The group had very early in the trek broken up into various small groups and even loners. The 4 fast trekkers would arrive at camp anything from 2 to 4 hours earlier than the others. Palder and Anup would always be with the last group making sure that they were all right. The porters who had set up camp at the next trekkers' hut would always come out on the trek again to assist by, if need be, carrying them bodily. Palden was always anxious about the last trekker’s becoming dinner for the residents of the forest. 

When the last trekkers finally made it to Bakhim it must have been 8 hours since they started out. It was 5 or 6 p.m. but it was already dark and cold and most were already exhausted by the first day's trekking, including the guys (there were 9 girls and 4 guys on the trek). It was very evident that we had not been prepared for the severity of the trek or the cold. It was going to get far worse. Sentiments were running a little high, being focused on the lack of and even wrong information having been given about the trek. A meeting was held over hot tea and biscuits during which votes were taken as to whether the trek was to be abandoned. It was all to go or not at all because the staff could not be split. Orders were sent for horses for 2 trekkers. Finally the adventurous spirit of the group decided that the trek be continued, and that we should start at first light after a simple breakfast (cook was to be instructed not to give the usual feast) and that as no time was to be wasted on hot lunches, packed lunches was to be given. 

The sad funny before dinner scene was repeated, this time most had woolen hats and gloves on, waiting in a tight huddle in the dark and freezing dinner room. It was so funny that a picture was taken for posterity. The food that evening had a distinctly strange taste, that of kerosene. There was concern as to whether kerosene was used in the dark by mistake. Nevertheless the food was polished off. Dessert was unvaryingly canned fruit, with cream to The Doctor's dismay. It was otherwise always appreciated. Here we were introduced to the focal alcoholic beverage made from fermented millet and know as “tongba” or “chaang”. 

The millet was served in a 1arge bamboo about 10 inches high to which hot water was added and left to brew for some minutes before the beverage was drank through bamboo straws. The millet was good for about 3 brews. It packed quite a punch. It was a cheap beverage for warding off the cold and hunger.

It was very draughty and cold that night in Bakhim and most slept badly on that score. There were no blankets or mattresses to help ward off the cold and draught, only wooden beds with slats. One-Eye slept in most of her clothes, sweaters and coats in her inadequate down sleeping bag and what she could not sleep in she slept on in an unsucessfu1 attempt to keep warm. After an interminable night we were roused at dawn, packed, breakfasted and off we went. 

We had only a short while to take in the breathtaking views of the rows upon rows of mountains in the distance, one behind the other forming what is known as the Darjeeling Gap and watching the mist evaporating in the early morning sun.

The trek to Dzon-gri (4,O30m/13,222ft) was a steep climb. It was an 11 k m (7 mi1es) trek, 4,000ft up. I am to1d that such an ascent in one day is a little too fast. 

The steep upper reaches for those suffering from pain in the chest and, breathlessness due to the thin air was brutal. The cold and the sheer physical exhaustion took their toll. I had to take deep breaths and rest a little after every few steps. 

The flora on leaving Bakhim was still sub-tropical gradually taking on an alpine aspect with the increasing altitude. The trees on the lower slopes were covered with thick moss and hanging lichens giving the place a soft yellowish green light and an appearance of an enchanted forest of fairies and goblins.

On the middle slopes we walked through rhododendron forests bare of leaves (we were promised rhododendrons in full bloom), the rhododendron trunks a very rust red standing out against the whiteness of the snow-covered ground. On the upper and increasingly steep slopes the trees were replaced by shrubs, the grounds covered by small hardy alpine vegetation, some still bearing tiny flowers with frost forming delicate patterns on them. The stillness, the total silence, the pristine beauty of the snow covered trees and grounds, the delicate frost-covered plants, and the isolation defy description. It would have been wonderful if one could only stop for a long while to give the fullest appreciation to all of that. To stop walking would cause the heat in the extremities to return to the core of the body thus leaving the extremities cold and stiff making the resumption of the trek quite difficult. We could see the Dzongri range, which is at the foot of the Sikkim Himalayas. The range starts from 800ft culminating at the height of 28,000 ft in Mt. Kanchenjunga. 

