December 2023 — we were on the road, quite literally. What began as a spontaneous Spiti expedition turned into something else, something more tender — thanks to a place we almost didn’t go to. A place called Kalpa.

Our trusted beast, Mufasa (a.k.a. our Creta), carried us all the way from Mumbai on a 20-day road trip that had no checklist, no pre-bookings, no fixed direction — just mountains, maps, and moods. We wandered freely through the cold silence of Kinnaur Valley, that itself looked like an unfolding story of cliffs, apples, rivers, and gods. As bloggers and wanderers, we kept hearing about this small village called Kalpa — whispered into our ears by fellow travellers, locals, homestay owners.

“Go to Kalpa.”

“You must see Kalpa.”

But we weren’t sure. We were already enamoured by Kinnaur. Why add another name?

And like most things in our travel stories, Kalpa came into our lives on a random turn, on our return from Spiti-Kaza.

A Halt That Became Home

Now let me be honest — we were coming from Kaza. From Spiti. A place that already felt like it was carved out of the cosmos.

I remember thinking, how can anything be more beautiful than this?

Purple mountains. A sky so clear it felt like glass. A silence that echoed with soul.

Spiti was raw, surreal, and sacred — like walking through a painting of gods.

And then came Kalpa.

And with it, a stillness deeper than silence, a beauty that didn’t scream. It just stayed.

It didn’t compete with Spiti’s drama. It didn’t have to. It just stood there — grounded, glowing — and gently made space in my heart.

We decided to stay a night, just to unwind. But the moment we reached our stay and opened the door to our room — there it was. The entire Kinnaur Kailash range, right in front of us, standing tall and glowing under the golden light.

Every morning, we’d open that door and be humbled by the sight —

as if the mountain had been waiting just for us.

We ended up staying for four days, not because we planned to — but because we couldn’t leave.

The Day I Saw the Earth Rotate

We didn’t chase places, treks or cafés here. We didn’t want to. This was the kind of stillness that chooses you. The kind that doesn’t shout its beauty. It just is.

One evening, we saw the sunset and moonrise share the same sky — and in that moment, we weren’t just watching light. We were watching the Earth rotate.

It was magical, grounding, and absurdly romantic.

Of Kind Souls, Omelette Buns & Mind-Boggling Coffee

Kalpa is tiny. A smattering of homes, a few shops (four or five at max), a beautiful wooden temple, and a rhythm of life that’s in no rush to impress.

But what made it unforgettable?

The people.

There’s something about the way the locals live here — with kindness in their eyes, patience in their voice, and a calm joy that feels so rare. You’ll never feel like a stranger. No honking, no chaos — just humans living life fully, smiling without reason, offering directions, stories, and sometimes, just silence.

And then — that omelette bun and coffee.

Served warm in a humble little café, with views of the snow-capped peaks and the scent of cedar in the air. That moment? It’s carved into my memory like a soft photograph.

The Unexplained Pull

We didn’t “explore” Kalpa. We didn’t have to.

Maybe that’s what makes this place different. It doesn’t demand anything from you. No must-visits, no must-eats, no must-do hikes.

It just holds space for you — to sit, to stare, to be. And somehow, without doing much, Kalpa made its place in my heart. A place I want to return to — in every season, in every mood, with or without reason.

Some places you love for their beauty. Some, for the memories. But Kalpa — I love without knowing why. And maybe that’s what makes it real.

I came from Spiti, drunk on sky and starlight —

But Kalpa made me kneel with quiet snow.

Some villages don’t call you by name.

They call you by soul.

A full moon rose, a sun dipped low —

And in that hush, I heard the Earth turn.

It wasn’t the view. It wasn’t the bun.

It was the way Kalpa made me feel undone.

From the moment I opened that door,

A mountain stared back — and I stayed.

Pallavi  Gondane is a travel and food storyteller based in Mumbai, India. Through her lens and words, she captures the stillness in spontaneous journeys and the poetry of slow life. On her platform, @techieenomad, she shares soulful narratives from the mountains, coastal corners, and hidden gems of India — one unplanned road trip at a time.