Murree Wandering, A Stroll Through the Queen of Hills

Nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas, Murree is not just a hill station; it’s an emotion for many of us who crave a quick escape from the suffocating city life. My recent wandering in Murree was not just another visit — it felt like a slow dance with the clouds, the chilly breeze playing with my hair, and pine needles crunching under my feet.

Whenever I hear the name Murree, I picture winding roads that disappear into the mist, colonial-era architecture, small tea stalls at every corner, and people who smile at strangers. I packed my small bag with a notebook, my camera, and a heart ready to soak in every little detail that this timeless hill station offers.

* The Journey Begins

Leaving behind the noise of Rawalpindi, I started early in the morning. The road to Murree is familiar yet always fresh. The sight of green hills gradually replacing the dull greys of the city is therapeutic on its own. As I passed by the Patriata hills and saw locals selling fresh corn and roasted peanuts, I knew I was entering a place that runs on simple pleasures.

Mall Road — Where Time Slows Down

The first stop was Mall Road — Murree’s heartbeat. It’s where everything happens, yet nothing feels rushed. Walking there is like walking through a living postcard. Old shops sell souvenirs, warm shawls, colorful keychains, and handmade jewelry. I stopped by a tiny tea shop and ordered a steaming cup of doodh patti. There’s something magical about sipping hot tea while watching people wrapped in shawls, bargaining for sweaters, or simply laughing with their families.

As I walked further, I noticed the old church standing tall and proud, whispering stories of the past. I sat on one of the benches near the church, scribbling notes about people, stray dogs sleeping lazily, and children squealing with joy over balloons and cotton candy.

* Kashmir Point - A Window to Serenity

From Mall Road, I wandered off to Kashmir Point. If Mall Road is Murree’s heartbeat, then Kashmir Point is its soul. I took the narrow uphill trail, surrounded by deodar and pine trees. The air felt different — colder, cleaner, scented with wet wood and earth.

When I reached the viewpoint, I was greeted by vast open hills rolling into each other, sometimes hidden by thick patches of mist. A group of monkeys jumped around freely, trying to snatch snacks from unsuspecting tourists. I stood there quietly, breathing in the silence, the wind humming softly in my ears.

* The Charm of Murree’s Hidden Alleys

One of my favorite things to do in Murree is to leave the popular spots behind and get lost in its lesser-known alleys. Small trails snake behind old hotels and houses, leading to corners untouched by tourists. I found a tiny bookstore tucked away, its shelves heavy with old novels, maps, and dusty magazines. The old man behind the counter told me stories of Murree from the 70s when it was quieter, purer, and more mystical.

I walked further and stumbled upon a small local eatery serving piping hot samosas and chai. The owner, a kind woman with a weather-beaten face, insisted I sit down and eat. We chatted about the changing seasons and how the hills come alive with snow in winter, turning Murree into a fairytale town overnight.

* Evening Mist and Reflections

As the sun began to set, Murree wrapped itself in its signature mist. Streetlights flickered on, shops glowed warmly, and the cold became sharper. I wandered back to Mall Road, watching tourists buy last-minute trinkets, children clutching their parents’ hands tightly as they posed for photos near the toy train.

I found a quiet corner near the GPO and sat down. Looking at the hustle around me, I realized that Murree is not just a destination. It’s a feeling that grows on you with every visit. It’s the simple warmth of a cup of chai, the echo of laughter in the hills, and the promise that no matter how much the world changes, some places stay beautifully the same.

* Final Thoughts

Wandering in Murree reminded me how important it is to slow down, to sit and watch the mist roll by, to listen to the wind singing through pines, and to find joy in small things. My wandering may have ended for now, but the memories linger like the soft scent of rain on pine needles.

So if you ever find yourself overwhelmed with life’s noise, pack a light bag, lace up your walking shoes, and lose yourself in Murree’s timeless embrace. Wander its roads, drink its tea, talk to its people — and let the Queen of Hills remind you how to breathe again.