Chitkul in Winter: A 2,500 KM Himalayan Odyssey to India’s Last Village
- Subhashish Chatterjee
- Jul 31
- 26 min read
Updated: Oct 29
A 2,500 KM journey by road and rail to snow-covered Chitkul, India’s last village. Get insider tips, vivid winter photos and lessons from the trail.
I first met Chitkul in August 2017 during a solo journey through Spiti’s cold-desert expanse. At that time, both Chitkul and Spiti Valley were far from the tourist radar. They were genuine offbeat destinations tucked into the remote Himalayan corners of India.
Chitkul rests at 3,450 metres in Kinnaur’s Baspa Valley along the old Hindustan–Tibet trade route.
That monsoon visit revealed Chitkul cloaked in emerald light. Crisp mountain air carried the fragrance of apple blossoms. The Baspa River glistened along the village edge.
Locals spoke of the village’s nine-month snow hibernation. I left Chitkul imagining it as a white-washed Himalayan wonder.
Seven years later, in February 2024, I returned to chase that vision. This travelogue chronicles my late-winter drive to India’s last inhabited village.
Winter Journey to Chitkul: Complete Route and Logistics Guide
The phrase “last village of India” needs context. India shares borders in every direction. Each frontier hosts remote hamlets that writers call ‘last villages.’
This story focuses on Chitkul’s winter transformation beyond its geographical distinction. The village attracts travellers for three reasons.
Chitkul lies hidden in the Baspa Valley. For months, snow drapes every peak, turning the village into an isolated haven. Here, silence settles deep, and the bustle of the lowland feels distant and unreal.
The Baspa River chisels a deep corridor through the valley floor.
The long journey peels back layers of India’s stunning diversity. Each mile deeper into Himachal reveals old stories that mainstream travel writers miss.
Planning the Route: Hyderabad to Chitkul
In 2017, I reached Chitkul as a monsoon detour during a trip from Mumbai to Spiti. Seven years later, I prepared for a more ambitious journey. Armed with professional cameras, I embarked on my winter quest from Hyderabad.
The trip from Hyderabad to Chitkul spanned 2,301 KM across India. Such an ambitious journey demanded careful planning and strategic segmentation. I planned the journey in four manageable stages.
This travelogue captures the full visual story of my journey. For a practical guide to all essential logistics and FAQs on Chitkul, click here. |
The first train segment covered 1,670 KM from Hyderabad to Delhi.
From Delhi, I would travel 237 KM to reach Kalka.
The UNESCO World Heritage Himalayan toy train would carry me 96 KM to Shimla.
The final 213 KM road journey would lead from Shimla to Recong Peo.
Two logistical gaps might puzzle you. First, the missing Delhi-Kalka transport mode. Second, why target Recong Peo instead of Chitkul?
In peak winter, dense fog often cripples rail timetables. Even so, Delhi maintains strong connectivity to Chandigarh. Kalka lies 35 KM beyond the state capital of Punjab & Haryana.
From Kalka, the journey to Shimla would bring a change of pace. The Himalayan toy train winds its way into the hill town.
Recong Peo serves as Kinnaur’s commercial hub and administrative seat. Locals call it “Peo.” Granite ridges embrace the town from every direction. The Sutlej River carves its path through the valley below. Sacred Kinner Kailash spires dominate the eastern skyline.
Frequent state-run HRTC buses connect Peo to destinations across Himachal and Uttarakhand. The town houses an ITBP cantonment alongside hospitals and varied lodging options.
From Recong Peo, Chitkul sits 58 KM away, an easy day’s journey by road.
Hyderabad–Delhi Winter Train Journey
Delays are common on the Hyderabad–Delhi rail route in winter, with the average running up to 6.5 hours. When pairing rakes arrive late, the wait can sometimes stretch beyond 12 hours.
I chose the 12723 Telangana Express, the best train on this route. In the winter of 2024, it was leaving 12 hours late. Based on two months of tracking, I expected the train to reach Delhi by midnight. This seemed enough to catch the next train from Kalka at 5:45 AM.
I always prefer a lower berth in 2AC, but demand soars in winter. Even with early booking, I ended up with a side lower berth. It was a tight fit for any well-built adult. Curtains shielded the seat, turning it into a cosy, private corner.
