Take a Trip to McLeod Ganj: My Personal Guide to the Best Things to Do
Tucked away in the folds of the mighty Dhauladhar range, McLeod Ganj felt less like a destination and more like a deep breath I didn’t know I needed. Known fondly as “Little Lhasa,” this peaceful town in Himachal Pradesh is where Tibetan culture, Himalayan beauty, and quiet reflection come together in the most magical way.
Whether you’re trekking in boots or wandering in sandals, meditating in a monastery or sipping chai in a cozy café—McLeod Ganj has a way of slowing you down and waking you up at the same time.
Let me take you through my journey, and hopefully, inspire yours.
A Spiritual Start: Namgyal Monastery (Dalai Lama Temple)
The very first morning, I made my way to Namgyal Monastery, the personal monastery of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. There’s a certain reverence in the air—the soft murmur of chants, the rhythmic spinning of prayer wheels, the calm faces of monks. I walked the Kora circuit, surrounded by fluttering prayer flags and forested paths, and felt an instant wave of peace wash over me. It was the perfect way to begin my trip—grounded, quiet, present.
My Journey to Triund: One Step Closer to the Sky
Let me take you back to a morning that still lives in my bones—the day I trekked to Triund. It started in the whisper-quiet village of Dharamkot, where the sun rises slow and the trees seem to breathe with you.
I woke up early, long before the cafes buzzed with sleepy travelers. With my small backpack, a bottle of water, and way too many snacks, I set off with a heart full of excitement and zero trekking experience (but hey, optimism is half the gear, right?).
Dharamkot to Gallu Devi – Warming Up the Soul
The first leg was gentle—leaving behind Dharamkot’s sleepy cafés and yoga shalas, I followed a dirt trail that opened up to Gallu Devi Temple. It’s a modest shrine, but somehow it felt sacred. Locals offered silent prayers, and I paused to do the same—not out of ritual, but out of sheer gratitude for where I was.
A few tea stalls near the temple served up hot lemon tea and smiles from weather-worn faces. I took a sip, tightened my shoelaces, and stepped into the forest.
Into the Forest – The Trail Gets Real
And then, nature wrapped around me. Towering deodars, whispering oaks, bright rhododendrons—I was in the company of giants. The trail climbed gradually at first, switching between soft dirt paths and rocky steps.
Occasionally, I’d pass fellow trekkers—some huffing, some laughing, all amazed. We exchanged nods, like members of an unspoken mountain club. At one point, a local dog decided to join me. No leash, no name—just two wanderers headed uphill.
Chai Breaks & Mid-Trail Magic
Roughly halfway through, I stumbled across a little shack made of tin and dreams, run by a friendly uncle who offered me chai with the kind of sincerity you rarely see in cities. I sat on a rock, chai in hand, mountain breeze on my face, and just exhaled. These little breaks? They’re not just about catching your breath—they’re about remembering to breathe.
The Final Push – Switchbacks and Determination
Ah yes, the infamous ’22 curves’—the stretch that tests your legs and your willpower. The path became steeper, the rocks more uneven, but my determination grew stronger with every step. I kept telling myself, “One step closer to the sky.”
Every few turns, I’d stop—not because I had to, but because the views demanded it. Below me, valleys rolled like green waves. Ahead, the snow peaks teased me like a reward I hadn’t earned yet.
Arrival at Triund – A Meadow Above the Clouds
And then, just like that—I was there. The forest opened up to Triund, a windswept ridge covered in grass and sprinkled with colorful tents. And above it all, the Dhauladhar range, standing tall and silent like Himalayan gods.
I dropped my bag, collapsed onto the ground, and just stared. The snow peaks were so close I felt I could reach out and brush them. In that moment, nothing else mattered—no deadlines, no emails, no rush. Just wind, sky, and a quiet sense of awe.
