Manali Travel Guide: Temples, Snow Valleys, and the Quiet Soul of the Himalayas – The Quiet Magnetism of Manali: Exploring Hadimba Temple, Solang Valley, Sissu, Vashisht Hot Springs, and Old Manali (Updated)
– a town tucked between mountains, rivers, and time
Travel Feature Written and Photograph by Riddhima Sharma 
“Beautiful things do not always ask for attention; they just exist, and their value speaks for itself.”
The Himalayas are the prime epitome of this truth. Sitting quietly at their throne atop the hills, between peaceful clouds, they endure and create an impact that comes not through force but through peace and calm. The magnetism of the Himalayas is magnificent, people from different corners of the world come to witness their beauty. Any distance feels irrelevant before the pull of the Himalayas, a pull that cannot be explained.
Drawn by such magnetism, began the journey to the Himalayan gem of Manali. Between serene and beautiful mountains unfolded a journey to witness peaks where snow shimmers like a jewel over a crown, and to meet the people who live beneath that shimmering jewel.
The roads of Delhi provided the first pathway. The smell of grasslands and wildflowers, the embrace of clean air on my skin, it was an unforgettable welcome to Himachal. This welcome alone was enough to make me curious to explore this beautiful place and discover the wonders it quietly contains, like a pearl inside a shell.
Arriving in Manali
My first halt was Kullu, which acts as a companion to most travellers, who typically spend a night there before continuing their journey. I too stayed a night at a hotel in Kullu. The view of the mountains from the hotel window was like a film trailer that does not leave your mind, it made me curious and excited to watch the full film.
The journey continued through exotic frames of nature, snow-spangled peaks, and the natural beauty of Manali unfolding slowly. The pathways were rocky, and the tunnels welcomed me like long-awaited gateways to premium paths and views.
The wait was long, and the longer the journey, the more excited I grew to see the mountains that always seemed to call me despite the distance between us.
There were stops, tired eyes, lunch and brunch, but after passing through a few more tunnels, the long wait was finally over. The car door opened. I stepped outside and found myself amid pure beauty, like still frames from a film. Some imperfections in the shapes, but they outshine because imperfection is part of the Himalayas, and that makes them more natural, more alive, and closer to their people and their visitors.
Climbing up the hillside and looking down, I could already see locals walking uphill, going about their everyday work. I sensed a safety in their every move, knowing they have the Himalayas by their side. That is the magic of the Himalayas, the way they ripple out peace, such that even knowing they are near makes one feel safe and want to smile. That day, that smile came over my lips, and I knew it was not going to fade. Only grow.
Hadimba Devi Temple and Old Manali
In the evening I moved to my first destination, which was close to the hotel: the Hadimba Devi Temple. At the entrance, I could see mighty ancient trees watching over me, watchful yet reassuring. Beneath the giants, I spotted the first wonder: a dog. What made him special was that he is the oldest dog of Manali; according to locals, he is about fourteen years old. He was sleeping peacefully, as if he knew he was resting in a divine space and was fully protected.
I followed the pathway that led me to the Hadimba temple, surrounded by lush greenery, with queues of people stretching ahead. Standing between the railings, I noticed the most interesting walls, made of wood, mud, and hay, and adorned with Ibex horns and an Ibex skull. The Ibex is mostly found at higher altitudes of the Himalayas and has long been a part of the decorative tradition on Hadimba temple’s walls.
These decorations of bones and skulls are dedicated to the deity Hidimba, who was a Rakshasi (demoness) and the wife of Bheem, according to the historic tales of the Mahabharata. As a mark of respect for the divine place, photography was prohibited inside. I took the blessings of the divine and stepped out.
Outside the temple, I was surrounded by locals, men and women in traditional Himachali dress, ready for photographs. Small children wore bright, colourful outfits, and the same amount of happiness on their faces was shared among newly married couples, older couples, and middle-aged families. All of them radiated a common emotion: pure joy and love for Himachal. The traditional dresses embraced them with warmth, regardless of where they had come from.
Hadimba was full of divinity, vibrant colours, and domesticated sheep and rabbits belonging to locals, who offered them as charming props in tourist photographs.
Hadimba felt like two lives of Manali existing side by side, one a spiritual energy, isolated and surrounded by lush greenery, away from the outer world of markets, rush, and materialistic life; the other the thriving, busy world just beyond the treeline. Perhaps this highlights the very essence of Manali: a balance between two contrasting lives, yet both deeply grounded.
On my way back to the hotel I stopped at Mall Road, a market that holds everything Manali has to offer, from souvenirs to clothes woven from Yak wool, to street food keeping the place constantly alive with motion.
The day finally ended with rest at the hotel, gathering energy for the next day’s journey.
Sissu and Solang Valley
The next day, stepping out of the car felt like stepping under a vast white canopy, the destination was Sissu, located in the Lahaul Valley, around 40 km from Manali. The altitude and distance explained the magnificent snow peaks towering all around.
Following the ritual of mountain regions, I covered myself with a rubber jacket and wore gumboots rented from one of the many shops along the way.
As the car passed through tunnel after tunnel, I could sense the diminishing level of oxygen as the altitude rose. Following the curving turns of the tunnels, I reached Sissu.
Leaving the grassy mountains behind, I was now surrounded by ice peaks. Making my way through the snow, waddling like a penguin, I came across a photographer taking portraits of a couple. We were both standing in front of a shimmering river. I might have called it just a river, but the photographer introduced me to its full identity and history: the river is the Chandra, which originates from the melting glaciers of the Samudra Tapu plateau.
