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The afternoon
was spent at the local market place, large, crowded, lively
and very colourful. There were lots of little shops selling
cakes and confectionery, tea, household things, saris,
c1othes, cassette tapes, fruit stalls selling apples and
oranges from Kashmir. The atmosphere was wonderful drawing me
irresistibly like a magnet. We would have stayed on for hours
taking it all in and taking full advantage of the marvelous
photo opportunities but we were forced to return to the
guesthouse by the fast failing light and fast dropping
temperatures. It was easy to forget that one was in the high
altitudes in winter.
The altitude in Darjeeling was enough to give most of the
intrepid explorers massive headaches. They were real beautes,
trobbing and persistent.
Leaving Darjeeling behind the next day we began a 8 hour coach
ride to Sikkim. The route was along an ascending winding
narrow hill road, which followed a river course. The first
river was the River Teesta, a Lepcha name, which has its
source in a glacier in North Sikkim and which joins the
Brahmaputra in Bangladesh. We drove into Teesta village where
we stopped and bought delicious mandarins (1 rupee/10 cents
each) before crossing one of several bridges that we were to
cross. The omnipresent Indian military was there with a post
at the bridge, photos of which were forbidden. There are
several such bridges, which are subject to military security,
which at times seem a little odd considering that some of
these bridges were "weak" and could only be used by one
vehicle at a time and sometimes the passengers had to get off
and walk as we did at one such bridge. This particular bridge,
Rathang Bridge (82m), a suspension job, was in fact to have
been dismantled 3 days later for repairs but was not and we
used it again on the way back, believe it or not!
There are several "protected areas" in the Darjeeling
Autonomous Region. Sikkim is a restricted area, being a buffer
state between Tibet and India, the Chinese Tibet border being
only 120kms from the village of Teesta. We had to register
ourselves at police foreigner’s registration outposts all
along the drive from Darjeeling to Yuksum, and at each camp
along the trek. Foreigners require permits to enter Sikkim and
not only that; all trekkers were required to trek as a group.
Loners must register themselves for the purpose of forming a
group of 4 with other loners. The purpose of all this is so
that a Sikkimese policeman could babysit them. We had one such
babysitter, a youthful chap who looked barely out of his
teens, with us throughout the trek just to make sure that we
behaved ourselves, keep to the trek and not wander off into
places where we had no business being and not take pictures
that we had no business taking.
We sailed into Jorethang a biggish market
town where our Sikkim travel agent Sikkim World Expeditions
has an office. The town was bustling with people and it was
here that I saw for the first time women with heavy nose
ornaments hanging from their nostrils and almost covering
their mouths. Here we stopped by yet another bridge (Akra
Bridge) for our packed lunch of shredded cheese sandwiches,
egg, fruit and packet drink after which we stopped at the
office to load on the top of our coach some provisions such as
a coop of live chickens, free of hormones, steroids and
antibiotics. No, they were not tough, though their meat was a
little darker than that to which we are accustomed. The next
time they were seen at the bottom of a basin sans feathers.
Our caravan of cook, his assistants and porters who had all
come from allover, were at the office loading the provisions
and kitchen into the jeeps in which they were to travel to the
first camp at Yuksum (“yook-som”).
We continued our journey driving along the course of Rimbi
River. We passed a hot spring called Phur Cha Chu (Phur is the
name, Cha=hot and Chu=water) right in the river below. The
presence of the Chief Minister was announced by the flying of
the flag. We all tra1ned our telescop1c lenses 011 him sitting
in the hot spring pool in the river and wondered what he would
have thought if he knew that he was being scrutinized and the
source of much mirth. Ask Mr. Raja.
The weather was hot and sunny all along the way until rather
suddenly the temperature- cooled and the sun disappeared as we
went higher and higher up the mountain. The time was probably
around 4 or 5 p.m. out came the woollies and by the time we
stopped for a quick tea at a lodging place for back- packers,
it was positively chilly.