The next 24 hours unfolded as expected. There was restless sleep, meals both homemade and from the train, and a handful of loo breaks.
Trouble began near Agra when the delay started to grow. More halts followed, likely due to congested tracks leading into Delhi. Still, I kept hoping to arrive at New Delhi railway station by half past midnight.
That hope faded when we stopped for 45 minutes between Palwal and Hazrat Nizamuddin. At last, I changed my plan. I ended my journey at Nizamuddin. It was 1:45 AM when I left by Uber Outstation cab for Kalka Railway Station.
Delhi–Kalka by Road for the Kalka-Shimla Toy Train Ride: A Journey That Never Happened
Riding the Kalka–Shimla toy train in snowbound winter was a long-held ambition. I missed it in 2019, but this time I booked my tickets in advance and was ready.
I trusted my young chauffeur, who seemed calm and confident. We travelled at about 70 KM/h through Delhi, heading for National Highway 44. About 85 minutes into the drive, the driver asked for a break.
We stopped at Amrik Sukhdev Dhaba in Murthal, a popular spot on the Delhi–Chandigarh highway.
Soon after restarting, thick fog reduced visibility and forced us to slow down. Not long after, the car jolted and stopped. The driver opened the boot, fiddled with the engine, and restarted the car.
This problem repeated several times over 20 minutes, each time restricting our progress.
Curious, I checked and saw ice on a swollen metal pipe, the CNG converter. The driver explained he was wrapping cloth around it to prevent icing.
From my many travels in CNG vehicles during winter, I recognised the problem. The converter lowers fuel pressure, cooling the gas. In freezing weather, ice builds up unless coolant levels are adequate, and his were low.
When the car finally failed to start, it was past 3 AM, with about 200 KM left to Kalka. The road ahead looked impossible.
Instead of blaming the driver, I chose safety. I asked him to get petrol from the nearest pump and drop me at Chandigarh’s Sector 43 bus station. We waited for the ice to thaw, covered the converter with a cloth, and found petrol 2.5 KM away. We filled the tank and continued to Chandigarh without trouble.
I paid the driver in full and wished him safe travels. At the bus station, I boarded a half-empty HRTC Volvo bus to Shimla. Exhausted, I settled for the 4 AM departure, letting go of my missed train as sleep took over.
How to Spend Your First Day in Shimla: Rest, Acclimatise & Explore the Ridge
Growing up in Himachal, I visited Shimla often. As an adult, I’ve returned so many times that the town now feels too familiar. HRTC Volvo buses run fast, and the Shimla service arrived 30 minutes early. At 7:30 AM, I walked out of the new Tutikandi bus stand into bright morning sunlight.
I took a taxi to my Airbnb in Bemloi, a neighbourhood tucked away from the main town. The check-in was instant despite my early arrival.
After a bath and a cup of coffee, I sank onto the soft bed and dozed off. Cold air brushing my face woke me in the late afternoon; the clock read 4 PM. More than 2,000 KM of train and road travel had caught up with me, and I slept until dusk.
I hadn’t come to Shimla to rest. This halt was a part of my plan to adjust to a higher altitude. Many travellers rush uphill only to battle altitude sickness. Slowing the climb makes the journey safer.
The Ridge is a popular evening hotspot in Shimla. Flea markets, cafes, restaurants, and city sights cluster around this broad open space. Wrapped in winter clothes, I set off on a walk.
After a 2.5 KM stroll, I spotted a state-run electric bus turning at the road’s edge. The conductor said it was bound for the old bus stand. I boarded, and by the time I got off, city lights glowed beneath magenta skies.
I cut through a bustling market and climbed back toward the Ridge. February’s chill bit my cheeks, so I slipped into Devicos Restaurant & Bar for a hot meal and drink. The warmth inside revived me.
Under the street lamps, the Ridge sparkled. Once the heart of British-era Shimla, its colonial buildings still whisper history.
On the broad street, I passed a stately building, the Shimla Townhall. Its stone walls stood firm and dignified. Tall, tan lattice windows and graceful gothic arches spoke of timeless elegance.
Leaving by an adjacent lane, I passed another colonial building tapering down a slope. Its shrinking profile echoed the day’s slow fade, a signal to call it a night.