The confluence of the Chandra and Bagha rivers leads to the Chandrabhaga, which continues its journey from Jammu & Kashmir, crossing into the Punjab region of Pakistan and eventually joining the Sutlej to form the Panjnad, which empties into the Indus.
After thanking the photographer for narrating the transformation journey of the shimmering Chandra, I covered roughly 14 km to reach Solang Valley.
Solang felt like a vibrant hub of joy, adventurous activities, amazing views, beautifully carved igloos, snowmen, and smiling faces of families and friends posing for photographs taken by local photographers.
I looked around and saw people struggling to stand and take a step on skiing boards. I soon realised I was in exactly the same position. Each time I picked up speed, I lost my balance and was on the verge of falling, but the skiing guide, like a saviour, supported me from behind every single time.
“It is always difficult for people to ski for the first time, especially for those not from hilly regions,” he said. These wise words helped me swallow my embarrassment, and I felt a little relieved. While handling his skiing tools, the guide pointed to a small wooden structure. “That is our skiing institute.”
It was not a fancy institute, just a simple space made of wood, with posters about skiing and ski costumes hanging around, but it made me reflect on the power of where there is a will, there is a way. Despite the harsh weather that makes it difficult to build cement structures, they created a space for learning that has been standing strong for a long time.
Following the snowy trails, I asked a local about the usual crowd conditions. He replied, “The crowd here right now will soon grow, as more people will come returning from Sissu. Solang Valley is usually packed, since these are the fun and adventurous activities that families love, it’s where people come to spend real quality time together.”
Taking a perfect combination of information and adrenaline from the day’s activities, I made my way back from Solang.
A Roadside Conversation
On my way back, I stopped at a roadside Maggi stall. A woman who had been on a rugged uphill path collecting wood soon came and sat beside me, having a plate of Maggi. I was curious about the language she was speaking, and she replied, “We call this language Kulvi, which comes from the Kullu region.” A local sitting nearby added that another language of the area is Mandeali, which originates from the Mandi region.
I added a few more curious questions between slurps of Maggi, and both locals were calm and happy to share.
Amazed by the woman’s impressive strength to collect wood on such rocky terrain, I asked her about any difficulties she faces in her daily chores. She replied, “Sometimes wild animals, bears, leopards, tigers, emerge from the jungles in the hills. We have to be careful, but they mostly come out at night, so we are not too afraid. We just stay aware, and sometimes in the evenings we take a lift in a tourist’s or local’s vehicle when heading home.”
After these thoughtful conversations, I bid a warm goodbye to both of them. I left with more than the taste of Maggi that day, I left with a taste of the quiet bravery carried by the people of the Himalayas.
Before reaching the hotel, I took one more halt at a local tea shop. Minimal lights, a few wooden benches, but calmness and rawness embraced me as I sat and watched the mountains looking back at me, a glint of shimmering snow on each peak.
I no longer felt like a tourist. I felt like a part of Manali, just me and the Himalayas, with realness and peace between us, something I rarely find in city life.
In this quiet conversation of peace, the raw scent of tea slowly drifted in, and to complete the experience, the owner served it in a steel glass. That became a habit. After coming back from Manali, I found myself reaching for a steel glass rather than a fancy mug, just to get that flash of calm, that view of mountains from a simple roadside shop.
Manu Temple and Vashisht
The journey was still unfolding. I moved on to the Manu Temple, set in Old Manali.
Old Manali is the epitome of what tourists miss but travellers stay to witness. It holds the essence of Manali from years past, before development changed its face. There were few hotels or motels, just raw houses made of mud, locals with small stalls selling handmade woollen pieces, and shops offering local street food called Siddu.
A local carefully handling a pile of handmade blankets, two locals teasing each other in their dialect, local women stopping me to try their food, it all felt like an unfiltered look at the materials and the people that made the urban Manali possible. The rawness that existed before the markets arrived.
The Manu Temple was structured in wood and cool within. I stood admiring the view while the muffled sounds of bhajans made everything more soulful. An old local entered, chiming the temple bell with ease. Slowly the space filled with devotees. I took the blessings of the divine, said goodbye to Old Manali, and moved on.
A few more kilometres brought me to Vashisht Temple, which holds the tales of the sage Vashisht’s trials. Beautifully carved, the temple presents captivating architecture at every turn.
Vashisht temple also holds great significance through its bathing kunds. The water in the kunds comes from natural geothermal hot springs deep within the earth and is considered therapeutic for skin ailments, drawing tourists who come specifically to bathe here. There are two separate kunds for men and women, with strict prohibition of photography inside.
Leaving Manali
As I walked away from the temple and headed back to the hotel, I accepted the fact that this was my last day in Manali.
As the mountain trails were left behind, I realised how slowly the journey had felt while entering Manali, and how quickly it moved as I was leaving. All of this beauty, all of this pull, it exists because the Himalayas understand the value of a slow life. People from rapid city lives feel safe here, and a feeling of home embraces them. That feeling is rarely found in the rush of cities.
City life demands a fast pace in every sphere, and that pace makes people forget to take time for the things they love and the people they care about. In cities, people arrive for work or opportunity and never truly get to know the place itself, never reach its quiet corners.
The Himalayas are different. Like a diamond that was once just a raw piece of carbon, they outshine through rawness rather than polish. Their brilliance is not built, it simply is.
Travel Feature Written and Photograph by Riddhima Sharma
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