The view outside Zostel Chitkul. In the background snow capped peaks and in the foreground a clear running stream.

After a cosy night under heavy blankets we woke up early and were greeted by one of the most incredible views we have ever seen.

We had arrived in Chitkul in complete darkness the previous night , and had no idea how beautiful our surroundings were. We stepped out through our dormitory door and into perfect blue skies shining over a ring of white capped Himalayan mountains.

We took a walk down to the river, where a small hut proudly proclaimed itself to be the “Last Chai Stand in India”.

A green wooden sign proclaims the stall to be India's last chai wala.

With a boast like that, who could resist?

Sat there, on a repurposed school desk, sipping on smokey wood fired chai whilst the river raced beside us and mountains loomed all around, we knew this Spiti Valley trip was going to be special!

After a filling paratha based breakfast at Zostel we piled back into our trusty minivan and headed out for a day of exploring. Our van clung to the edge of cliffs as we bounced and bumped our way along narrow roads.

The road to Chitkul clings to the edge of the cliff edge with the Baspa river below.

Reaching the small village of Rakchham we crossed an iron bridge that was absolutely covered in colourful prayer flags. We pulled over for some bridge selfies before heading down to the riverbanks. Down by the sparkling Baspa river, we basked in the morning sunshine on the green riverbanks.

From the riverbank we took a short walk away from the village and found ourselves in an alpine wonderland. Think “The Sound of Music” but with Himalayan sized peaks all around. We were surrounded by lush green meadows full of wildflowers and crystal clear streams flowing all around. It was simply beautiful.

Ellie stands, arms outstretched on the Himalayan meadows in from of snow capped mountains. — *The hills are alive…*

The meadows and mountains were not what we had expected when we booked the trip to the Spiti Valley. Later in the journey the landscape would be more sparse and would display a more barren kind of beauty but the Kinnaur and Baspa valleys were rich, green and full of life.

The alpine meadows of the Chitkul Valley. With a snow capped mountain rising behind.

The valley, however, was also home to Chonky Liquorice.

John stroke a large black dog with the backdrop of the Himalayan meadows in Chitkul.

Chonky Liquorice or Chonks for short, was a very large, very young and very playful dog. We do not know what his real name was or what breed he was. We suspect Chonks was a mix of every breed, with possible hippopotamus ancestry. Chonks started out as a lovely travel companion, but the combination of a puppy brain and the build of a small rhinoceros eventually led to problems. He took a special shine to John who was nearly “playfully” smashed to the ground on several occasions and ended the day covered in large muddy paw prints.

Whilst dodging the dogs “playful” advances, we had an incredible morning exploring the meadows. We crossed rivers and streams on stepping stones and log bridges all the while taking in the incredible mountain views that surrounded us.

A clear stream flows down from the pine tree and snow capped mountains of the Himalayas in the meadows of the Chitkul valley.

We stopped for lunch at a nearby campsite. We opted for the kadai paneer, it was a spicy, filling and delicious paneer curry with a rich tomato sauce. Whilst we were waiting for it to be cooked we played stone bowling with the groups water bottles. Ellie smashed it (and nearly a water bottle) whilst John scored a large pile of nothing.

After lunch we headed back to Chitkul and had the afternoon to explore it at our own pace. Chitkul is the last motorable Indian village before the Tibetan border and is a small collection of wood and stone homes, with a few guest houses and cafe’s dotted around.

Colourful wooden houses sit at the crossroads in the Himalayan mountain village of Chitkul - India's Last Village.

We had seen that there was some form of wooden temple or village hall in the centre of town and another gold topped temple set further out on the slopes. We headed towards the ornate wooden building and it wasn't long until we started to hear the beating of drums. We paused on the side of the road and saw the gates open and a small procession emerge. Men carrying trays of liver and entrails walked solemnly past us followed by a severed goats head. Finally the carcass itself came past with the men walking in step to the drum’s beat. The procession moved on and marched up the hill to the golden temple, where a small crowd had assembled.

We asked our guide about this later, but all he could tell us was a cryptic “village custom, village tradition”. Later that day we passed a group of men cleaning the goat intestines next to a pump, so it is a safe bet that the goat would not be going to waste!

The golden roof of the Buddhist temple rises above the stone walls of Chitkul village.

We walked through the village on small stone walled paths passing by goats and curious children. In front and behind us the valley stretched away, the lower slopes of the mountains belted in green pines and punctuated by waterfalls. As the slopes steeply rose the trees fell away as the mountain rose to snowy peaks.

There needs to be a new word for describing Chitkul. Chitkul is not picturesque, that word doesn’t begin to give justice to the vast landscapes and complex beauty of the place. You can’t simply say that Chitkul is beautiful. It is one of those places like an old cathedral or vast ruin that makes you feel tiny in all the best ways.

The Himalayas had always been a far flung dream, a snowy wilderness that always seemed a million miles away but standing in Chitkul the Himalayas of our dreams was being outshined by the reality.

A green and white house in the village of Chitkul sits beneath a green forest and snow capped mountains.

Coming out from the other side of the village, we finally looped back towards our Zostel, passing families hanging our rugs to dry, children playing and little old ladies bowed under huge stacks of kindling. It was like we were in a different time on a different world.

A stone path leads away from the village of Chitkul down the valley surrounded by tall snow capped peaks.

Back at the hostel we rejoined the group and jumped back into the minivan. Our destination this time - the Tibetan border!

A green sign for the Indo-Tibetan border in Chitkul.

We had a short drive down the valley (Chitkul really is the last village before the border), and got off at a military barrier. A stern soldier with a fantastic handlebar moustache and large gun gruffly acknowledged our group. We learned from him that this was a very hard posting for a soldier.

Guarding the border you have endure freezing temperatures far below zero in the winter. The harsh environment, along with Chitkul’s remote location and the volatile, complex nature of the border mean that this posting is not the place for the faint of heart.

After chatting to the border guards and in John’s case having his documents examined, we about-faced and started the walk back along the road to Chitkul. It was only a 2km walk and the scenery was stunning so we sent the van on ahead and set off on foot.

A minivan faces down the Himalayan valley towards Chitkul whilst the sun sets. — *Our faithful minivan!*

The walk back along the valley was, like so much of the day, spectacular! The sun was just starting to set and the orange glow streaming across the valley lit up the mountains in front of us. Our group of merry travellers snapped photos, chatted and filmed as we walked back through the fading light.

The last rays of the setting sun shine out from behind the Himalayan mountains across the village of Chitkul.

Back at Zostel the bonfire had been lit and we all clustered around to enjoy the warmth. A bottle claiming to be a ‘Shiraz’ wine appeared along with the information that this was a “local wine”. It was not ‘Shiraz’, it was not what we in England would call wine. It was, however, surprisingly smooth and did several laps of the bonfire.

After a while we all bundled into the cosy common room for dinner. The Zostel dinner was delicious! Bone-in butter chicken that melted in your mouth and rich cinnamon spiced Dal Makhni all served up with hot roti and rice. We chilled with our group, played Jenga and had a lengthy, if bizarre, argument about if biscuits were to be considered bread, and, conversely, if bread should be dipped in tea.

It had been our first proper full day in the Himalayas and it had been magical. We returned to our dorms, retreated under the cosy heavy covers and called it a day.