When Your Shimla–Recong Peo Himgiri Bus Runs Late
The next day passed at an easy pace. I walked to Shimla Railway Station, grabbed a quick brunch, then returned to my Airbnb before dusk.
That evening, I aimed to catch the HRTC bus to Recong Peo, which runs from Chandigarh. A decade ago, a single twenty-one-seater minibus covered this route.
Now, three larger, more comfortable buses run daily. One departs in the morning and two in the evening. I booked the 5:50 PM service, due at Tutikandi ISBT by 9 PM.
I left at 8:15 PM, reached the bus stand by 8:45 PM, and watched nine o’clock pass with no bus in sight. By 10 PM, I checked the enquiry counter upstairs but found no one. The attendant downstairs only shook his head when I asked for updates.
At 11 PM, an ordinary HRTC bus to Recong Peo pulled in. I asked the driver about my bus. He said a sixteen-wheeler truck had overturned near Parwanoo, blocking the highway. He offered some hope when he added, “Your bus was right behind mine; it should arrive in ten or fifteen minutes.” Each delay tested my patience.
The bus arrived at 12:45 AM with every seat accounted for. After stowing my suitcase in the rear boot, a hushed calm fell over the packed cabin as I eased into my reserved seat.
Revisiting Recong Peo The Gateway to Kinnaur After Seven Years
Morning light showed rugged, snow-tipped mountains as we neared Recong Peo. We arrived at the bus station by 8:30 AM. As I disembarked, sharp cold air brushed against my face.
I booked a five-day stay through MakeMyTrip. My primary phone had no network. I used my secondary phone to reach the homestay contact, who asked me to wait outside for pick-up.
Ten minutes later, Sudhanshu arrived. He is a young Himachali entrepreneur running Wanderers Homestay. The homestay was 2 KM from the bus stand. Along the way, he explained that offering free pick-up and drop-off is part of his hospitality.
His humble spirit revealed how mountain communities find joy amid life’s challenges. It’s a simple way of living worth embracing everywhere.
Kinner Kailash–Facing Homestay in Recong Peo
Soon we turned off the tarmacked road onto a gravel track sloping downhill. Within minutes, we crossed the gate into a long open courtyard large enough for half a dozen SUVs.
Beyond it stood a four-story white façade, its lowest level set into the slope, a common hillside design.
The ground floor served as both a spacious common room and a snug reception area. A beige wall behind the desk displayed colourful Kinnaur district maps. Sudhanshu guided me up a broad iron staircase to the first floor.
The narrow entryway led into a room with a king-size bed and en-suite bathroom. Crisp linens and warm woollen quilts completed the spotless room.
A cosy balcony extended the living space outdoors. Plush turf warmed the balcony and framed views of the snow-clad Kinner Kailash peaks.
A rush of delight hit me when I discovered this high-peak haven a year after my last Himachal visit.
Leisure Day at Recong Peo
At check-in, Sudhanshu said the property served only breakfast and dinner. With most of the day ahead, I thought about visiting Kalpa village nearby. My 2017 visit lingered in my memory, and the day felt like meeting an old friend.
After my bath, I saw a change outside. The sun vanished behind thick clouds. Mist filled the valley. Flat light replaced the morning glow, and I sensed a chance of drizzle. The weather now threatened both photos and a walk.
I steadied my camera on the balcony rail and captured the valley’s subdued tones before setting off.
The market sat two kilometres away along the highway. I chose a short walk with two needs in mind; lunch and supplies for the next four days.
Five hundred metres into the walk, the view to my right caught my eye. Light brown ridges stepped across the landscape. Far to the left, a snow-topped peak stood watch. The Sutlej River cut its path through the valley floor.
I followed the winding road further. Soon, the road opened into the main square. At the square, traffic signals blinked on empty streets. These did not exist here in 2017.
Unlike in urban streets, here nobody moved with haste. With snow peaks behind, this seemed the only crossing where people welcomed a pause.
My gaze stayed on the distant ridge as I drifted through the market. The smell of food drew me to a dhaba.
I ordered dal chawal. When I saw the man beside me order mutton curry, I asked him about it. He said it was good and worth trying. I trusted his word.
The next plate arrived; rice, dal, and mutton curry, with soft cuts of meat and mild brown gravy touched by spices. The plate, with extra curry and two rounds of dal and rice, came for INR 120.
