Invisible Cities

If you had told me that we would spend Ayush’s birthday at 11,500 feet, I wouldn’t have believed you. I probably would’ve laughed. It sounded too far, too cold, too unreal.

But there we were, blinking into the sun at Leh Airport in early June. A plan hatched half-seriously over dinner. He had said, “I want to do something different this year. Something with mountains.” I think he meant Mussoorie or Manali, but I booked Leh.

So here we were indeed!

The Warm Welcome

We stepped out of the small airport, flanked by the dramatic brown mountains of Ladakh. While we looked for a cab, we were met with warm smiles. Some local people greeted us with soft, white khataks (traditional ceremonial scarves) around our necks.

A simple but heartwarming gesture. It felt like we were stepping not just into a new destination, but into someone’s home.

“Happy Birthday to me,” Ayush whispered, a little dazed, holding the shawl like it was a medal.

Our hotel was a short 30-minute drive from the airport. Along the way, we passed a mix of raw Himalayan terrain and surprising bursts of commercial development.

Our hotel staff, welcomed us with warm butter tea (an acquired taste, we quickly learned) and a plate of momos. The welcome snacks disappeared faster than I would like to reveal.

 “You’ll want to rest,” the staff told us. “Don’t do too much today. Let your body settle.”

We soon understood why he said that.

Altitude is real. You don’t feel it until you try to climb a staircase or take a deep breath. At over 11,000 feet, Leh asks you to slow down.

So we did as we were told.

Took naps, drank water like medicine, and stared out our window. prayer flags fluttering like tiny prayers caught mid-sentence. Oh how I wish there was a way to read them!

By evening, we were ready to venture out.

The sun was still shining bright, like it had forgotten to set. And the chill had set in. We bundled up. Turns out Ladakh in June, is colder than it looks.

Next, we headed to Leh Market for a stroll. 

The Leh Market

The streets were alive in a quiet way. Locals in thick wool coats walked alongside monks with maroon robes and earbuds. 

Shops sold everything. From yak-wool shawls to handmade jewelry to old brass statues of the Buddha. Nothing seemed out of the list. Yet, most of it were too beautiful or too expensive.

Ugh!

We found a cafe tucked into a corner. It had wooden walls and a heater that looked like it had been borrowed from a 90s Bollywood set. The coffee was strong, the playlist was oddly jazz-heavy, and we spent an hour just watching the world go by. 

A group of school kids walked past, laughing loudly. An old woman tried to convince me to buy a fur-lined cap (“For your head! Your city head!”). I did, eventually. “You look like a Himalayan herdsman” Ayush commented. Well, well!

That night, back at the hotel, we went to bed early. 

Not just because we were tired, but because the next day was fully packed:

• Local Sightseeing
• Exploring the mountain roads
• AND the heavy task of breathing in that very thin air.

We surely needed some rest!

Day One in Leh..

The morning came with a chill and strong ginger coffee. We layered up like onions and set off. Our driver, Dorje, was cheerful and full of stories.

He told us Ladakhi jokes, and even pointed out monasteries that we hadn’t even noticed. Most importantly, he drove with the calm of someone who’s clearly done this road a thousand times.

Hall of Fame

Our first stop was the Hall of Fame, a military museum built and maintained by the Indian Army. It was unexpectedly moving.

• Letters from soldiers stationed at Siachen,
• photographs of frostbitten faces,
• and boots that had clearly seen more snow than we ever would.

We walked slowly, quietly. 

War museums often feel distant, but this one was close, raw, personal, even intimate. I wrote a short note to be hung on their wall as a mark of pride and gratitude.

With heavy hearts, we stepped out of the museum and braced ourselves for the next stop.

Magnetic Hill

The famous stretch of road where gravity takes a break. 

Dorje asked us to get out and film the car rolling “uphill.” We did. Ayush was skeptical but amused. “It’s either a perfect optical illusion,” he said, “or Ladakh is a low-key Hogwarts.” 

I preferred the second theory. It was more fun.

Gurudwara Patthar Sahib

Oh, then we also stopped at Gurudwara Patthar Sahib. My mother, being from a Sikh lineage, had told me the story of this Gurudwara when I was young. That time I used to believe in the magic stories around God. 

It’s said that Guru Nanak defeated a demon here with kindness (and a large rock), without violence. All while meditating. Yes. The rock is actually there inside the Gurudwara with an imprint of Guru Nanak ji.

Imagine!

Inside, the volunteers gave us hot tea and prasad, and asked us to sit for a while. We sat under the low ceiling, heads covered, hearts unexpectedly full. I watched Ayush close his eyes. It felt like a moment we would remember, even if we didn’t say a word.

Leh Palace

Moving on…

Then came the climb to the Leh Palace, an old royal residence that stands tall and tired above the town. 

The walk up wasn’t long, but at this altitude, even short walks feel like mini-expeditions. The palace is weathered, with crumbling walls, uneven steps, a history you can feel in the infrastructure. 

From the upper windows, Leh stretched out like a painting. You see everything: the old town, the white-washed stupas, the blue sky folding into snowcaps.

“It’s like being inside a postcard,” I said.
“It’s like we’re the ones being framed,” Ayush replied.

We returned to the hotel exhausted. After a quick shower, we ordered a feast of local Ladakhi food. This included:

• steaming hot thukpa,
• tingmo buns,
• mutton curry,
• and of course, Chang.

Pro tip: Chang (local barley beer) is strong, slightly sour, and… let’s just say not for everyone.

Ayush took one sip and looked at me like I’d tricked him. “This is what betrayal tastes like,” he said. I laughed until I snorted. It was the perfect end to a day that we didn’t plan, but somehow got exactly right.

A Slow Start That Mattered…

Day one in Leh wasn’t about grand sights or high passes. It was about landing softly. Being welcomed with the warmest hospitality. Watching myself buy a woolen cap that I didn’t need. Drinking coffee in a quiet cafe, and climbing a palace just to watch the town breathe.

It was a day that reminded us why we started Invisible Cities. To write not about the biggest monuments or the top 10 lists, but about the spaces in between. 

The local tea. The quiet shrines. The breathing moments that turn into lifelong stories. Tomorrow, we plan to tackle the mighty Khardung La.

But today, we let the city meet us first.