Kufri (Part 1): The Views Just Kept Coming

After a solid 12 hours of completely uninterrupted sleep (yes, I’m flexing), we were finally up at 9am feeling like new people. I went down to reception with my dad to figure out what we could actually do with our two days in Shimla. The receptionist didn’t hesitate—“Go to Kufri.” Now, Kufri is a small hill station just outside Shimla, known for its views, mountain activities, and, depending on the season, snow. It’s one of those places people go for a bit of adventure; horse rides, viewpoints, and generally just being surrounded by nature at a higher altitude than Shimla itself. Sounded perfect. She arranged a taxi driver for us and told us it would be 1800 for the day. Simple enough. What she didn’t mention, however, were the… additional “experiences” and charges waiting for us once we got to Kufri.

We told my mum and wife to be ready in an hour which, naturally, was met with at least five minutes of complaints about how that was “nowhere near enough time”. The hotel itself was beautiful - great location, amazing views—but our room had… character. It seemed like we might have been the first guests in a few days, because just above the shower was an air vent that occasionally dropped in a few unexpected visitors. Small cockroaches, casually making their entrance mid shower. I made the mistake of telling my wife. That was it! She immediately refused to shower in our room and relocated to my parents’ bathroom without hesitation. I, on the other hand, took a more… practical approach. If they dropped in, they were swiftly washed down the drain on their little waterslide adventure. Problem solved. I kept one eye on the vent, one eye on life, and carried on. There was even a tiny baby spider in the corner, quietly enjoying the steam like it had booked the place for itself. I was just sharing my shower but for him, it was a spa experience.

Our driver took us up towards Kufri, and along the way, the views kept getting better. The colourful houses and small restaurants clinging to the cliffs were still just as striking as the day before, stacked along the mountains like they’d somehow found space where there shouldn’t be any. Curious (and slightly concerned), we asked the driver about how safe it all actually is. He just shrugged and said, “If it’s in your kismat, your home won’t fall.”
Kismat—meaning fate. It was one of those answers that catches you off guard, but at the same time… not really. He followed it up with, “In the rainy season, anything can happen.” Reassuring. Very reassuring.

We stopped at a restaurant about 15 minutes before Kufri called 'Sher-e Punjab'. We hadn’t had breakfast, so we’d asked the driver to take us somewhere on the way. And then… the view hit. It wasn’t just pretty, it was the kind of view that makes you pause mid-sentence and it was just the first of many. In front of us were endless layers of mountains, stretching out in every direction. Some were covered in thick pine forests, deep green and full, while others looked rougher; rocky, dry, almost carved out. The further you looked, the softer everything became, fading into a light blue haze that blurred the edges of the hills into the sky. Below, you could see small clusters of buildings tucked between the trees - tiny from where we stood, almost like they’d been placed there as an afterthought. The contrast was unreal: sharp, detailed greenery close by, and then these soft, distant ridges rolling on forever. It didn’t feel like something you just look at, it felt like something you step into. We ordered food… and then spent more time taking photos than actually eating it. At that point, Shimla was quietly working its way into my top three mountain destinations—but with Pag in Croatia, Ladakh, and Interlaken up there, it had serious competition. The food was excellent. And when you ask for spicy food in India, they don’t take it lightly, they deliver. Sometimes a bit too well. Somewhere between bites, my parents and wife decided they were now vloggers. This resulted in a series of slightly awkward, overly enthusiastic clips that were, to be fair, actually quite funny. One thing I loved, the water. Any tap you open up there gives you the coldest, crispest water. Proper mountain water. At one point, I stepped away and stood quietly for a few minutes, just taking it all in while everyone else ate. Looking down towards the trees below, I spotted a man crouched, feeding a couple of monkeys pieces of bread. For all the chaos monkeys cause in Shimla, they’re still treated with a surprising amount of care. It was one of those small moments; quiet and simple, that sticks with you just as much as the views.

We headed towards Kufri, which was about 15 minutes away and slightly higher up. Simple journey, we thought. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. We arrived at what I can only describe as a roadside “checkpoint”. a few stalls, a couple of very persuasive gentlemen, and suddenly, our taxi driver decided this was as far as he’d be taking us. No further explanation, just a smooth handover to the next phase of the “Kufri experience”. We were then introduced to two official options. “Old Kufri” and “New Kufri”.
Old Kufri involved ziplining and various rope-based activities attached to trees, basically an outdoor obstacle course that required a level of trust I simply did not have. New Kufri, on the other hand, promised scenic viewpoints and mountain views. Now, it’s worth noting that I had spent a good amount of time asking people about paragliding in Shimla, which, in hindsight, makes my next decision slightly ironic, but when it came to climbing trees on ropes in the middle of the mountains, suddenly I became very risk-aware. We chose “New Kufri”. A calm, sensible choice… for the price of 1000 INR per person. Apparently, this was a fixed government rate. Of course it was. From there, a jeep arrived to take us the rest of the way up. And by jeep, I mean a slightly questionable vehicle with an open back, where we all sat sideways like we were about to be transported into a completely different storyline. My wife sat at the front strategically positioned next to a window, just in case the mountain roads got the better of her. Meanwhile, I was in the back, slightly hunched over to avoid my neck colliding with the roof every few seconds. It was a very comfortable experience, as you can imagine. To complete the scene, my mum decided it was the perfect time to play old Hindi songs. Now, don’t get me wrong, I respect the classics. But something about being bounced around in the back of a jeep, crouched like I’m in a low-budget movie where they kidnap and you in the back of one of these, while emotional love music plays in the background… it just didn’t quite match the mood I was in.