I bought snacks and small items for the coming days. The climb back tired me after the square, but cool air and clear mountain views carried me on.
Back in the room, sunlight returned. The sky cleared in patches. High peaks caught the last daylight. I reached for my Nikon Z7 and attached the 100-400mm lens.
The Kinner Kailash summit stood clear. A belt of pines wrapped around its lower face like a necklace.
The sun slipped away, and darkness filled the sky. Cold edged in. Before leaving for the market, I had asked Sudhanshu to arrange a cab to Chitkul at 6:30 AM the next morning.
As I shut the balcony door, Sudhanshu called to confirm dinner at 8 PM and said the cab to Chitkul would arrive on time.
Chitkul Snow Road Trip
At first light, I woke to biting cold and got ready for the winter drive. I dressed in layers and packed my cap, gloves, and down jacket in the camera bag for the road ahead.
Sudhanshu introduced Shongpa, the local chauffeur for the day, as I came downstairs. His family and he pressed hot pahadi chai into Shongpa’s and my hands as we neared the taxi.
Moments later, I captured a telephoto view of Kinner Kailash Peak in morning light.
Within ten minutes, we left Recong Peo town. The dawn sun gained strength and rose above the ridges. The route ahead, with its sharp bends and sheer gorges, had earned the name “death roads.”
As we moved through the rugged terrain, I found the road curling to a sharp, triangular edge. At this bend, I balanced to capture the view. A snow peak sparkled in the distance.
The azure Sutlej River traced the valley below, and the mountains rose like stone walls. One misstep here could send you plunging thousands of feet.
The Baspa–Sutlej River Confluence at Karcham Bridge
The valley broadened as we drove north toward Sangla Valley in eastern Kinnaur. Chitkul awaits beyond as the final village on the old India–Tibet road.
Sangla Valley begins at Karcham, about 23 KM south of Recong Peo. Kalpa and Recong Peo perch on ledges above the Sutlej River. This marks the start of what locals call the Sutlej Valley.
A steel truss bridge at Karcham marks the boundary between the two valleys. A sharp curve ahead revealed the contrast between them. Sangla’s slopes glowed green under fresh snow. Across the Sutlej River, the ochre cliffs of the Sutlej Valley stood bare.
From the curve’s edge, I framed the opposing landscapes and snapped the shot you see here.
A closer look at the image reveals a white building with a slanted green roof on the Sangla bank. This structure perches atop Karcham Dam.
The dam holds back the waters of the Baspa River, the stream that shapes Sangla Valley.
Once the Baspa met the Sutlej in open flow, but the dam now conceals their confluence. Sangla Valley also goes by Baspa Valley, after the Baspa River that feeds it.
Snowmelt swells the Baspa between April and June, turning the water clear blue. In February, the channel lay shallow and silty. The winter palette rendered each rock and ice formation in crisp detail.
Sapni Village First Bus Service After 76 Years of Independence
We crossed the bridge and began a steep climb on the weathered road. I told Shongpa the road looked the same as in 2017. He replied, “Nothing changed in the last seven years, and nothing will change here in another 70.” He continued, “We have started on Sangla Valley. Wait and see what conditions await us ahead.”
The valley opened before us as we moved higher. I requested another photo stop where the valley appeared in layers.
Heavy snow cover hung from the peaks above. The middle slopes showed greener patches and appeared to cradle a village in their fold.
I asked Shongpa about the village. “That’s Sapni Village. The village received its first HRTC bus service after 76 years of India’s independence.” The prime reason for the delay was its remote location.
The village sits as a detour from the Sangla-Chitkul Road and houses the notable Sapni Fort. As of today, construction work continues on the fort.
First Glimpse of Snow-Blanketed Sangla Valley
During my 2017 visit, Sangla had been a late-afternoon pit stop on the way back to Peo. Bad weather left time for only a few hurried snaps.
This time, I set out at dawn to capture the valley’s winter beauty. At Kamru, I found the same vista, but instead of green drapes, the valley lay buried under a thick snow blanket.
Baspa Reservoir: Winter’s Frozen Spillway
A dam’s rushing spillway is common and often photographed to capture its dynamic flow. Photographers lean on slow shutters to blur water into a milky veil, an illusion of motion.