Sleeping Under the Stars
As night fell, the real magic began. The sky turned velvet-black and exploded with stars. No streetlights, no honking cars—just a blanket of constellations and the occasional laugh from a nearby tent.
I lay there, wrapped in a sleeping bag and wonder, and thought: This is why we leave home. This is why we walk uphill. This is why we say yes to the unknown.
Would I recommend the Triund trek? A thousand times yes.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
Just remember:
• Start early
• Carry layers
• Stay hydrated
• And leave nothing behind but a part of your heart
Mindfulness in the Mountains: Meditation Retreats
After the high of the Triund trek—the burning calves, the wide-open skies, the laughter around campfires—I found myself craving something entirely different: stillness. Not the kind you get by sitting still, but the kind that reaches inside you. The kind that gently quiets the noise you didn’t even know you were carrying.
That’s how I found myself walking up a shaded forest path above Dharamkot, the trees whispering secrets in the breeze, toward Tushita
Meditation Centre.
Arriving at Tushita – Silence in the Air
Tushita isn’t just a place—it’s a feeling. Perched on a hillside, wrapped in pine trees and absolute calm, this spiritual haven welcomes everyone, whether you’re a devoted practitioner or a curious wanderer like me.
I signed up for a drop-in guided meditation session, not quite sure what to expect. The volunteers greeted me with warm smiles, and I was handed a cushion and gently ushered into a simple hall filled with quiet energy. The silence? It wasn’t awkward—it was sacred.
The Session – Just Breathe and Be
The teacher spoke in the gentlest voice I’ve ever heard. We practiced mindful breathing, visualizations, and a short walking meditation in the surrounding forest. I remember one line she said that has stayed with me since:
“You are not your thoughts. You are the sky, and thoughts are just passing clouds.”
I didn’t become instantly enlightened or float off the cushion. But something shifted. The usual chatter in my head—plans, regrets, checklists—grew quieter. I wasn’t anywhere else. I wasn’t anyone else. I was just… here.
Why You Should Go
Whether you’re feeling burnt out, curious about Buddhism, or just need a breather from Wi-Fi and worries, Tushita is a gift. Even a couple of hours can untangle thoughts you didn’t know were knotted. And if you have more time, they offer longer residential retreats where phones are off, distractions are few, and your inner compass gets a chance to reset.
After the session, I sat outside with a cup of ginger tea, looking out at the mountains and smiling for no reason at all. That’s the thing about McLeod Ganj—it doesn’t just ask you to explore the world; it gently invites you to explore yourself.
Tibetan Food & Café Culture
Let’s talk food—because McLeod Ganj knows how to feed the soul and the stomach.
• I slurped on Tibetan thukpa by a smoky roadside stall.
• Devoured cheese momos so good, I ordered them twice.
• Sipped butter tea (an acquired taste, but warming on cold days).
Jimmy’s Italian Kitchen served up comfort food with stunning views, Tibet Kitchen gave me authentic Tibetan flavors, and at Illiterati Café, I lingered with books, coffee, and the sound of wind in the trees. And yes—Bhagsu cake is the soft, chocolatey, caramel-filled miracle you didn’t know you needed.
A Shopper’s Paradise: Stories Wrapped in Wool and Silver
Forget glossy malls and neon signs—McLeod Ganj’s Tibetan markets are the kind of place where shopping feels soulful. No two stalls are the same, and every lane pulses with color, culture, and conversation.
One lazy afternoon, I found myself meandering through the narrow streets near the main square, drawn in by the jingle of handmade jewelry and the scent of incense curling through the air. I had no shopping list—just a curious heart and an open backpack.
More Than Things—They’re Talismans of the Journey
The first thing I bought wasn’t a souvenir—it was a moment. A soft-spoken monk smiled as I tried out different singing bowls, each emitting a hum that felt like a whisper to the soul. He showed me how to play one slowly, patiently, like he had all the time in the world. That bowl now sits on my desk at home, and every time I strike it, I’m back in that tiny shop, surrounded by the calm buzz of McLeod Ganj.
