Honestly, we almost backed out. Who takes off for the mountains on a whim, with nothing planned except some vague idea of “let’s just go”? It felt reckless but the fun kind. So, we tossed our bags in the car and headed out from Chandigarh, letting NH5 slowly trade concrete for cedar and pine. 

Somewhere after Kandaghat, as the road narrowed and the scent of deodar drifted in through the half-open windows, we both went quiet. That stretch toward Chail winding, forested, almost meditative has a way of slowing your pulse before you even arrive. 

Chail isn’t built to impress. There’s no Mall Road chaos like Shimla, no selfie queues. Instead, you get stillness. Old colonial echoes from the Chail Palace, the world’s highest cricket ground tucked unexpectedly among tall pines, and the quiet climb up to Kali Tibba where the wind hums louder than any crowd ever could. It feels untouched or at least unhurried. 

That’s exactly why we came. 

Our Cozy Retreat with a View 

We checked into Sterling Shivalik Chail, perched along the Kandaghat–Chail–Kufri Road, overlooking folds of the Shivalik Valley. The welcome wasn’t theatrical just warm, direct eye contact and the kind of greeting that says, “Take your time.” 

Our balcony became our ritual space. The valley below wasn’t dramatic in a postcard way no towering peaks thrusting at the sky but layered hills fading into blue-grey softness. In the mornings, mist would settle low like spilled milk. On clearer days, you could trace the distant ridgelines almost to Kufri. 

We’d wake without alarms. Just sunlight slipping through the curtains and the quiet clink of teacups. Wrapped in sweaters, sipping hot chai as the air carried that unmistakable mix of pine resin and cold stone. We didn’t check our phones for the first hour. That alone felt radical. 

Some afternoons, we explored nearby. A slow drive to the Chail Palace lawns. A climb toward Kali Tibba Temple, where the silence feels sacred rather than empty. One evening, we drove toward Sadhupul, following the sound of water cutting through rocks, and sat by the stream with our feet just touching the icy current. 

Other days, we did nothing at all. 

Once, we found a quiet stretch overlooking the valley and just sat there no photos, no agenda. Nearly an hour of uninterrupted conversation. The kind that only surfaces when there’s no laundry waiting, no calendar alerts buzzing. Travel doesn’t always add something new. Sometimes it removes just enough noise so you can hear each other again. 

Culinary Delights at Tibba Restaurant 

Dinner at Tibba Restaurant became our evening anchor. We grabbed a window table and watched the sky turn from honey-gold to indigo behind the hills. 

The menu leans into comfort with a local accent. We ordered Siddu soft Himachali steamed bread served with ghee — and a warming bowl of madra, rich with yoghurt and chickpeas. There was also a simple pahadi rajma that tasted like it had simmered all afternoon. Nothing overly styled. Just flavours that felt honest. 

And then, unexpectedly, the simplest thing stole the show: a bowl of hot gulab jamun paired with vanilla ice cream, eaten slowly while the valley turned completely dark. 

We lingered long after plates were cleared. When a meal stretches into conversation without anyone checking the time, you know it’s working.  

Humane Hospitality That Touched the Heart 

What stayed with us most was the subtlety of the service. Someone remembered we preferred less sugar in our tea. Someone else suggested visiting Kali Tibba just before sunset instead of noon. Small details, delivered without fuss. 

It wasn’t over-attentive. It was aware. 

Reflections on Our Romantic Escape 

Driving back down toward Kandaghat, the hills fading in the rear-view mirror, we felt lighter. Not dramatically changed. Just… recalibrated. 

Chail does that. Not because it tries to be transformative but because it doesn’t try at all. It gives you space. And in that space, you find your own rhythm again. 

Three days felt longer. Fuller. 

If you’re looking for a place that trades noise for nuance  that offers pine forests instead of playlists, temple bells instead of traffic  Chail might just be your kind of reckless. 

And sometimes, reckless is exactly what love needs.