At the second Baspa Reservoir, nature had frozen the spillway. The rushing torrents lay locked in thick layers of snow and ice.
Standing at the reservoir’s edge, I watched snow-clad steps merge with the valley below. Ahead, a snow-topped peak dominated the scene.
To the right, the earthen road we had traversed wound into the folds of Sangla Valley.
The Heart of Sangla Valley: An Emerald Valley Cloaked in Snow
On this cold February day, Sangla town felt deserted. During winter, residents descend to lower elevations to escape the cold.
The valley spread so wide that my widest lens could not contain it. I asked Shongpa for a 20-minute pause and walked off in search of a vantage point.
Two minutes down a dirt track branching off the main road, I framed my first shot.
The track dipped toward the valley floor. Houses of every shape and colour dotted the foothills, each one dwarfed by Sangla’s vast slopes.
At the edge of town, we found a small stall brewing tea. We warmed our hands around steaming cups and were back on the road ten minutes later.
A few kilometres later, I asked Shongpa to stop again. Ahead, the view split in two. To the left, the snow-laden basin of Sangla Valley; to the right, a single battered road clung to a sheer rock face.
Batseri Landslide Site: Hidden Hazards in Sangla Valley
After driving for 50-minutes, I spotted two towering peaks with pyramidal summits. Their grey faces bore a rough, rocky texture, streaked with intermittent snow.
To the right, a snow-filled valley stretched below, dotted with tiny pine trees. The narrow road lay between the rugged mountains and the soft, cotton-like snow.
“A ghastly tragedy struck here three years ago,” Shongpa said as I lowered my camera. On 25 July 2021, landslides sent boulders hurtling like arrows across the road.
We resumed driving. Soon, Shongpa pointed out a massive boulder at the road’s edge. “A rock this size slammed into a vehicle coming the other way that day.” I snapped the scene, as shown below.
The shot may lack polish, but it reveals the hazards of these fragile Himalayan slopes. Heavy rains had loosened the soil, triggering the disaster three years ago.
The jagged rocks framed drifting clouds, and a glacier peeked between them. I zoomed in on this scene and showed the image to Shongpa.
He nodded, “That thin cloud was an early warning. Without your lens, we’d have missed the danger forming.”
From this point, we pressed on without further stops toward Chitkul.
On the Edge of Rakcham: Benches Framing Winter Layers
We neared Rakcham, a village 13 KM before Chitkul. It offers pristine valley views and serves as a gateway to summer trekking trails. Campsites here frame sweeping panoramas of pine forests and distant peaks.
Around a bend, a cement platform jutted over the slope. Three crimson benches lined its edge, each a pair of broad slabs aligned to face the valley.
I moved closer to the seat at the edge of the platform. Before it, a tiny patch of snow felt inviting.
From this spot, the valley splits into two distinct layers. Its upper slopes were clad in fresh snow, and the lower reaches were alive with emerald pine.
Shongpa asked if I wanted to stop at Rakcham. I said, "We’d reach Chitkul first, before afternoon clouds rolled in. On the way back, if time and weather permitted, we would pause here". He approved, noting my grasp of the valley’s unpredictable climate.
At Chitkul’s Door: Entering a White Paradise
We reached the entrance of Chitkul after a 45-minute drive. The ashy road led us in, snow banks lining both sides. A black iron arch with a red sign announced our arrival in Hindi.
Behind the arch, rugged peaks of rock and snow climbed skyward. The afternoon sun bathed both in a warm glow.
Snow stood out beneath the dramatic peaks. On the left, half-finished concrete buildings interrupted the scene. They clashed with Katkuni stone-and-wood buildings built for elegance and earthquake resilience.
This construction frenzy followed a surge in visitors. After 2020, revenge travel and social media turned Chitkul into a must-see destination.
Once we pulled into the village and parked, I turned to Shongpa and said we’d walk to the Baspa River bank at the village’s edge. The muddy street, edged by new concrete structures, had lost much of the village’s former quiet charm.
Halfway down the road, Chitkul’s natural beauty emerged again. We found piles of fresh, untouched snow covering stones.
In the distance, the Senior Secondary School shone with its green roof. Next to it, a smaller building wore a smooth layer of snow along its slanted roof. Beyond them, the valley stretched out in a raw mosaic of snow and pine.
