Thrillophilia Review: Devsmita’s Spiti Winter with Her Friend
“You, me, mountains - 2025. No excuses.”
I still remember the pinky promise I made with my best friend, Sumanta, back in college. We sat on the last bench while the professor discussed theories we would forget after the exams.
Years passed, jobs happened, and cities changed, but that promise stayed in our hearts for a long time.
In January 2025, while scrolling through endless reels of snow-covered destinations, I suddenly paused at one caption: “Frozen Spiti. Not for the faint-hearted.”
I sent it to Sumanta with just two words: “Ready?”
Her reply came in less than ten seconds: “Book it.”
And so, in February 2025, two girls from the plains boarded a Volvo from Delhi to chase snowflakes in the farthest corners of Himachal. With Thrillophilia guiding our path, we were stepping into an experience that would stitch itself into the fabric of who we are.
White Roads and the Village at the Edge
By the time we reached Shimla, our excitement was unreal. The AC Volvo took us into the beauty of pine-scented winds and cool temperatures. It was still early morning, and the mountains were waking up slowly. I looked at Sumanta and smiled.
“We made it,” I whispered, half in disbelief.
From there, we were introduced to a cosy Tempo Traveller and a group of strangers who would soon feel like family. Our guide, Nishant Bhaiya, radiated the kind of energy that could keep spirits warm even when the thermometer dipped below zero.
That day, we headed to Chitkul, the last inhabited village near the Indo-Tibetan border. On our way, pine forests hang on cliffs, rivers sparkled under sunlight, and every curve in the road revealed something more breathtaking than the last.
But it was Chitkul that stole our hearts. The snow here was untouched, like powdered sugar over dreams. We stood in front of the iconic signboard at “Hindustan ka Aakhri Dhaba”, and sipped chai that steamed against the freezing air. Behind us, the Himalayas offered a wonderful background for photographs.
That night, covered under heavy blankets in a wooden lodge, Sumanta whispered from the other bed, “This is the beginning of the story that we will cherish forever.”
I smiled. “Let us make it worth every minute.”
Spinning Prayer Wheels and Finding Stillness in Nako
On the next day, we travelled to Nako. Along the way, we stopped at the Khab Bridge, where the Sutlej and Spiti rivers met. I stood there silently, watching the movement of water and time.
Nako Lake was frozen and shining. We stood at the edge and watched the sunlight reflecting off the surface. Lunch by the lake was simple, but it felt royal in that setting.
The highlight, though, was the ancient prayer wheel at Nako Chango Gompa. Made of yak skin and over 500 years old, it felt like holding history in your hands. I spun it slowly and made a silent prayer.
That night, we stayed in a small homestay. The rooms were warm, the owners were kind, and the air outside was silent too.
From Mummies to Monasteries
After a healthy breakfast, we drove to Kaza, with several surreal stops en route.
At Gue Monastery, we saw the 500-year-old mummified monk. Preserved naturally in a small glass case, his calm expression sent chills down my spine. It was the first time I truly understood what devotion could mean.
Next was Tabo Monastery, often called the Ajanta of the Himalayas. The ancient mud walls held murals and stories of another era. As we explored its 9 temples and gompas, Sumanta whispered, “Can you believe this has stood for over a thousand years?”
I shook my head, awestruck. It felt like walking through the quiet heart of time.
A brief stop at Mud Village, with its traditional homes and kind faces, reminded us how little we actually need to live joyfully.
We reached Kaza by nightfall. The town, under a blanket of stars, felt magical. Our hotel was warm, the food was soul-filling, and Nishant bhaiya’s laughter echoed louder than the wind.
Hikkim, Komik & the Bridges Above Clouds
The next day was perhaps my favourite.
We started at the Key Monastery, situated on top of the Spiti Valley. Inside, butter lamps flickered as monks chanted morning prayers. I closed my eyes and let it all soak in. This was a transformation.
From there, we reached Hikkim, where we sent postcards from the highest post office in the world. I wrote to my mom: “Guess where I am? Alive in the clouds!”
At Komik, the highest village in Asia, we had the fluffiest snow under our boots and the warmest thukpa in our bowls. The villagers here live so close to the sky, and yet, they remain grounded in simplicity.
Then we visited Chicham Bridge, the highest suspension bridge in Asia. Crossing it felt like walking across the edge of the world. Sumanta held my hand tightly in sheer disbelief at where we were.
That night, we skipped a visit to the Pin Valley National Park due to time, but our hearts were full. The mountains had already shown us more than we had dared to imagine.
Kalpa, Shimla, and a Silent Goodbye
As we left Kaza, both of us were quieter than usual. Maybe we were just holding on to the silence a little longer.
On our way to Kalpa, we stopped at the Dhankar Monastery, located at the edge of a cliff. I sat there, looked down into the vast valley, and let the wind carry my thoughts.
Kalpa, famous for its apple orchards and the mighty Kinnaur Kailash, welcomed us with golden sunsets and cosy wooden cabins. Our room had a view of snow-covered peaks that looked like they were dipped in sugar.
We spent the evening talking about everything and nothing. The way old friends do when words are not necessary anymore.
The next morning, we returned to Shimla and explored Jakhu Temple, Christ Church, and Mall Road. We felt like travellers who had lived lifetimes in just seven days.
By the time we boarded the overnight Volvo to Delhi, I knew something had changed inside us.
Thank you, Thrillophilia, for making this journey effortless and memorable. The comfortable vehicle, the cosy stays, and the constant care from Nishant bhaiya made us feel at home, even in a land of extremes.
Read More: Thrillophilia Spiti Reviews