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Part 2: Day 3 – Musso0rie to Landour trail for Sunrise & Clouded Joy, being scammed at hometown✨
✨ If Part 1 was about wandering in the hills, Part 2 is where the heart finds home.
From journaling beside a stream in Mussoorie to a soul-soothing Buddhist trail, and a scam that shook me awake — this chapter is about everything I felt.
🍃 Let the mountains tell the rest of the story – to Lal Tibba
With aching feet from the previous evening’s long walk down Mall Road, Pranati and I collapsed into our dorm beds, making a sleepy pact to wake by 4 AM. The cab driver had warned us — any delay, and we’d miss the sunrise.
Half-awake, lulled by the constant murmur of the stream outside, we mistook it for rain. A few sleepy flashes of thunder only confirmed our doubt. Maybe we skip it today, we told ourselves. But the truth was simpler — we were just too drowsy to move.
The mountain sky was pitch black, with clouds veiling the stars. I have a strange knack for telling time in the dark. Between 2 and 3:30 AM, the world is hushed. Around 3:30, the birds begin their soft chatter. By 4, their chorus grows louder. At 5, the sky flushes mauve near the mountain’s edge — or the mosques call the world to stir.
I’d been moping since Day 1, feeling like this trip hadn’t offered anything special yet. So I shook myself awake — not literally — and called the cabbie. “Is it safe to head to Landour in this rain?” I asked. He chuckled. “There’s no rain, ma’am. It poured briefly, but it’s clear now.”
Turns out, I was just that sleepy — enough to mistake the stream’s lullaby for a storm.
We quickly dressed and headed for Lal Tibba. Wrapped in my fleece jacket, I was ready for the mountain chill — but it grew warmer by the minute. I shed the jacket and drifted off in the cab, dozing through the winding uphill drive.
The route from Mussoorie to Landour curled alongside the Mall Road. As we neared it, I awoke — partly because the road was snaking along the cliffs, partly because the views took my breath away.
The sky was still overcast, thick with clouds. “Will we see the sunrise at all?” we wondered aloud. The driver nodded solemnly — it wasn’t usually this cloudy. It seemed like even this little plan might not work out.
But the mountains had their own script.
We passed two silent churches on the way — St. Paul’s and Kellogg Memorial — their colonial spires silhouetted against the slow-bluing sky. Closed at that hour, we could only admire them from afar.
Lal Tibba
Never Miss Lal Tibba if you are visiting Mussoorie. It’s ok even if you miss Kempty falls
By 6 AM, we reached Lal Tibba — a small café perched at the hilltop with a telescope facing the snow-capped Himalayas. But the café was closed too. We didn’t let that dim our spirits.
We stood quietly on the roadside, hoping for a miracle.
And we got one.
We waited on the roadside, with chilled fingers tucked into jacket sleeves and silent prayers hidden behind sleepy smiles. The sun, we were told, had already risen — but the clouds clung stubbornly to the hills. Still, something glimmered.
A silver lining — quite literally.
Just as we were about to give up, the clouds parted like curtains unveiling a stage. The sun, majestic and mellow, emerged in slow motion, lighting the pine tips with gold and warming the cold morning. We stood still, almost in reverence.
Phones came out. Pictures were taken. Laughter echoed softly on the mountain air.
Near Lal Tibba Café, we noticed a narrow gate leading to a trail. Tourists were trickling out of it, their shoes muddy from the slush, their eyes happy. Intrigued, we followed the path. On one side, the trail was flanked by sleeping colonial homes. On the other, a forest of pine trees — their trunks catching slivers of sun — and wild daisies carpeting the edges.
It was like walking into a postcard.
Golden rays filtered through the branches, lighting up the daisies like little flames. Pranati posed for endless photos. I smiled and clicked a few. She offered to take some of me, but I gently declined. I don’t enjoy being photographed — not always. Some moments, I just want to feel rather than freeze.
My stomach, however, broke the silence — rumbling like distant thunder. We made our way to the famous Landour Bakehouse, a colonial-era gem nestled among trees and fog.
Mussoorie’s charm lies in the route to Lal Tibba and Landour!
Landour Bake House
A visit to Landour Bake House on a trip to Mussoorie is NOT a must visit! – BUT if you wish to enjoy the nostalgic colonial era feels!