We finally arrived at the “viewpoints” in Kufri and stepped out to figure out where exactly we were. Our driver gave us directions at lightning speed,
“Go forward for one viewpoint, then further for another, then come back and climb the stairs for the last one”, all within about ten seconds.
I nodded… and just went with the flow. On our left was a cute hotel tucked into the corner, with a restaurant connected to it and a few tables and chairs for guests to sit, eat and relax. You could really spend a night here looking at this mountainous range.
Naturally, we started walking towards the open space ahead and from that moment on, it was just view after view. The ground was dry and uneven, with patches of golden grass and dirt paths carved through it, almost like the mountain had been gently worn down over time. To the side, there were a few cows casually grazing, completely unbothered by the fact that they were standing in front of one of the best views imaginable, and then, beyond that, the mountains. Endless layers of them. Some were sharp and detailed, covered in clusters of tall pine trees. Others were softer, fading into the distance with that hazy blue tint that makes it hard to tell where one ridge ends and another begins. The sky was clear, bright blue, stretching endlessly above it all, making the whole scene feel even bigger. There was a narrow walkway with railings along the edge, guiding you safely along the ridge. If you followed it, you’d reach little viewing spots where people would stop, lean over slightly, and just take it in. It felt calm, no rush, no noise just people quietly appreciating what was in front of them. There were telescopes set up as well, offering a “closer look” at the mountains… for a price. A price that, I’m sure, was also very officially “government set”. Meanwhile, everyone had their own little moment going on. My mum was busy doing emergency phone storage management - deleting photos at speed to make room for the next hundred. My dad was just strolling along, taking it easy. My wife was walking back and forth between them, enjoying the sun, and as I later discovered, filming reels.
And me? I just stood there and took it all in. Every mountain peak. Every layer of green and brown. As far as I could see, as deep as the view would go. I just stood and enjoyed it. One of those moments where you don’t need to say anything. You just look.

I ended up walking much further ahead than my wife and parents, I was far too eager to explore. Then I came across what looked like a small staircase. Slight curve, nothing too serious… or so I thought. As I got closer, I realised it was actually a steep, rocky path carved into the mountain itself. Naturally, without thinking twice about whether it was safe, I just went for it. Halfway down, behind me, I could hear my mum shouting, “Be careful!”. As soon as I made my way down, the view opened up even more. From there, the mountains didn’t just sit in the distance they expanded. The land dipped and rolled into deep valleys, with dry, golden-brown slopes in the foreground and darker green forests scattered below. In the distance, the mountains layered endlessly, each ridge fading softer into the next, until they almost disappeared into the sky. It felt bigger from down there, more open like you’d stepped into the view rather than just looking at it. I looked back up to see my wife making her way down, while my parents had comfortably decided to remain at the top, clearly not interested in unnecessary leg work. My wife and I took some photos, filmed a few videos, and just stood there for a moment. The mountains stood tall in front of us, and I was enjoying it to the peak (pun fully intended).

Eventually, I spotted my parents slowly making their way down as well, and within minutes, they too had joined the content creation team. More videos, more angles, more “one more take”.
But I wasn’t done yet.
The hill itself was shaped like a giant natural staircase—layers of carved earth and rock, stepping down in long, curved lines across the mountain. Each level looked like it had been gently cut into the land, forming these wide terraces that you could walk along. So I kept going all the way to the end.
That’s when I was greeted very enthusiastically by a family from West Bengal. No stranger has ever been that excited to see me. The kids, probably around 15, shouted across to me:
“Sat Sri Akaal paaji! Where are you from?”
“London,” I replied, slightly confused, wondering if I was being set up for something, but as their elders came over, smiling and chatting, it quickly became clear they were just genuinely nice people. They complimented my outfit, asked a few questions, and then let me carry on my little adventure. Down one level, then another, following the curve of the hill as it dropped further away from where everyone else stood. It felt like I’d wandered off into my own little section of the mountain.I walked further down, and shouted my wife’s name so she could get a video of me walking across the hillside like I’d just discovered it myself. I was now a couple of levels below her, fully committed to the moment, and honestly, standing there it hit me. To go from the chaos of Delhi to this… it didn’t feel real. The quiet, the open space, the mountains stretching endlessly, it was hard to take in. Every time I looked up at my wife, she had this small smile on her face, just quietly enjoying everything in her own little world. Eventually, we all made our way back up one by one and that’s when the real test began.