The cold doesn’t just touch you at Chandrataal, it hunts you down.
The exact moment you step inside your canvas tent at 14,000 feet, a heavy, paralyzing sense of dread drops squarely onto your chest. The air inside is brittle and dead, smelling of damp canvas and frozen earth. As the sun sets beyond those huge mountains, the tent transforms from a shelter to a deep freezer, ready to blow dry your soul.
The struggle is real, for those who can brave it, the sky itself puts up a show like none other.
East Indian Traveller 