After what seemed an interminable trek the welcome sight of the hut was in view, set amidst frozen ground. It was about 6p.m. when One-Eye reached haven, more dead than alive, completely exhausted, suffering from all the symptoms of high altitude sickness and near hypothermia. Anup walked with her towards the latter part of the trek, giving her garlic cloves to breathe on and eat to help alleviate the hypoxia, giving her encouragement to go on, attempting to distract her from the nausea, the chest pains and the breathlessness by pointing out the scenery, the sight of slopes of ice-covered shrubs devoid of all trees, making her pose for pictures which he insisted on taking, talking about anything, singing and even popping up from behind shrubs with a cheery "Hi!” and stopping with her every few steps and instructing her to take deep long breaths. He refused to answer to her demands to be told how much further or how much longer to the camp. He would merely tell her not to look up at the slopes they had to climb for to do so was to be further disheartened. 

But when he saw that she needed something to go on he would say that the camp was just "round the bend" or "just 20 minutes away", but after numerous bends and hours later, he would swear that it was only "20 minutes" away. Priceless, he was. Taking her hand he tested the frozen streams and guided her through, she was by this time oblivious to all except the discomfort. 

On reaching the hut, Anup by this time supporting her, she collapsed in a heap wl1ere she was left standing unable to move a step more, falling on poor Oon's feet. Oon was then resting in his sleeping bag. Anup and Saran pulled off her gloves and rubbed her hands to try to warm them. They removed her shoes and someone threw a blanket over her. Incapable of anything else she burst into sobs, the tears hot against the frozen cheeks. Oon attempted to cheer her up, made some comforting sounds and finally gave up his warm bag, tucking and zipping her up in it, telling her all the time that it was all in the mind, that she was alright, not to worry, etc, etc, etc. The man's a gem. All in the mind. Meanwhile people were running around getting her dry clothes for her to change into, Anup gave a makeshift hot water bottle that spilt in the bag, necessitating a change of clothes in full view of everyone, Palden trusting a handful of roasted corn into her hands and in no uncertain terms ordering her to eat them, The Doctor instructing that she be given pure sugar, someone 
trusting hot tea and chocolates at her. They were all quite wonderful, helping as best as they could. One-Eye apologized for creating the bother- and fuss and being such a general nuisance. Palden ordered garlic soup for everyone. He later said that he was preparing to get the porters to bring us down to lower altitudes if things got worse. Some of the others were exhausted and started to develop high altitude sickness. The Doctor was kept quite busy dispensing advice and medicines. He himself later on was subject to those wonderfully excruciating headaches. Fortunately the situation stabi1ised and we settled down for the night. As just about everyone felt that they could gone on no further on the trek to Thangsing which we were to have done the next day, that was aborted. Instead Palden decided that we were to remain at Dzongri for the next day to rest and recuperate before heading down back to Bakhim and Yuksam.

Thangshing (3,930m/12,900ft) was a descent of 7kms (4.5 miles) from Dzongri. It would have descending and rescinding again. It was –22o C there. The purpose of going there was to get a closer view of Kancnenjunga that is if the weather was clear. The Singaporean whom we had met earlier had gone on there and instead of re-ascending to Dzongri his group did l6km trek back down. 

Water in drinking receptacles in the rooms in the hut froze, it was believe it or not, -15oC in the night according to a trekker's thermometer. How we survived it in our sleeping bags without heating I don’t know. It would have been utterly impossible if we did not have the heavy blankets given to us. Going out in the middle of the night to ease oneself was such a feat. You had to first ease yourself out of your sleeping bag, which is not such an easy thing to do when you are wearing bulky sweaters and coats and you have a ton of blankets on the top of you. You had to gingerly step over your sleeping buddies who are all lying in tight rows like packed sardines. You had to brave the arctic blast, walk out on the ice, pick a spot, feel around all those clothes for the zipper or buttons and undo and re-do them with your gloved and frozen, or ungloved and numb hands, without dropping your glove or torch. And you had to work your way back all that after you had finished. All this in the dark aided only by your torchlight. And mine worked intermittently.

Some of the fitter trekkers in the group ventured early the first morning on a 3 or 4 km trek further on. They came across a frozen lake and had a fabulous view of the Kanchenjunga. Others including myself climbed less far for a view of Mt. Pandim. The peaks were very soon obscured by the fast descending clouds. I ventured further up to about 14,OOOft with Oon Swee Huat, Jerome Teow and Anup at 6.00a.m. on the second morning, on the day of our departure from Dzongri. Although the climb was less than 1,000ft we took our time (30 minutes) doing it because the oxygen content of the air was 50% of that at sea level, making breathing laboured. The sight of the Sikkim Himalayas (Mt. Pandim, Narsing, Kabru, The Dome), changing colours in the early morning sunlight, silent and forbidding, rising in all their majesty into the heavens was awe-inspiring underscoring the smallness and impotence of Man. Truly, the Himalayas are the abode of the gods (him=snow, alayas=abode of the gods). We could see the glaciers and in places the ice was miles deep on the ridge. 