I wasn’t expecting much — after all, we have bakeries just as lovely in Ooty and Bangalore. But FOMO is a powerful thing. So we queued up. We were the first in line, and it took nearly an hour before our names were called. But those 45 minutes became unexpectedly lovely.
Pranati, ever the photo enthusiast, set up her tripod right outside the café and asked me to walk past while she captured burst shots. For once, I didn’t resist. She clicked some amazing frames. I clicked hers too. I even ordered my own tripod later — though, confession, it’s now gathering dust at home.
A dog dozed off beside the entrance. I tried to befriend him, but he seemed to prefer dreams over strangers. Monkeys loitered nearby, snatching snacks from tourists. Luckily, we had neither food nor fear on us.
Inside the Bakehouse, the old-world charm was intact — checkered wooden window panes, Victorian lamps, warm yellow light. We sat by a window, soaking in the slow life.
I ordered a croissant and a coffee. The croissant was too sweet, the coffee too bitter — but the experience was just right.
A quiet tip to fellow travellers: order light. The portions are heavy, and the menu isn’t vast. But for the ambience alone, it’s worth a visit.
🕊️ 🛕 Next stop: Dalai Hills
En route to Dalai Hills, we paused at the famous “Char Dukan” — four tiny shops tucked along the hillside. As a devoted foodie, it was tempting to give in to a steaming plate of Maggi. But we had just eaten, so I held back, suppressing the urge with a sigh and a smile.
If you can give your life up for Maggi (not literally 😉) skip eating at the Landour Bake house or go for just a cup of coffee. You don’t have to give up Maggi and you can spend some time at the Char Dukan.
The drive up was slow — weekend crowds had begun to thicken. But the anticipation carried us through.
Dalai Hills, perched serenely in Happy Valley, is a Buddhist sanctuary that wears its peace like a robe. Prayer flags danced across the landscape, casting bursts of red, blue, yellow, green, and white — like thoughts caught in motion. Each flutter added colour to the quiet.
The view unfurled before us — gentle valleys stretching far and still. A hush fell around us, one that grounded me without warning.
After soaking in that calming aura of the temple and capturing some mountain scapes, we began the trek to the Buddha statue.
The trail was close by and it was carpeted by cement staircases with a hand rail for support.
A small note here: the uphill climb is best made with comfortable shoes and breezy clothes. You wouldn’t want to miss the statue or lose breath doing it.
The trail being staircase-laid wasn’t slippery, but narrow.
Surprisingly, I managed the climb with ease — a rare thing for someone with not-so-great cardiorespiratory reserves. Maybe the altitude was low.
Maybe something in the mountain air was carrying me forward.
Still, I made a mental note — I must begin exercising again. I’ve postponed it long enough. Note got ignored anyways, later on 😬
At the summit stood the Buddha — tall, serene, and utterly still. It marked the “last mile” of the climb. Beyond the statue, the breeze picked up, cool and conscious — as if it knew what to do with your worries. The prayer flags whispered as they swayed. For a moment, everything felt held.
We stood there soaking in the cool breeze and admiring the fluttering coloured prayer flags, and wondering how people constructed this beauty at this altitude.
Pranati, young and energetic leading the trail back down, told me she loved trekking and one of the most beautiful spots on earth is the Tunganath temple nestled at the peak of Mount Chandrashila. This lighted up a spark in me. Some kind of excitement – that kind one when somone feels close to God.
I am a spiritual person and Tunganath temple is where the Pandavas spent their final years of life. I want to visit it!
Suddenly disappointment washed away my excitement, when I remembered how bad trekker I am. Some day I will!
🧣 A quick stroll and quiet shopping
We returned to Mussoorie, and as promised, the cabbie dropped us again at Mall Road.
I had only one thing on my mind — the Karachi dupatta I saw yesterday.
We didn’t walk the entire stretch. The very first shop displayed the dupatta, and I — an efficient shopper — knew my heart had already made the choice. I bought two.
Not for an occasion. Not for a need.
Just because I loved the work.
A tip here: Buy karachi dupattas at the beginning of the Mall road, where the prices are cheaper
Pranati was set to stay at the Zostel on Mall Road, so she got off there.
I rode back to the Kempty Falls Zostel.
📖 A stream, a journal, and soft solitude
After a quick lunch at the café and a nap that felt like a small reset, I grabbed my journal, my pen, and Eat, Pray, Love — and headed straight to my favourite spot by the stream.
The weather played kind today. Cool, quiet, and not a soul in sight.
