Suppressing a shiver, I find myself watching a glorious sunrise, not far from the famed Sunset Point in Naddi. Right in front of me, a towering mountain cradles a small village with rooftops painted in earthy reds and forest greens — the colors of choice in these parts. Though the view is breathtaking, rainclouds loom in the distance. Some weather reports say the rain won’t come until the afternoon, so we decide to seize the morning while we still can.
After quickly freshening up, we make our way up the short trail to the Naddi taxi stand, which sits right beside a Sahaja Yoga meditation center. The place is buzzing with early risers — tourists sipping chai, yoga instructors setting up for morning classes, and shacks already alive with the clink of kettles. A cabbie spots us and seems to know, almost telepathically, that we’re his next ride. He probably knows what’s coming with the clouds.
Our cab speeds off toward Bhagsu, navigating sharp turns through the local market with the kind of confidence you only see in pahadi drivers. We pass fluttering prayer flags, state transport boards, dogs strutting about like mountain royalty, and cows perched carelessly on narrow ridges. McLeod Ganj slips by, and we’re soon dropped off near a couple of ochre-painted buildings, just at the start of the Bhagsu trek.
We stroll down an arcade lined with shops and cafés, passing the Bhagsu Nag Temple, a holy dip pool, and small stores selling trinkets, tea, and homemade muesli. Bhagsu is a haven for backpackers — especially those who want to stay longer, avoid the main-town crowd, and soak in mountain life. Its streets are lined with cafés serving Israeli breakfasts, yoga schools, and stalls selling Tibetan carpets, jackets, masks, prayer flags, and silver jewelry. Israeli expats chat in Hebrew as incense mingles with the scent of fresh bread. We skip the temple — both due to time and the fear of losing our shoes outside (every traveler’s irrational yet persistent worry).
The Bhagsu trek stretches just over a kilometer and a half to the falls. From afar, the trail gleams with patches of flat, slate-gray rock. We see a man in a cap posing on a rock, likely trying to capture his next display picture. Behind us, a touristy family prepares to tick Bhagsu off their itinerary.
The trail winds through a blend of nature and pop-up cafés that double as rain shelters. Each one bursts with colors — bright cushions, eclectic menus, and soft music. The owners, monk-like, go about their business behind counters or busy mopping up rain-soaked crates. My partner, not a fan of uphill climbs, considers stopping at one café that’s beautifully carved from stone and offers a perfect view of the Bhagsu waterfall. But I manage to convince her to keep going — it’s really not that steep.
At the top, we spend two full hours near the waterfall and the little pool at its base. It’s peaceful, almost dreamlike. There are a few casual eateries around, and a sleepy mountain dog curls up near our feet as we sip chai. Once rested, we head back to McLeod Ganj by taxi — trying to make the most of our last day before the rain, which is still holding off.
At McLo, we turn our focus to shopping. Today, we’re on a mission: one great meal, one traditional Tibetan chuba, a string of prayer flags for my bookshelf, and a slow walk through the crowded streets. We settle into a cozy café for a round of Irish cream coffee and lemon tea, our table offering a clear view of a Punjabi rooftop restaurant that sparks debate about whether we’ll make room for one last plate of butter chicken.
Once done, we head back to Naddi in a charming old-school auto — the kind with a bolt-and-latch door. This time, we take a different route, passing through the quieter cantonment area. The roads twist like ribbons through a cedar forest. On the way, we spot a mysterious church near Lower Dharamsala, standing quietly among the trees, beside a mossy old cemetery. We decide instantly: we’re coming back here, no matter what.
Back at our homestay, we politely refuse a cup of tea offered by our hosts — a warm Gaddi family that runs the place. Their smiles are infectious, and their sweetness is generous (even if their chai could use less sugar). But we have one last adventure before the skies open up. The clouds are gathering, but we throw on our windbreakers, glance once at the grey ceiling above, and silently challenge the storm. Let it come — we’ve got one more thing to do.
We’re heading for that church we passed — St. John in the Wilderness — a quiet, brooding structure we had glimpsed earlier on the road to Forsyth Ganj. We walk through the narrow lanes of Naddi, past locals going about their day, and buffaloes who glance at us with vague suspicion. At a high point in the trail, we pause to take in the view of McLeod’s familiar red rooftops stretching across the valley.
☞Tap here to see naddi view in winter.. https://youtu.be/TJFcfE7fmnY
Great work buddy! Looking forward to more content like this����
ReplyDeletethank you jnaab :)
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