We kept silent. For my part I felt our presence there was almost sacrilegious, intrusive and even offensive. Facing the Himalayas were the "foothills" stretching far into the horizon. Looking into the valley over which we had walked and where the trekker’s hut lay, the slopes were covered with small brown shrubs, quite devoid of trees. Certain parts of the slopes were sandy not unlike beaches, other parts were frozen marshes being criss-crossed by streams. It looked wild and desolate. It was exhilarating running down over the sandy stretches so soft that one sank into them and then tip-toeing over the wet marshes where it was not frozen and taking greater care where it was. 

After a whole day's rest at Dzongri doing nothing except trying to keep warm in a wooden shed where 2 smoky fires were kept going all day, writing postcards and drying out my still wet things next to the fire, and being kept Entertained by Palden, Anup and some of the other porters and dzoe-boys who sang Hindi and Nepali songs, we trekked back the second morning to Bakhim.

The trek back down was considerably easier for all of us given the rest that we had, the decreasing altitude, the warmer weather and not to mention we were walking DOWN. Spirits were much recovered. I almost skipped all the way down feeling better and fit than I had in days. We stopped at Prithang where we had stopped on the trek up. It is a small flat field where all including the dzoes stopped for a short rest and refreshments. Saroj our cook had piping hot soup and tea ready for us. That man is a treasure. We arrived at Bakhim in the early afternoon when the sun was still out which made a refreshing change. And we were not tired. Anup took me to the house just below the trekker's hut where the Tibetan keeper of the trekker's hut lived with his wife. It was a very small and dark hut with a small vegetable plot. We went into the living area of the house where the hearth was. It was so dark inside despite the cheery fire in the hearth. Anup ordered tongba. I scrutinized the place, taking in the kitchen area next to the hearth, the hard cheese cubes hanging over it, the pots and pans, the cat lying next to the fire. The wife, and the husband who later returned from Tsoka where he was building a house, refused pictures to be taken of them, the husband saying that the government would take hold of their photos and publish them in the newspapers and air them over the television. The Big-Brother-Is-Watching syndrome. I watched the 1ady cut beans and some meat in the dark on the floor, her black and calloused hands hardened by a life time of hard manual labour lifting the boiling pot of rice from the hearth without any cloth to hold on to, apparently quite oblivious to the heat. Palden and some other of his boys had joined us and were all drinking tongba. 

That night at Bakhim Palden and company sang and danced in the dining room, all happy from the effects of the tongba. We joined in the joviality, a celebration of the trek.

We trekked back to Yuksum the next day, stopping again at Mintok Cola for a hot lunch. It was sunny and warm. As we neared Yuksum we chanced upon the local version of a memorial service in a village. It had looked like and we thought that it was a wedding celebration, the villagers obviously in their best clothes and everyone was drinking tongba. It turned out that it was the anniversary of the death of a man who had died the year before. 

We stayed at the ministers' rest house at the top of a hill. It had a pretty garden filled with yellow flowers and a good view of the foothills. There were toilets, although primitive, still no hot water and 2 bedrooms. We bedded down in our trusty sleeping bags for what we thought would be the last time and had what we thought would be the last dinner cooked by Saroj. There was a "party", this time with every one of us joining in the singing and dancing, in a true celebration of the end of the trek. All those people jumping around in the house warmed it and most of us slept well that night.

The next day we were all very sore and stiff in the quadriceps. It was not so much the previous night's dancing as the trek down from loftier heights. Muscles I never knew existed protested and generally registered their existence. It was a scream watching others, myself included, tackle stairs like a crab i.e. side-ways, one step at a time. It sure was painful. The staff must have been enormously entertained.

In the morning we strolled to the local historical monument. It was the throne of the first Choygal where he was crowned by a monk who left his footprint there in the ground. “yuksum” means 3 monks, the 3 who had gone there. There is a huge choten in front of the throne and seeing that Anup was going round it chanting "om-mani-pad-me-om" I joined him. One has to do it clockwise and the number of turns must be odd numbers.
Yuksum is a picturesque rural village set in the valley from which the snow-capped Himalayas can be seen. 

