggage counter, I met my companions for the next five days, journalists from across the country. “Save your breath,” advised a fellow writer. “You feel fine now, but give your body two days to acclimatise.” Point in case, acclimatisation is extremely important. It is mandatory to rest for 48 hours in Leh before making any trips to higher altitudes, and it is advised to engage in minimal activity and eat a lighter diet while acclimating to the altitude. 

Day one was just that: rest. The Pal Hotel, with its warm staff and windows framing the mountains, felt like a gentle embrace. I was welcomed with fresh seabuckthorn juice and apricots plucked straight from the trees. It was a small but telling introduction to Ladakh’s bounty. Shruti Gupta, Head of Marketing & PR at the Stone Hedge, had been our guide from the moment we landed, and later revealed herself also to be a gifted storyteller, her warmth threading through our meal. 

On the second day, I stayed back from a heritage walk through Leh’s iconic sites like the Leh Palace, Jama Masjid, Gompa Soma, and Chutay Rantak due to fatigue, but Deepika Sethi, co-founder of OMO, along with Grace Muivah, took great care to put me back on my feet. 

What I missed out on in the morning, I made up for by attending the brunch at Namza Dining. We were addressed by Padma Yangchan and Jigmet Disket, the co-founders of Namza Couture, who explained to us the ins and outs of the cuisine. As rain poured outside, I sipped my soup and had a light serving of momo.

Later, we headed to Thiksey monastery in the evening, a beautiful work of art and architecture. The terrain unfolded in endless shades of ochre and brown, interrupted by flashes of white stupas and prayer flags. Stanzin Tsephel, owner of The Pal Hotel and Stonehedge Hotel, and his wife, Nilza Angmo, guided us through the monastery, pausing to share insights on Buddhism. The day closed with a guided gratitude meditation by Tsephel inside the monastery, an unhurried pause that felt like a reset button for my city-frayed senses.

In the Main Bazaar, while shopping for a yak wool beanie, we wandered past women crocheting hats and woollen sweaters, and stumbled upon children playing badminton in the streets. It reminded me of childhood evenings in Delhi during power cuts, those stolen hours of playing with my friends when the city went dark and everyone would come out to get some fresh air.

Into The Nubra Valley

The next morning, we packed into cars and drove towards Nubra Valley, stopping to forage along the way. Under the guidance of our friends from Ladakh, the Stone Hedge team and Disket, we foraged Seabuckthorn berries, ephedra, wild marjoram, mushrooms, thyme, each ingredient revealing how deeply Ladakh’s cuisine is rooted in its landscape. The route took us across Wari La Pass at 17,400 feet. Thin air made each step heavy, but the sight of the Shyok River shimmering below felt worth it.

On its banks, the Stone Hedge team had laid out a small picnic. Ramen simmered, and bao sandwiches were assembled with care. Across the water, yaks grazed against a backdrop of staggering peaks. It was a scene stitched together from dreams.

When we finally reached Stone Hedge Hotel, I felt transported into a Studio Ghibli film. A stone path led past a stream where ducks fluttered. High tea awaited, along with a Traditional Ladakhi dance that urged us to join. The hotel is between three mountain ranges, hence the name, Stone Hedge. As soon as you wake up and open the curtains, a breathtaking view of nature presents itself, just for you to savour. Later that night, we sat under the glistening stars and around the bonfire, tired yet unwilling to let the day end.

The Hunder Dok Trek

The following day tested me. We set out on the Hunder Dok trek, led by Stanzin and his team, aiming to reach a village where locals would cook for us. I started strong, boasting of my pahadi roots, but halfway through, exhaustion took over. We stopped many times along the way, taking in the scenic views and just admiring the beauty in front of us. Stories were being exchanged, and people got to know each other while helping each other walk through the treacherous path.

At one point, we stopped in front of a local's home, and they gave us a drink that was made from the leftovers of the cheese-making process, a bit sour in taste. Along our way, we stopped to drink water from a running stream, said "Julley" to cows and kids, and got to know about a wild plant that can actually cause madness. The team paused to forage some more as there were blue goji berries (tserzang), caraway (zeera), nettle leaves, mushrooms, wild chives, and tender pea shoots to be packed away. The trek got more difficult as the altitude heightened, and just as I began wishing for it to be over, the path opened into a valley blanketed in yellow flowers.

The reward was more than the view; it was the meal prepared with such generosity and love. Tsephel taught us how to make Phey-marr in a Gormo. Roasted barley flour, butter, sugar, whey, and dried cheese were mixed with the middle finger, as tradition dictates. It was both nourishment and lesson, a sweet fruit of the labour it had taken to get there. On the spread was also mutton and vegetarian Chuttagi, and one of the fellow journalists even got to make a coffee brew up there. Nothing seemed quite impossible. 

At night, we gathered at Stanzin’s ancestral home for dinner. The warmth of the kitchen, the endless rows of utensils, and the earthy smell reminded me of my nani’s home in Uttarakhand. It was both familiar and entirely new.

Night In Leh

The final evening in Leh brought us back to Namza Dining for a multicourse feast that read like a love letter to Ladakh. Before this dinner, I stole some alone tourist time to map the place on my own. I screenshotted the map and walked around the market area, buying memento t-shirts, enjoying matcha and cheesecake at a nearby cafe called HAHA Japanese bakery.

The meal began with a spiced seabuckthorn mocktail, sharp yet refreshing, followed by Zathuk, a dried nettle soup layered with earthy depth. Gucchi momo arrived next, filled with prized morel found in Jammu-Kashmir, while Kabra Tingmo paired wild Ladakhi caper shoots with fluffy steamed buns. A palate-cleansing Kashgar bazaar tea prepared us for chutagi, a unique pasta not boiled but set directly into a rich stew. Yarkhandi pulao, a centuries-old dish slow-cooked with spices that once travelled the Silk Route, carried the grandeur of history in every grain.

After days of saying Julley to each other, a greeting which means both hello and goodbye, all too soon,  it was time to fly back to Mumbai. I left Ladakh with a suitcase full of woollens, a notebook of flavours, and a heart unwilling to return. Even as the city skyline came into view, a part of me was still in the mountains, out of range, right at peace.