Miles, Mandir & Memories: My Solo Travel to Chopta & Tungnath

The first time was so nice that I will keep doing it many times

Photo by Jovan Vasiljević on Unsplash

It started with Tirthan Valley and Jibhi: a place I didn’t know I needed until I was already there. The rivers, the pine trees, the silence that wraps around you like a shawl — something shifted inside me on that trip.

I came back not just with photographs and stories, but with a version of myself that felt lighter, newer. Refreshed. And that feeling was addictive enough to send me packing again.

This time, the destination was Tungnath: the highest Shiva temple in the world, sitting at over 12,000 feet above everything ordinary.

I boarded from Akshardham metro station with a group of strangers, the kind of people you share seats with but don’t yet know. By the end of it all, they wouldn’t feel like strangers at all.

The first night was gentle and slow. We warmed up over introductions and dinner at a Punjabi dhaba, the kind of place where the dal is always perfect, and the conversation flows easier than you’d expect. Laughter finds its way quickly when everyone’s a little far from home.

Day 2 unfolded beautifully. We passed through Devprayag, where the Alakananda and Bhagirathi rivers meet in a confluence so breathtaking it feels almost sacred just to witness it.

Then came the Dhari Devi temple: quiet, powerful, tucked in its own kind of grace. By 3 PM, we reached our campsite, and were welcomed the only right way — hot chai and pakodas. Some things are universally perfect.

The night came in cold and clear, nine degrees of it. Sleeping under that kind of sky, in that kind of silence, does something to you. It’s the sort of night that stays with you long after you’ve come home.

The next morning, the trek began at 9 AM. Narrow paths, uncertain weather, the kind of climb that asks something of you with every step. And then — ice.

Ice had fallen just a few days before we arrived, and it was still very much there, sitting on the ground like a quiet gift. It was my first time seeing it in real life, and something about that moment quietly dismantled a belief I’d carried for years — that snow and ice only exist in faraway Western countries, something you see in Hollywood films but never touch yourself.

There I was, touching it, throwing it, completely losing my mind over it. I bum-dropped seven or eight times on the icy slope, which, for the record, was absolutely worth every single fall, and we even built a snowman and clicked photos like it was the most important thing we’d ever done. In that moment, it genuinely was.

By noon, we were at the temple: our team of strangers-turned-friends completing it in about an hour and a half. The weather didn’t allow for Chandrashila that day, but honestly, standing at Tungnath, still slightly damp from the ice shenanigans, was enough. More than enough.

I came back that evening carrying a small Shiv Ling and Trisul statue in my bag — simple things, but they felt significant. I slept peacefully that night, the kind of sleep that only comes after the body and soul have both done something worthwhile.

The last day was Rishikesh: Ganga Aarti at Lakshman Jhula as the lamps floated on the river, and then unhurried cafe hopping through lanes that smell of incense and filter coffee all at once. There’s a particular magic to Rishikesh evenings that’s hard to put into words. You just have to be there.

And then, just like that, I was back at my PG. Bags unpacked, heart full, head still somewhere in the mountains.

Every solo trip teaches you something, about the world, yes, but mostly about yourself. This one reminded me that the best journeys begin the moment you say yes.

Until next time :)