I had always wondered what the world’s highest post office would look like. Not in pictures, not in someone else’s story, but standing there in front of me. Hikkim had been on my travel list for years, tucked deep in the cold desert of Spiti Valley, a place spoken of in hushed tones by travelers who’d made it. In September 2024, during my second trip to Spiti, I finally made it.
This time I was determined to reach Hikkim, no excuses, no delays. The journey wasn’t easy. Treacherous mountain paths, thin air that burned my lungs, and weather that shifted without warning, yet every twist of the road pulled me closer to a dream that had been waiting patiently.
The Road to Hikkim
I left behind the quiet mysticism of Komic and headed down a dusty road that cut sharply through bare, silent mountains. My driver, a local, mentioned it was a Sunday and that there was little chance the post office would be open. Still, my heart carried a stubborn kind of excitement. Even if the post office was shut, I wanted to feel what it was like to stand there, at the edge of the world.
The ride was slow. The road was rough, the air got thinner with every turn, and silence hung heavy, broken only by the crunch of tires on gravel. No network, no crowd, no distraction, just raw mountains towering around me. The higher we climbed, the sharper the cold grew. But the thought of finally reaching Hikkim kept me warm enough.
First Glimpse of the Village
When we finally entered Hikkim, it didn’t feel like we had reached a destination. It felt like stepping back in time. A few mud houses stood quietly on the slope, prayer flags fluttered in the crisp air, and the entire place carried a silence so deep it was almost sacred. Among those houses stood the famous post office. Modest, weather-beaten, yet iconic in its quiet pride.
I walked toward it with my heart racing. Would it be open? Would I actually get to send a postcard from here?
The World’s Highest Post Office
Hikkim’s post office sits at 14,567 feet, holding its record since 1983. More than just a building, it’s a symbol of connection. Imagine letters traveling from this remote outpost, across valleys, plains, and cities, to reach loved ones far away. It’s proof that even the remotest corners of the world are never completely cut off.
The post office itself is shaped like a giant red letterbox… Simple, circular, and almost unassuming. And yet, standing before it, I felt like I was part of something larger than myself.
Of course, being Sunday, the place was closed. The postmaster was nowhere to be seen. At first, I felt a twinge of disappointment. But then I realized maybe it was fitting. Hikkim wasn’t about rushing through a checklist. It was about slowing down, breathing in, and letting the stillness seep into you.
Little Details That Stay With You
Before reaching the post office, we had stopped at a few small stalls. Locals sat behind tables selling fridge magnets, hand-painted souvenirs, and stacks of postcards. They weren’t polished, but each one felt like it carried the mountains within it. I picked two postcards, one for my mother and one for a friend’s little daughter, only a few months old.
There was no network to make a UPI payment, of course. But my driver smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll settle it later.” That’s the kind of simple kindness you meet in Spiti, where everything works differently but somehow, it always works out.
Right at the entrance of the village, there was a large “I 
Hikkim” board. Every traveler stopped there, taking pictures against the backdrop of endless sky. Beside it, I spotted a small café called Ibex Café. Wooden walls, a steaming cup of chai, Maggi noodles… It wasn’t fancy, but it was exactly what a traveler needed after hours on a cold road.
Inside, a group of travelers were scribbling messages on postcards, each one lost in thought. One of them asked me, almost casually, “Who should I send this to?”
I smiled and replied, “Send it to yourself.”
He paused, then nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
And it really was. Because some memories are meant to be kept for the one who lived them.
My Own Letters
I wrote to my mother, wishing her health and happiness. The other card I addressed to that little girl, knowing she wouldn’t understand it now, but one day she’d hold it in her hands and realize it had traveled down from the highest post office in the world.
That’s the charm of postcards. In a time when everything has gone digital, these small pieces of paper still carry something no WhatsApp message or email ever could. They hold moments, feelings, and memories pressed into ink.
Leaving Hikkim
As the sun dipped lower and shadows stretched across the village, I knew it was time to leave. The post office had been closed, yet the visit felt complete in its own way. Sometimes, the journey itself is the gift, and Hikkim had given me more than I had asked for.
The silence of the mountains, the kindness of strangers, the fluttering prayer flags, and the knowledge that a little red post office still keeps this remote village connected to the world. It all stayed with me.
Hikkim may not dazzle you with luxury or comfort, but it will leave you with stories you’ll carry forever.
And for me, that’s what travel is about.
to the people who work tirelessly to keep the post office working against all difficulties 
Finally standing at the world’s highest post office after years of dreaming must have felt surreal, a true reward for persistence and passion for travel. 