Next came handwoven wool shawls, sold by a group of local women laughing over cups of chai. Their eyes sparkled when I asked where the wool came from, and soon I was wrapped in stories of Himachali winters and family looms passed down through generations.
And the jewelry— oh, the jewelry! Rings carved with mantras, earrings made from turquoise, necklaces that seemed to carry little pieces of the mountains themselves.
Shopping with Soul
Here’s the magic: every rupee I spent felt like a small thank-you. These weren’t factory-made trinkets. They were labors of love, tokens of resilience, expressions of heritage.
As a traveler, you don’t just collect things—you collect connections. And as I left the market, bags swinging from my arms and cheeks flushed with joy, I realized I hadn’t just shopped.
I’d listened. I’d learned. I’d shared stories across language barriers and warm cups of tea.
If you go (and you absolutely should), bring:
• Cash (bargaining is gentle and respectful)
• A roomy bag
• A heart ready for stories, not just souvenirs
Trust me—you’ll come home with more than what you paid for.
Waterfall Escapes: Bhagsu & Gallu
Every mountain town has its secrets, and in McLeod Ganj, they often tumble down in sheets of cold, glacial water. I set out one afternoon with no plan—just a pair of worn-out sneakers, my camera, and an itch for something refreshing. That’s how I ended up chasing waterfalls, quite literally.
Bhagsu Waterfall – Ice-Cold Splashes & Backpacker Vibes
I started with the more famous Bhagsu Waterfall. The walk from Bhagsu village was a gentle climb, weaving through tiny shops selling dreamcatchers and dreadlock beads, past chattering travelers and the rhythmic clang of prayer bells.
When the waterfall finally came into view, it was pure Himalayan drama—icy water crashing onto black rock, mist rising like incense, and people dipping their toes into the freezing stream with shrieks of laughter.
And just above it, like a mirage of color and sound, sat Shiva Café.
Now, let me tell you—Shiva Café is not just a café. It’s a vibe. Painted in trippy murals, Bob Marley watching over you from every wall, and cushions that swallow you whole, it’s the kind of place where time melts as easily as the cheese in their toasties. I grabbed a hot cup of ginger lemon honey tea, claimed a corner seat, and just exhaled.
Gallu Waterfall – A Quiet Whisper in the Woods
A couple of days later, hungry for solitude, I took a different trail—one that started near Dharamkot and snaked its way through tall pines and mossy stones. This path led me to Gallu Waterfall, a lesser-known gem whispered about by locals and missed by the crowds.
There were no stalls, no selfie sticks, no thumping bass from Bluetooth speakers. Just the hush of the forest, birdsong, and the gentle spill of water over smooth rocks. I took off my shoes, dipped my feet in the stream, and lay back on a sun-warmed boulder with nothing but the trees and sky for company.
It wasn’t just peaceful—it was healing. The kind of stillness that lingers long after the moment has passed.
Tips if You’re Going Waterfall Hopping:
• Wear sturdy shoes—it gets slippery!
• Start early to beat the crowds at Bhagsu
• Keep Gallu a secret (shh, don’t tell everyone!)
• Always carry water, and please—leave no trace
Some days in McLeod Ganj are made for climbing peaks.
Echoes of Exile & Evenings of Art: McLeod Ganj After Dark
One crisp morning, I wandered past prayer wheels and chanting monks into the quiet courtyard just behind the Dalai Lama Temple—and stepped into a space that changed me.
The Tibetan Museum isn’t big or flashy. It doesn’t need to be. The walls are lined with haunting black-and-white photographs, crumbling ID cards, and letters written in exile. Each frame tells a story—of loss, escape, survival, and an unshakable fight for identity. I stood there for over an hour, eyes welling up, heart heavy.
This town, I realized, isn’t just serene—it’s strong. It breathes the spirit of an entire displaced nation that chose hope over despair.
