By: Rinku. R
The road to Dharamkot unwinds gently from McLeod Ganj, climbing past cedar trees and prayer flags that flicker like quiet invitations. With every step upward, the town below loosens its grip. By the time Dharamkot appears—small, unassuming, wrapped in cloud—you realise this is not a place meant to impress. It is meant to receive.
A Village Shaped by Seekers
Dharamkot’s story is inseparable from Dharamshala itself. When the 14th Dalai Lama made McLeod Ganj the seat of the Tibetan government-in-exile in 1959, the hills above it slowly became home to monks, meditators, and travelers drawn less by religion and more by stillness. Dharamkot, once a quiet Gaddi village, evolved organically into a resting place for spiritual seekers, backpackers, and long-term wanderers.
Unlike tourist towns built around spectacle, Dharamkot grew around practice—yoga, meditation, silence, walking. Even today, it has no market streets or flashy attractions. What it offers instead is continuity: of thought, of breath, of days that resemble one another without becoming dull.
Mornings of Mountains and Mantras
Mornings begin with mist. The Dhauladhar range reveals itself slowly, as though deciding whether you deserve the view. From balconies and café windows, you watch snow peaks glow briefly before clouds reclaim them. Bells from nearby meditation centres drift through the air, mingling with birdsong and the rhythmic crunch of boots heading uphill.
This is also the hour when trekkers begin their journeys.
Trails That Begin at Your Doorstep
Dharamkot is a gateway, not an endpoint.
The Triund Trek, one of the most loved Himalayan hikes, begins almost casually from here. What starts as a forest walk opens suddenly into vast meadows overlooking the Kangra Valley on one side and the snow-walled Dhauladhars on the other. Many return in a day; others stay the night, wrapped in stars and wind.
Beyond Triund lies Laka Glacier, where the terrain turns rocky and austere, and further still, the Indrahar Pass—a demanding route that strips trekking down to its essentials: endurance, humility, and awe.
For those seeking gentler paths, trails through Naddi, Bhagsu, and hidden forest routes around Dharamkot offer hours of quiet walking, often shared only with shepherds and grazing sheep.
Here, walking is not exercise. It is conversation—with land, with self.
Cafés with a View—and a Philosophy
Dharamkot’s cafés feel less like businesses and more like communal living rooms. Built of wood and glass, they open unapologetically towards the mountains, as if walls would be an insult to the view.
Places like Moonpeak Espresso, Bodhi Greens, Trek & Dine, and Sunshine Café serve food from across the world—Israeli shakshuka, Tibetan momos, wood-fired pizzas—but the real offering is time. You wait, you watch clouds move, you talk to strangers who may become friends or disappear forever after tea.
Many cafés double as informal notice boards—advertising meditation retreats, sound-healing sessions, volunteer opportunities, or simply handwritten notes reading “Stay present.”
No one hurries you to leave. Dharamkot cafés understand something cities forget: lingering is not loitering.
Evenings of Stories and Silence
As evening settles, the village turns inward. Lights flicker on gently. The temperature drops. Guitars emerge, not for performance but for companionship. Conversations drift—from travel to philosophy to long pauses where nothing needs to be said.
There is little nightlife here, and that is its quiet defiance. Entertainment comes from watching darkness rise through the valley, from recognising constellations, from realising how rarely you look up anymore.
What Dharamkot Ultimately Gives
Dharamkot does not promise transformation. It offers conditions for it—altitude, silence, repetition, and space. Some people come for a trek and stay for months. Others come to heal, to study, to disappear briefly from lives that demand constant explanation.
Leaving Dharamkot is strange. You descend physically, but something in you stays elevated. The noise returns gradually, but it feels less convincing. You carry back a slower pace, an expanded horizon, and the memory of a place that taught you how little you actually need.
Dharamkot doesn’t shout its beauty.
It waits—patiently—for you to notice.
