A Day trip from Leh: Monks, Mountains, and My Moral Flexibility
- Rand Blimes
- May 17
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 16
This is part of a series that describes the road trips we took from Leh. This post covers our visiting Pangong Lake. The other posts in the series are:
Overnight trip to Lamayuru (Indus River, Bagso, Likir, Alchi, and Lamayuru)
You can also find a post with a little bit of background on the Ladakh region here.
The prices to hire car and driver for these trips and many others are set by the Leh Taxi Union. You can find current prices at their website.
The Southern Day trip from Leh
We had big plans for Ladakh. Multi-day road trips. High-altitude passes. Villages where the Wi-Fi hadn’t even heard of buffering. But before all that, we decided to ease into things with a low-key daytrip from Leh—a gentle warm-up, we told ourselves. We planned to hit the sights on the road that left Leh southward, towards Manali.
It turned out to be a long, full, fantastic day. The kind that leaves you sunburned, overloaded, and wondering whether your glutes will ever forgive you. You know your lungs will not.
We hired a private car for 3,500 INR, which is about $42 at the time and roughly the cost of a single Uber ride in L.A (find current rates online at the Ladakh Taxi Union website). Our driver was relaxed, competent, and did not attempt to achieve enlightenment through vehicular speed—which we appreciated. We packed snacks, water, and enough layers to tackle every possible climate Ladakh might throw at us (spoiler: it did—and my kids got to see snow for the first time in about seven years).
Along the way, we hit five stops—five monasteries and palaces in one day, each stacked higher than the last and all charged with that uniquely Ladakhi mix of sacred stillness and precarious architecture.
Oh, and most of them charged entry fees.
A Word About Paying to Enter Monasteries
I always feel a little weird coughing up cash to walk into a religious site. There’s something about turning sacred space into a ticketed attraction that gets under my skin. I know all the arguments in favor of paying . . . my inner self won’t listen to reason. I hate paying to enter sacred sites. But in Ladakh, it is either pay or miss out. So, I made peace with it by thinking of each monastery as a mini workshop in understanding Tibetan Buddhism. And with that framework in place, my moral compass wobbled just enough to hand over the rupees without (much) guilt.
Stop 1: Takthok Monastery
This was our appetizer monastery. It’s not the flashiest. Perched on the edge of a cliff and smaller than the others we visited, Takthok feels a bit like a quiet lookout post—spiritual, but introverted. A monk let us in and gave us access to a couple of dark, incense-heavy rooms. The views from the path are good, but this is not a must see. That said, it is on the way to the bigger attractions in the area and it is worth a quick stop.
Stop 2: Chemrey Monastery
Now we were getting into it.
Chemrey rises from the rocks in perfect Tibetan Buddhist fashion—a cluster of whitewashed buildings stacked like a child’s dream of a castle. The road up was a bit nerve-racking, but at least it was short. Entry was 50 INR per person. We were greeted by a monk who was busily sewing another monk’s ceremonial hat. He paused, took our payment, and pointed us in the right direction.
Inside, we wandered through narrow staircases and prayer halls, eventually ending up on the roof, which delivered jaw-dropping views of the barley fields and mountains below. The museum inside is small, but surprisingly engaging—especially a fragile, old copy of the monastic rules, which I examined with the reverence only reserved for sacred texts or IKEA furniture instructions.
Stop 3: Hemis Monastery
From Chemrey, we turned back to the main road, crossed the Indus River (!!!) and climbed again—this time into a jagged amphitheater of golden rock.
Hemis is the largest and wealthiest monastery in Ladakh, and it shows. It’s sprawling, with layered courtyards, temples, rooftop passages, and a kind of spiritual bustle that makes it feel alive. The entry fee was 100 INR per person, but the real highlight wasn’t in the main complex.
The magic happened just outside.
Right next to the main entrance is an alley lined with prayer wheels wrapped in what looked like weathered leather. We spun our way up, passed between stacked homes and silent courtyards, and just kept climbing into the village behind the monastery.
And then—snow. Well… flakey hail maybe. But close enough.
We stood under a stupa with tiny frozen bits swirling around us, hearts full, hands cold, and smiles wide. These are the moments that lodge in your memory and refuse to leave.
Wandering the streets at Hemis, I ran into the young monk pictured below. We didn’t have any common language, but we still “chatted” back and forth, laughing and gesturing. I lifted my camera and asked if I could get his picture. He nodded. He was all smiles and frivolity . . . until I put him in the viewfinder. Then he got serious. Solemn. A demeanor fitting a monk.
It is an interesting cultural comparison. In the US, we might be sitting solemnly but bring out a camera and by the time you have aimed, everyone is wearing their biggest smiles. It works the opposite way in much of India, and certainly at a monastery in Ladakh.
Stop 4: Thiksey Monastery
This one’s famous, and for good reason. Thiksey is iconic Ladakh—a vertical monastery spilling down a hillside, full of color and corners and monks ducking between doors.
Photographing it, however, is tough. Power lines crisscross the lower half like a spiderweb from a very caffeinated spider. We stopped at a restaurant near the entrance for lunch—good food, solid prices—and explored the buildings. Oddly, we couldn’t find anyone to pay the entrance fee to, so we just… wandered in.
The views were great, but by this point, so were our blisters.
Stop 5: Shey Palace
We ended the day at Shey, and by then we were tired in the way that only monastery stairs and high-altitude sunburn can make you. There’s a short climb up to the palace ruins, which were closed when we arrived, but we still made it to a large stupa and snagged one last panoramic view.
We also had a long chat with some lovely folks from Madhya Pradesh, who seemed delighted to share travel tales and hear ours in return. Sometimes the best parts of the day aren't the monuments—they’re the shared humanity at the foot of them.
The Ride Back
When we finally returned to Leh, the sun was slanting across the city like a sigh, and we were thoroughly worn out. But it was the good kind of tired. The kind that comes from standing on rooftops, spinning prayer wheels, and climbing through a thousand years of faith.
It was just a taste of Ladakh’s monasteries and mountain paths. But that taste?
It left us hungry for more.
And the cherry on top is that because travel, my Hawaii-raised daughters got to frolic, just for a bit, in the snow.
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