The villagers live off the land growing rice and vegetables. Sikkim being so mountainous, the rice is grown everywhere on tiny narrow terraces cut into the slopes. It is amazing how small some of these 
terraces are, barely larger than a handkerchief. 

We were to have left Yuksum that same day after lunch by coach for Pemayangtze (Sublime Lotus) where we were to stay the night but the coach failed to turn up. Instead we spent the whole afternoon in the "High Street" of Yuksum whiling away time doing all sorts of things, like, sunning oneself, holding a hoop race for the village kids, giving sweets and chocolates as prizes, eating instant noodles at the only hotel there, checking out the room rates in case we could not use the rest house again, and generally entertaining the villagers with lour antics. The only person visibly upset by the no-show was palden who was furious. The ones who should have been upset continued to be in good spirits and humour, probably because we were just so glad to have the trek 
behind us that we didn’t care much about anything else. It would have required much more to unfaze us. The beneficial results of the trek were immediate, turning otherwise uptight and stressed out Singaporeans into calm and serene beings! Incryable! 

The upshot of it that we had to spend another night at the government rest house. Poor sweet Saroj had to cook for us again. Out came the sleeping bags again. That night was cold. We were to wake up at 4.30a.m. and set off by 5.30a.m. Yet another early morning. That night we all heard good 01 palden stating his views very loudly and clearly to presumably someone responsible for the non-appearance of the coach. Well, it turned up before dawn and we finally left at dawn break. I hate to think what Palden would have done had it not appeared then. That man is a handsome and charming fellow with a most disarming smile, but I sure would hate to get on the wrong side of him. Off to Pemayangtse we went, passing Pelling and Rangpo and stopping at Singtam a market town for lunch. For the first part of the ride we could still see Kancnenjunga for quite a while. It was a long, long drive. We visited one of Sikkim's, major monasteries, and the Pemayangtze monastery. It is of the Nyingmapa sect, one of several in the Tibetan and Sikkim forms of Buddhism. I was to learn that the followers also worship several other personalities both of earthly and legendary origins. 
At the bottom of the monastery is the Mt. Pandim Hotel in which we were to have stayed had we not been detained in Yuksum. The hotel has a spectacular view of Kanchenjunga Pity. 

We drove on to Gangtok (1,600m/5,250ft) the capital of Sikkim. It is a bustling town, quite charming. We stopped off at the 200 year-old Enchey Monastery which overlooks the residence of the prince. The site of the monastery was blessed by a Lama reputed for his ability to fly. It was here that I saw the human skull in its half form, rather like a receptacle. We were told that it is used in rituals. It was quite an astounding revelation. Later I saw a little drum being sold in the lobby of Norkhill Hotel where we were staying the night, made of 2 little babys skulls. 

We stopped at the town centre and market place. Shops lined the roads and the stepped alleyways on both sides, mostly small, some merely holes in the wall literally. Cassettes are very popular, being sold everywhere. I love the atmosphere of these alleys, alive, bustling and colorful. My fellow trekkers bought cardamom cookies, sweaters, kitchen utensils, while Anup and I went looking for prayer flags, which we found after several enquiries in a small room on the first f1oor of a shop house. There 2 Women were printing the prayer flags on what appears to be a metal engraving. The flags are always sold in a set of 5 (Buddhist odd numbers) in different bright colours. I bought a set for a few rupees.

Walking into Norkhil1 Hotel where we were to stay the night was like walking into a palace. I lost no time in checking into the room, tearing off my indiscernibly filthy clothes, and luxuriating under the hot shower for 15 minutes. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I felt human again. We were in luck, all the lights in the room worked, the heater was adequate and there was adequate hot water. I was in heaven. 

We were feasted at the blue Sheep (they are found only at very high altitudes) restaurant to Sikkimese cuisine, spicy and rather Chinese. We were ceremoniously presented with Ii Sikkim tea and the traditional white scarves in welcome. It was a lovely end to our sojourn in Sikkim. 

Early next morning we began an exceedingly long (7 or 8 hours) bus ride back to Bagdogra for the flight to Calcutta. We descended from Sikkim to the p1ains of Darjeeling Autonomous Region, the change in environment quite marked. We had left the beautiful mountains and the cold crisp and fresh air of Sikkim for the hot dusty crowded plains. We were already feeling nostalgic.