That feeling stayed with me well into the evening, as the town began to hum with a different kind of energy.
McLeod Ganj at Night: A Canvas of Community
As the sun dipped behind the Dhauladhars, the streets glowed with hanging fairy lights and the clink of teacups. I ducked into Common Ground Café, where a live acoustic set had just begun. No stage, no fuss—just a traveler with a guitar and stories between songs. Strangers nodded, clapped, and shared desserts like old friends.
Later, I found myself at a community art circle, painting with people from five different countries, none of us artists, all of us grinning like kids with crayons. The walls were covered in travel sketches, poetry scraps, and messages in a dozen languages.
Someone whispered about a documentary screening on Himalayan nomads, and of course, I went. By the end, I’d shared tea and conversation with a filmmaker, a Buddhist nun, and a Canadian dancer on her third trip back.
This is the magic of McLeod Ganj—days that stir your soul, nights that feed it.
Here, history doesn’t sit in silence. It sings, it paints, it plays guitar. And whether you’re exploring a museum or sipping tea in a candlelit café, you feel part of something bigger—something beautifully human.
Where I Stayed (and Daydreamed About Staying Longer)
McLeod Ganj truly welcomes all kinds of travelers, whether you’re arriving with a backpack full of laundry or a suitcase full of novels.
I checked into Zostel McLeod Ganj, and instantly knew I’d made the right call. It had that buzzing backpacker soul—a rooftop view that made you forget to scroll your phone, dorm-room conversations that turned into late-night treks, and walls scribbled with dreams and doodles from fellow wanderers. If you’re traveling solo, this place wraps you in its easy vibe like a warm momo.
But being the curious traveler I am, I also peeked into a few other gems that had their own kind of charm:
Chonor House – Tucked quietly next to the Dalai Lama Temple, this one is all Tibetan grace and old-world elegance. It’s like staying inside a living piece of art, where every corner is hand-painted and hushed. If you’re after peace, prayer flags, and proper herbal tea, this is your haven.
The Bunker, Dharamkot – I went up to Dharamkot one morning and found The Bunker. Wow. With huge glass windows looking out over the Dhauladhar range and hammocks made for lazy journaling, this spot is ideal for slow mornings, starry nights, and deep thoughts.
Day Trips That Made Me Wish I Could Stay Forever
Sometimes, it’s the little detours that steal your heart—and in McLeod Ganj, those side trips are pure magic.
One afternoon, I wandered to St. John in the Wilderness Church, tucked away in the woods like a secret waiting to be discovered. The ancient stone walls were draped in moss, and the gravestones seemed to whisper stories of long-ago lives. Standing there, I felt like I’d stepped back in time, surrounded by quiet echoes of history and nature’s gentle reclaiming.
Then came the adrenaline rush. I took a bumpy jeep ride out to Bir Billing, known as India’s paragliding hotspot. Nervous and excited, I soared off the edge of the world, the wind rushing past, the valley unfolding below me like a living map. Flying free, with the Himalayas as my backdrop, was a moment of pure, unfiltered joy.
And to cap it all off? My last evening was spent in Naddi Village, perched on a hillside where the mountains blazed pink and gold as the sun dipped away. I sat on a rustic bench, wrapped in a shawl, letting the colors wash over me like a goodbye hug from the hills.
Final Thoughts
McLeod Ganj isn’t just a place on the map—it’s a reset button for the soul. I came here expecting mountain views and good food, but what I found was something much deeper: stillness in the chaos, warmth in every conversation, and a strange but beautiful sense of coming home to myself.
One morning, as prayer flags fluttered overhead and monks walked quietly past, I realized—this town teaches you how to slow down. To breathe a little deeper. To look up from your screen and into someone’s eyes. To walk with no destination and still feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
So if your heart’s been a little too noisy lately, pack light—except for your curiosity—and come let this Himalayan haven cast its quiet, unforgettable spell on you.