Baspa’s Edge: Chitkul’s Frozen Riverside
A snow-packed path etched by footprints veered right toward the river. Grey boulders peeped through the white on either side.
In the distance, a vast valley wore fresh snow like a cloak. Pine saplings dotted its slopes, their dark green spires stood against the whiteness.
We reached the riverbank. The Baspa River flowed between snowy banks, its icy channel carving the landscape.
To our left, a cluster of stones broke the snow, hinting at valleys beyond Chitkul. Ridge lines met at the far end, with Tibet beyond the left ridge.
On the opposite side, trails vanished into the mountains. One led to Uttarakhand via Lamkhaga Pass, descending toward Harsil and Gangotri. Another climbed Borasu Pass to Sankri, the gateway to Himalayan treks in Uttarkashi district.
India's Last Riverside Chaiwala – Chai by Baspa’s Frozen Bank
Chitkul's popular “last Indian Dhaba” trending on social media stood closed. At the riverfront, a green tin shack caught our eye. Its makeshift walls and the snow-cloaked valley beyond gave it unexpected charm.
When we reached closer, we found India’s Last Riverside Chaiwala. To the left, wooden benches faced the snowy banks and the roaring Baspa River.
Inside, an old man sat bundled against the biting cold. A makeshift cooking platform stood at one end. Firewood on it cooked food and warmed the room. A black iron pipe over the unit acted as a chimney, pulling gas from the burnt wood out of the place.
We asked him what kept him at the café in such harsh weather with almost no guests.
He smiled. "I'm 75 and I live alone a kilometre beyond the valley you see. This cafe is more a passion than a need. Two or three groups still come, even in this weather. One came this morning. Now you two. I come so if anyone needs food or shelter, they find an option. I usually leave by 2 PM."
His quiet presence and simple philosophy were a powerful lesson for us. In his advanced years, he worked out of pure passion, offering a human connection with every cup of chai.
In the Indian mountains, a bowl of Maggi noodles is a must. I ordered one and stepped to the river’s edge.
The afternoon sun turned Baspa’s waters emerald. The rocky banks, coated in fresh snow, framed the fast-flowing river. One boulder supported a chunk of snow above the flowing river.
I couldn’t resist my classic shot of holding fresh snow against that backdrop.
Balancing a snowball in one hand and the camera in the other proved tricky. My hand stung and then went numb, a clear sign that the air hovered around minus 5°C.
After capturing the no-hand version of the snow shot, I settled on a bench by the bank.
These old school benches had wooden tops over iron frames. Their low height and open seat gap revealed their primary-school origins.
My Maggi arrived as I perched in the centre of the bench. The pale green bowl with yellow noodles echoed the river’s hue.
I captured a cinematic shot of the steaming bowl with my Nikon Z7, the scene framed by snow and water below.
Farewell to Chitkul’s Snowbound Stillness
Sunlight warmed the frozen Baspa bank as I settled onto a boulder. Soon, mist rolled in, blurring the valley’s edges and casting the river’s snow curves in pale outline.
A harsh wind reminded me to don my third down layer and pull on my wool cap and gloves. That evening’s forecast showed the mercury falling to minus 11°C in Chitkul.
The lone chaiwala locked his stall and left us beneath the hush of snow-capped peaks. We stayed behind as the only souls in that winter stillness, with no food, no shelter, no phone signal.
Chitkul’s winter stillness felt both magical and precarious. We decided to leave before darkness and cold trapped us.
Shongpa led me to a blue sign that read “I love Chhitkul” and asked me to capture a photo as a keepsake. Navy blue railings framed a sheer drop to the valley floor. The sign blended safety with a snapshot-perfect vista.
Before climbing into the taxi, I traced the road ahead. A slender ribbon wove through snow-buried ridges before vanishing into white mountain folds.
In that moment, I hoped this hidden refuge would remain as pure and enduring as the surrounding peaks.
Rakhcham The Winter Ghost Village
A sudden shaft of evening sun chased away the low clouds as we neared Rakhcham. I asked Shongpa to pull over and walked across the bridge on the valley’s side road.
At the far end of the bridge, a natural rocky patch guided my eye toward the slopes where Rakhcham huddled.
From the bridge’s centre, the Baspa River flowed from the snowbound valley below. Dark bands of conifers anchored the scene.
