Golden Gems of the Mountains: My Love Affair with Ladakh’s Apricots

Golden Gems of the Mountains: My Love Affair with Ladakh’s Apricots

There’s something magical about Ladakh — the towering Himalayas, the crisp blue skies, the silence that speaks louder than words. But among all the wonders this high-altitude desert holds, it’s the humble apricot that has truly stolen my heart.

I still remember the first time I saw an apricot tree in full bloom in Leh. Delicate white and pink flowers covered its branches like lace against the raw backdrop of jagged peaks. I was told that these trees bloom in early spring, often surviving the last few harsh snowfalls before the sun finally warms the valley. By July, those blossoms turn into golden-orange fruits — sweet, juicy, and bursting with flavor.

Apricots in Ladakh aren’t just fruits; they’re part of the culture, the economy, and the soul of the land. Nearly every village I’ve visited has at least a few apricot trees. They thrive in the dry, sunny climate and the mineral-rich soil, making Ladakh’s apricots some of the sweetest and most nutrient-dense I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve eaten them fresh off the tree, warm from the sun, and I’ve savored them dried — chewy and rich, almost like nature’s candy. The locals call them chuli, and they use every part of the fruit. The flesh is eaten or sun-dried, the kernels inside the stones are crushed to make oil, and even the pits are sometimes used in traditional remedies.

One summer, I stayed with a family in Leh during the harvest season. The entire household was busy drying apricots on rooftops — golden blankets spread under the sky. I helped for a day, turning the fruits by hand, sticky with juice and laughing at how many I ended up snacking on instead. That evening, we made chuli tangtur, a simple but delicious apricot stew with dried fruits, sugar, and spices. It tasted like warmth and sunshine in a bowl.

There’s also something deeply sustainable about how apricots are grown and used in Ladakh. No chemicals, no machines — just sun, air, and time. It’s the kind of food that feels alive with story and history.

So whenever I bite into an apricot now — wherever I am — I’m instantly transported back to that rooftop in Leh, the sun on my face and the scent of ripening fruit in the air. The apricots of Ladakh aren’t just a taste. They’re a memory, a connection to a land that teaches you to live simply, gratefully, and close to nature.

If you ever visit Ladakh in the summer, don’t just admire the mountains. Look for the apricot trees. Pick one, taste it — and let it tell you its story.