Everyone tells you Kashmir is ‘Paradise on Earth.’ It’s the kind of lazy cliché that makes me want to scream into a pillow. Look, I’ve been there three times in the last five years, and let me tell you: paradise doesn’t usually involve a guy named Bashir following you for four blocks trying to sell you a saffron packet that is actually dyed corn silk. Kashmir is beautiful, sure, but it is also loud, dusty, and incredibly stressful if you follow the standard ‘best places to visit Kashmir’ lists you find on Google.
The Gulmarg Gondola is a circle of hell
I know people will disagree with me on this. They’ll show you their Instagram photos of the snow-capped Apharwat Peak and tell you it’s a ‘must-do.’ They are lying—or they have a much higher tolerance for misery than I do. I spent four hours standing in a queue for Phase 1 of the Gondola last March. Four hours. I tracked it on my watch. By the time I got to the top, I was so annoyed that I couldn’t even enjoy the view. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. The view is fine, but you can see the same mountains from a dozen other spots without paying 1,500 rupees to be treated like cattle.
If you absolutely must go to Gulmarg, don’t do the tourist stuff. Walk toward the outer circular walk. It’s about 7 kilometers. Hardly anyone goes there because it requires actual physical effort, and most tourists in Kashmir seem allergic to walking more than ten feet from their SUV. I wore a pair of Decathlon Forclaz boots for this—the basic ones—and I’m going to be honest: I hate them. I know everyone says they are the gold standard for budget hiking, but the grip on wet Kashmiri slate is non-existent. I slipped twice and bruised my hip. Total garbage. Buy something with actual Vibram soles if you value your joints.
The best thing about Gulmarg isn’t the skiing or the cable car; it’s the overly expensive kahwa you drink while watching other people realize they’ve wasted their afternoon in a line.
Stop obsessing over the houseboats on Dal Lake
I used to think the houseboats were the peak of romance. I was completely wrong. I stayed in one on Nigeen Lake (which is supposedly the ‘quiet’ version of Dal Lake) and it was a damp, creaky nightmare. The wood smells like a basement that hasn’t been aired out since the 90s. Plus, the sewage situation in the lakes is… well, let’s just say you shouldn’t look too closely at the water. It’s a tourist trap. A beautiful one, but a trap nonetheless.
Srinagar is better used as a base camp for exactly two days. Go to the Mughal gardens if you like manicured grass, but honestly, the old city (Downtown) is where the actual soul is. The Jamia Masjid is incredible. The silence inside that courtyard is the only time I felt like the ‘paradise’ label actually fit. But then you walk outside and get hit by the smell of diesel and frying wazwan. It’s a jarring transition.
The part where I actually tell you where to go
If you want the real Kashmir, you have to drive further. You have to go to Gurez Valley. It’s about 6-7 hours from Srinagar, and the road over the Razdan Pass is terrifying. I’m not being dramatic—I saw a truck hanging halfway off a hairpin bend. But once you get into Dawar, the main town in Gurez, the world just stops. It’s right on the Line of Control. There are soldiers everywhere, which is a bit unsettling at first, but the landscape is unlike anything else. It looks like Switzerland if Switzerland was rugged and ignored by the 21st century.
I spent four days there and spent exactly 6,200 rupees, including my stay and food. Compare that to the 12,000 I blew in two days in Pahalgam. Gurez is raw. The Habba Khatoon peak towers over the town like a giant pyramid. Anyway, I digress. The point is that Gurez is the only place left where people don’t look at you like a walking ATM. They’ll actually invite you in for tea because they’re curious, not because they have a cousin who sells carpets.
My embarrassing failure in Sonamarg
I have to tell you about the ponies. In Sonamarg, the ‘pony wallahs’ are aggressive. They told me the trek to the Thajiwas Glacier was 5 kilometers and ‘impossible’ to walk. I believed them. I paid 2,500 rupees for a pony that looked like it wanted to die. About twenty minutes into the ride, the pony slipped on a muddy patch, and I slid right off the back into a pile of… well, it wasn’t mud. It was embarrassing. My jacket was ruined, my pride was gone, and I realized about ten minutes later that the walking path was perfectly paved and totally fine for a human with legs. I felt like a complete idiot. I sat by the river for an hour just washing my sleeve and questioning my life choices.
Lesson learned: If a local says you ‘must’ take a horse, you almost certainly don’t.
- Aru Valley: Go here instead of the main Pahalgam market. It’s 12km uphill and much quieter.
- Yusmarg: People call it the ‘Meadow of Jesus.’ It’s mostly just a giant, empty field of grass, but that’s the beauty of it. No crowds.
- Doodhpathri: It’s okay. A bit overhyped lately. The water looks like milk (hence the name), but the plastic litter is starting to get bad.
I might be wrong about this, and I know the locals who rely on tourism will hate me for saying it, but I think the ‘famous’ spots in Kashmir are being ruined by sheer volume. We’re loving the place to death. I tracked the footfall at the Betaab Valley entrance—over 400 people entered in a 30-minute window on a Tuesday morning. That’s not a nature retreat; that’s a shopping mall with better scenery.
I don’t have a neat way to wrap this up. I’m sitting in my office right now looking at a photo of the Lidder River and I miss the air there, but I don’t miss the noise. If you go, just promise me you’ll skip the Gondola. It’s really not worth the headache.
Is it still paradise? I don’t know. Maybe in the bits that are hard to reach.