The river traced our path from Chitkul, and this spot offered a perfect view of its frozen course.
On the opposite bank, Shongpa and I split up. I told him I would return in fifteen minutes at the bridge’s other end.
A gravel path ran beside the stone boundary of an empty campsite. Snow carpeted the trail, and pines rose against snow-draped ridges. Cumulus clouds drifted overhead against blue sky.
Where the boundary wall fell away, the deserted site lay like a storybook set. Snow covered the ground.
Barren rods marked future tent frames. Small wood and stone huts stood silent beneath conifer-clad cliffs.
Further along, dark trees on a mountainside framed fresh snow below. A neat stack of logs rested on the white field, as if poised for a winter scene in a film.
Ahead, a cadet-blue house sat on terraced ground behind a low stone wall. The snow-laden foreground glowed in the evening light.
Behind the home, half the valley lay in dark pines and half in rugged rock, the scene curved into a silent smile.
Satisfied, I returned to the bridge and followed the cement path behind Shongpa. The stone boundary and pine-lined ridges reappeared under the drifting puffy clouds.
I lifted my camera one last time to capture the final vista of our winter road trip.
Recong Peo to Hyderabad: Return Journey by Road and Rail
My return began before dawn in freezing darkness. Sudhanshu braved the cold to drop me at the bus stand. I boarded the HRTC Himmani Deluxe for a 330 KM journey to Chandigarh.
Night gave way to pale light as we left Recong Peo behind. The bus slowed on the descent along roads engraved in my mind. Karcham’s bridge appeared on the left. I watched the river’s meandering course and felt the ache of departure.
We paused at Rampur for breakfast and chai. A stack of newspapers arrived at the roadside shop. I picked one up, savouring the feel of printed pages in the iPad age.
At Kumarsain, a vegetarian thali awaited on a sunlit terrace. Dal and rajma warmed me through. I shed my down jacket as we climbed again toward Narkanda.
Over the next hour to Narkanda, snow lined both sides of the road. The scene echoed Chitkul’s winter roads. Narkanda's traffic and chatter shattered that stillness.
The bus arrived in Chandigarh two hours late. Stepping off, I faced a crowd of touts. One auto driver-tout duo in particular warned that my online-booked hotel in Daria was unsafe. I sensed a scam but trusted my instinct on safety and followed them to a creaky lodge.
At dawn, the same driver arrived early and drove me to the station for 500 INR, a small price for reliable safety.
The Delhi-bound 12058 Jan Shatabdi Express arrived an hour late in mid-morning. I stowed my luggage overhead and settled into my seat with earphones.
Late afternoon in Delhi, I boarded 12438 Secunderabad Rajdhani Express. The 1,667 KM journey south carried me home through comfort and sleep.
A 2,500 KM odyssey through snow and sun revealed more than landscapes. It showed me kindness and cunning. It taught me the rhythm of the land and the need for connection.
The thrill of this winter road trip lives on in memory.
Thank you for reading this winter saga. The mountains have stories waiting for you. Set out, follow your path, and let each bend reveal a new surprise.
When you return, whether it is your first journey or one of many, share how the road shaped you. Inspire others to start their adventure.
The Chitkul Expedition: A Practical Guide & FAQ
My winter odyssey to Chitkul was an adventure of a lifetime. But beyond the epic landscapes, the journey demands meticulous planning.
This bonus section is your practical guide to your journey to India's last village. It offers essential tips and answers to common questions related to Chitkul.
How to Reach Chitkul (The Journey)
From Delhi, Chandigarh or Shimla, head first to Recong Peo. Recong Peo serves as Kinnaur’s district headquarters.
Delhi (IATA: DEL) and Chandigarh (IATA: IXC) offer air connectivity via international airports. India's capital, Delhi, is the busiest international airport. Shimla airport has limited flights.
By air, the nearest airport is Shimla (245 km) with limited flights. Chandigarh International Airport (340 KM) offers better connectivity.
By rail, the closest major station is Chandigarh (IRCTC Station Code: CDG). Delhi (IRCTC: NDLS, NZM) is a major railhead with pan-India connectivity.
A narrow-gauge train connects Kalka (IRCTC: KLK) to Shimla (IRCTC: SML). The Himalayan Railway, also known as the Himalayan Toy Train, is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The century-old route spans 102 tunnels and 864 bridges in its 94 KM journey, and cloaked in snow in peak winter.