When we finally arrived at Yuksum it was pitch black. We
wondered where the guesthouse was and why there were no
lights. Torchlights were used to the guide the way. The
"guesthouse" turned out to be the first of trekkers' huts that
we were going the spend the next few days in. There is no
electricity, heating of any form; no loose. We were lucky to
get these huts as apparently they were all fully booked by
trekkers. The alternative would have been tents and that we
were to find out later would have been disastrous. These
"huts" are bigger and more solid than huts, being made of
brick and wood, with rooms, quite civilized apart from the
lack of mod cons.
We stumbled our way into one of the rooms of the house and
were greeted by the foreboding sight of 3 persons huddled in
the dark and cold sharing a bottle trying to keep warm. One of
the 3 was a Singaporean young man whose name slips my mind.
Imagine his astonishment, and ours, and his dismay when he
heard the Singaporean accent and saw no less than 13
Singaporeans trooping in, in a place so isolated and distant
that he thought as I had, he was safe from other Singaporeans.
The situation prompted mimicry of a credit card advertisement
set in recently liberated Eastern Europe. “Singapore? You're
from Singapore? We' re from the East" Ask Mr. Raja. That night
the cook whipped up a fabulous Northern Indian dinner, which
we ate greedily in the dark in a tent. It was quite funny to
see the intrepid explorers all quiet and huddled in the cold
looking quite miserable and waiting for a hot meal. By this
time all had the thermals, down jackets and woollies on. This
scene was' to be repeated many times in the next few days.
After dinner most hit their sleeping bags after doing their
toilet wherever they could find a yet undiscovered bush. The
darkness of the night gave modesty some cover, it was in the
morning that it was a little dicier. But one got used to it
and long before the trek was over it just didn't matter much.
We were given basins of hot water on request everyday. We had
our last baths at Darjeeling, the next to be had 7 days later
at Gangtok. One became an expert at making the most of that
little basin of water using it to wash oneself from head to
toe, one merely had to decide which part to wash first and so
on and so forth.
The trek started the next day from Yuksum (1,780m/5,840ft) to
Bakhim (3,OO5m/9,859ft), 12kms (7.5 miles) away. We started in
high spirits and in very warm sunshine as if we were off to a
Sunday picnic. You see, most of us have never trekked before
and no one, not our Singapore travel agent nor the 3 or 4
members who have trekked in Nepal knew what this trek was
going to be like. We had been told that it would be a moderate
trek (moderate for whom?), that it would not be too steep and
that the minimum temperature in the night would be 0O C.
Before long the intrepid explorers began to slowly realise
that this aren’t your regular Sunday stroll.
The path started through sub-tropical forests running parallel
to the Rathong River. The view from the narrow path of the
mountains rolling into the horizon as far as the eye could see
(the Singalila range), the river flowing right beneath us, the
gorges, the waterfalls cascading into the river course and
forming pools was simply quite beautiful. The path was strewn
all along the way with hazel nuts of about 6 varieties. The
flora was of the tropical and sub-tropical types. The
brochures say that there are magnolias, junipers, blue
poppies, orchids and 4,000 other plant species. They also say
that there are woodpeckers, kingfishers, cuckoos, thrushes,
electric blue butterfly. As I can't tell one from the other
I'll have to take their word for it. The presence of fauna was
less evident though the occasional bird could be seen through
the trees. We were not to see any vi11~ges the next few days
on our trek as there was none. We were in very remote and
uninhabited West Sikkim, accessible only by foot.
We crossed 3 or 4 bridges, stopping at one called Mintok Cola
(cola means stream) near a waterfall for tea-followed by a not
lunch of several courses. It was quite chilly here and as
daylight started to fade very early and got dark at about
5p.m. at this time of the year, we started off immediately.
Evidently the wolves come out to feed in the dark and being
slow trekkers we had to hurry to the next camp before darkness
fell. There are also musk deer’s and black bears at that
altitude. 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. Palden 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 large 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
chorten 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.
Yuksom 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 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 Norkhil 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 was made available by Mr. Paldan Bhutia (Sikkim
Tour Guide and Escort) |