I ordered a coffee and Maggi from the nearby shop and nestled myself onto a rock. The sound of the stream curled around me, soothing and unhurried.
This… this was the best part of my trip.
To be still, with myself. Amongst trees and water and sky.
To declutter the mind without needing to explain a thing.
To write what felt raw.
I stayed until dusk settled in the branches.
🌸 Unexpected grace: a dormmate with soul
That evening, I met my new dormmate — a Bengali woman from Bangalore.
Some women don’t need words to shine. They just are — authentic, emotionally fluent, gracefully grounded.
She was one such.
Women like her don’t compete. They empower.
I’m grateful I crossed paths with her.
🔥 A musical night and early retreat
Post dinner, a bonfire lit up the courtyard. A gentle gathering began — music, laughter, and sleepy eyes glowing amber in the firelight.
My dormmate sang. Her voice — soft yet strong — carried the kind of sincerity that stirs you.
But my eyes began to droop. I quietly slipped away, back to the dorm, letting sleep take me early.
🌄 The last day — and the beautiful surprise of “unbotheredness”
Thanks to that early sleep, I woke early too.
I went back to the stream. Alone. Again.
This time, a few boys showed up nearby.
But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t shrink.
This — this ability to just be, without watching myself through someone else’s gaze — was new.
And freeing.
That moment — more than photos or food or hikes — became the highlight of my trip.
“You wanna know yourself? Then sit with yourself, how much ever the discomfort troubles you, how so ever consious you are about what the other people are thinking about you. That’s the only way – sitting with self”
The trip gave me leisure.
It gave me time for myself.
And with a reluctant heart, I left for Jolly Grant Airport.
This time, I shared the cab with three others — and the weight on the wallet felt lighter.
✈️ Flight delays, fatigue, and a costly lesson
I had a connecting flight – Mussoorie to Bangalore.
The plan was to reach home by midnight.
But I landed at 3AM.
Let me offer a small piece of advice:
Take the connecting flight while leaving for your trip, not while returning.
Because delays will happen.
And if you’re working the next day, the cost isn’t just money — it’s your sanity.
Still, I had no regrets. I didn’t want to shorten my time in the mountains.
By the way – round trip flight tickets for Bangalore – Mussoorie costed me 21,000 INR, as I chose a connecting flight on leg of the journey.
🚖 Scammed at home — but safe
And then came the twist. Not at Mussoorie but at my home town Bangalore!
I was back in my city. But at 3AM, there were no Ola, no Uber, no Rapido — or so it seemed.
I managed to book a Rapido. It took forever to find a rider.
In that window, a man approached me.
He said, “We’ll drop you safely.”
He called someone. A cab pulled up.
I kept asking, “How much?”
They kept dodging. “You can pay later.”
Tip: Don’t board a cab unless the driver has answered all your question clearly.
⚠️ Red flag alert!
But I was drowsy. I didn’t want to wait any longer.
He added, “Ma’am is a Kannadiga — drop her safely!”
That faux-familiarity should have warned me.
Just then, Rapido confirmed. It would have cost me ₹890.
But I had to cancel it.
Because I was already in the other cab.
Guess what they charged? ₹4000.
Yes, in my own city.
I felt scammed.
I belted myself up for getting scammed and not paying heed to red flags. Then I reminded myself – Ok I am safe, atleast next time I will be careful. After all life is nothing but “lessons learnt”
And sometimes, safety is the only win that counts.
🧳 The final learning
Whether you’re in a new city or your own, don’t arrive during wee hours.
Especially as a woman.
If you must, wait for a reliable, registered ride — even if it takes an hour.
Because waiting in an airport is far safer than guessing outside it.
🛏️ Home — full circle
Tired. Flustered. Shocked.
I threw my bags aside and dropped into bed.
This Mussoorie trip — every delay, every detour, every discovery — taught me something.
Not just about Mussoorie.
But about trust.
About presence.
About how healing sometimes arrives in Maggi cups, misty trails, silence with self.
This Mussoorie trip was about ME unlike the previous trip to Ooty where it was about friendships or Varkala about mind-blowing view points! That is why I love solo travelling – it gives one a varied experience of life.
🧳 Solo trip. Peace by Buddha statue. hopes of trek to ultimate places on earth. Streamside journaling. ₹4000 scam. lessons learnt!
✨ If Part 1 made you curious — Part 2 will move you.
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