By road, drive from Delhi or Chandigarh to Shimla. Then follow NH5 through Rampur and Recong Peo to reach Sangla. The narrow Sangla–Chitkul road may close after heavy snow. Carry chains or hire a 4WD taxi.
Himachal State Transport buses (HRTC) connect Recong Peo from Delhi, Chandigarh, and Shimla. In non-winter months, HRTC buses run from Recong Peo to Sangla and Chitkul. Delhi also offers direct HRTC service to Sangla in non-winter months.
Chitkul in Winter: Accommodation & Travel
The Ghost Villages
Prepare for a rare spectacle. In deep winter, Chitkul, Rakcham and Sangla empty out. Temperatures often drop below –15 °C in Chitkul, and most places close for the season.
Where to Stay
It is highly recommended to stay in Recong Peo, which serves as a safe and reliable base. From here, you can plan your day trip to Chitkul based on road conditions. The town is better equipped for winter and offers more options for lodging and food.
Essential Winter Packing
This is non-negotiable. Expect freezing temperatures and dress in layers. Pack thermal/fleece layers and a heavy winter jacket. Wear waterproof boots with a strong grip for icy roads and snowy lanes.
Best Time to Visit
December to March shows deep snow and freezes services. April to October offers clear roads, open homestays and mild temperatures.
Essential Pro Tips
Layer clothing: thermal base, down jacket, waterproof boots, gloves, warm hat, sunglasses.
Bring extra camera batteries and weatherproof covers. Cold drains power fast.
Mobile service in Recong Peo runs on BSNL 2G, Jio 4G and Airtel 2G, all with weak signals. You get no coverage in Sangla or beyond. Carry paper copies of important contacts.
No ATMs beyond Recong Peo. Carry enough cash.
International tourists only need a valid Indian visa to visit Chitkul. Indian citizens need no special permits.
Frequently Asked Questions about Chitkul
For quick, helpful answers on Chitkul logistics, permits, and more, click the arrows to expand each FAQ.
Why is Chitkul famous?
Chitkul sits at the end of the old Hindustan–Tibet trade route. It’s known for its snowy valleys, wooden houses and the Baspa River.
What is the best time to visit Chitkul?
April to early October offers open roads and mild weather. December to March brings heavy snow and limited services.
Why is Chitkul called the last village?
It is the final civilian settlement before the closed Indo-Tibetan border.
How far is Chitkul from the China border?
Chitkul lies about 90 KM from the official border, though the last civilian point sits closer.
How is the road to Chitkul in winter?
The Sangla–Chitkul road is narrow and winding. Snow often blocks it. Use chains or hire a 4WD taxi.
Which river flows through Chitkul?
The Baspa River runs beside the village.
Does Chitkul have snowfall, and when is it heaviest?
Yes. Snow falls from December to February. Sometimes, it can begin in late November and linger into early March.
What is the altitude of Chitkul?
How do I reach Chitkul from Delhi, Shimla or Chandigarh?
Travel to Shimla by bus, car or flight. Then drive or bus via Rampur, Recong Peo and Sangla. In winter, the last leg often needs a taxi.
Is Chitkul open now in winter?
Chitkul stays open most of winter, but heavy snow can close roads. Always check the weather and HRTC updates.
What is Chitkul’s weather like month by month?
December–February: –10 °C to –2 °C with heavy snow.
March–May: 0 °C to 10 °C as snow melts.
June–September: 8 °C to 18 °C with rain.
October–November: 5 °C to 12 °C, clear skies.
How far is Chitkul from Sangla, Kalpa and Recong Peo?
Sangla to Chitkul: 20 KM
Kalpa to Chitkul: 60 KM
Recong Peo to Chitkul: 58 KM
Is it worth going to Chitkul?
For travellers seeking remote Himalayan landscapes, authentic mountain culture and pristine winter photography locations, Chitkul is among India’s most rewarding off-grid destinations.
Do foreigners need a permit to visit Chitkul?
Foreign nationals need an Inner Line Permit (ILP) to visit the Kinnaur region and Chitkul. Indian citizens do not need one. The ILP is a mandatory document for foreigners to enter this sensitive border area.
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