We bade Anup farewell at bagdogra airport. He was hitching a free ride on his friend's bus back to Darjeeling where he lives and works. I can't help having misgivings about this a1rport. The wretched man who watches the X-rayed insides of luggage insisted that I use my cameras just to prove to him that they were not incendiaries disguised as cameras. I took the excuse to take a picture of him. In India batteries must be surrendered before boarding the aircraft, something to do with battery-operated weapons. Battery-operated weapons?? Shades of Ninja turtles. Who was going to enlighten them about today's automatic camera? Not I said the bishop to the actress. 

Checked into Calcutta's Park Hotel again. Boy, did the room stink. Thank God for Mad Maori's antiseptic spray. I sprayed everything insight and smell. The same grey sheets. I was completely and utterly exhausted, the adventure of the previous 12 days suddenly catching up with me. I went straight to bed without dinner and there I laid comatose for 12 hours till the next morning, rising only to catch the last leg home. My indefatigable intrepid trekkers went shopping. 

We were glad to be home, to rest and recuperate. Some of us were a little worse for wear. Oon looked a poor shadow of himself wasted from severe food poisoning, I lost my voice totally for the next 3 days and it is certain there were others who incapacitated temporarily. 

The people who made up our safari will long remain in my memory: Palden and his lieutenants Saran and_Anup, Saroj the cook, the porters and the dzoe-boys. They are a very hardy warm simple people living physically demanding but uncomplicated lives. The porters and the dzoe-boys without exception wore terrib1y torn clothing, shod in slippers or shoes held together by faith, some were barefoot and in this manner they ran along the trek ahead of us with 40kgs of weight on their backs. It is unimaginable that one of them crossed the frozen streams in his rubber slippers, but he did, once shipping and falling flat on his back with his full load. I wonder if they noticed the sub-zero temperatures. Palden had a unique way of tel1ing the temperature. His toes. If one fell off it was –10 c, and another would mean –20 c.

It is remarkable that Saroj and his assistants could produce the hot tasty meals that they did. Dead wood would be collected from the forests, fires lit, water fetched from the nearest source of water (a frozen stream, waterfall, river), food prepared and cooked. 

Our porters and the kitchen staff are amazing, always packing after us, and running ahead of just so to get our teas/lunches/dinners ready and waiting for us. 

The service rendered by all of them throughout the trek was nothing less than sterling. Palden, Saran and Anup mollycoddled the citified Singaporeans, running around attending to our requirements, administering to our high attitude sickness, colds and whatever else, wiping our noses if necessary, guiding our steps along the trek, assisting those who had difficulty on the trek, pushing, encouraging, fibbing about the distance, carrying our cameras and rucksacks, even taking pictures for someone who was not able to do so. And not a hint of complaint from them. Nor from the trekkers. We suspect however, that they were in turn highly entertained by our antics. 

It was the most adventurous, exciting, physically demanding and unforgettable trip I have ever made. The daily wake up calls at dawn, the rolling up of the sleeping bags, the hurried packing and a rushed breakfast, the trek, unpacking the sleeping bags as soon as camp is reached, a quick dinner and into the bags, and the whole routine is repeated the next day and the day after that and the day after that… All that has been indelibly etched into memory. In Sikkim where my fellow trekkers and. I were spiritually bound to each other by common adversities, we had said that whilst it had been a difficult trek we were glad to have done it and indeed we were proud to have completed it, and the sense of achievement that we felt, but no, we would never do it again. 

At least not the same trek. In truth some of us may not have gone at all had we know the true nature of the trek.

For myself the achievement of the trek. The isolation and sheer wonder of the rooftop of the world, the awesomeness of Nature and the peoples of Sikkim help put a little perspective into the highly urbanized and stressful life that we live. During the trek nothing else mattered except the immediate, the present, the goal of completing the trek. An experience like this one should be renewed periodically when things lose their proper perspective and do not make sense any more. With the passage of time and the fading of the memory of the hardship, I grow more certain that I will attempt another trek. In Tibet perhaps. Or Outer Mongolia. 

THE PHANTOM 

Mention must also be made of our drivers who very skillfully manoeuvred the coach along the extremely narrow and precipitous mountain roads, which twisted this way and that into a never-ending series of hairpin and hair-raising bends with nary a hair' s breadth between us and certain oblivion.

Above Report  is made available by Mr. Paldan Bhutia (Sikkim Tour Guide and Escort)

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