DAVID!: Susan, in her newly-tailored salwar kamiz, and I, in my recently-purchased Kashmir-style shirt (acquired after some haggling and altering at Kolkata’s bustling “New Market” bazaar) sat side-by-side (an arrangement also acquired through haggling) in a “Sikkim Nationalized Transport” bus as it climbed the narrow, windy mountain roads, honking at every treacherous turn – warning the stream of oncoming tourist jeeps and waking Susan from her fitful sleep.
Every meter of altitude reached was a meter towards comfort - a means of escape from the debilitating heat of India’s Northern Plains.
With our Sikkim Tourist Permit in hand (actually safely stowed in money belt), Susan and I were free to spend up to 15 days exploring one of India’s smallest and most charming states. As the bus drew closer to Gangtok, the state’s capital, we passed friendly reminder signs from the road construction authority (“Driving faster could lead disaster”, “It is not rally, enjoy the valley”, “Caution and care, makes accidents rare”). Equally inspiring were the Sikkim government billboards extolling the virtues of organic farming (“Your health is our concern!”), planting and loving trees, and not polluting waterways. We looked at each other. “Is this still India?” we asked ourselves in disbelief.
To further add to our confusion, as we stepped of the bus, we braced ourselves for the forceful onslaught of taxi and rickshaw drivers, hotel promoters, child-carrying beggars, and market hawkers…but they were nowhere to be seen! Did our attention-grabbing status as Rupee-laden Westerners not matter? We were shocked…perhaps even a little hurt. It is amazing how celebrity changes a person.
Sikkim is promoting itself as the “Ultimate Eco-tourism Destination” and a gateway to the Indian Himalayas - a well-deserved title since its borders contain India’s highest and most unpronounceable peak (at 8586 m, Mt. Khangchendzonga is the world’s third highest).
During our six days here we have enjoyed the gracious and friendly demeanor of the Sikkimese people who make the important distinction between themselves - “people of the hills” who speak Napali, as described by our hotel manager – and the rest of the Indian population. After two nights stay in Gangtok, the hotel manager’s uncle invited us to stay his house any time we are in India – a request he excitedly repeated numerous times in broken English with overflowing enthusiasm (“You come to my house in Siliguri…you are my most qualified guest!”)
Equally as welcoming is the fresh mountain air, the stunning views just outside our guest-house windows, and pleasant sounds of children singing in unison, awakening us each morning (no joke). We have started to explore the Tibetan and Buddhist culture and history by visiting the Namgyl Institute of Tibetology and a few mountain-top monasteries. Prayer flags adorn building-tops and open meadows and hairy yaks chew their cud by the roadside. Sikkim is truly a magical mountain paradise.
But, all is not well in paradise. Susan has, once again, fallen ill (despite the ‘clean and green’ image of Sikkim’s waterways and the religiously-applied hand sanitizer which has become Susan’s closest companion) while my non-vaccinated stomach mysteriously soldiers on. Thankfully, after a few grueling days and some cancelled trekking plans, antibiotics have come to the rescue.
For me, Sikkim still has some more mysteries to unveil as I prepare myself mentally for a 5-day trek to Kalijhar Singalia Peak (with a promised “Majestic view of Mt. Everest”), organized by the ever-friendly Sikkim government at a hard-to-beat price. Susan, however, has opted out of hiking 16 kilometers a day through mountainous terrain and will meet me a few kilometers South in the EXTREMELY SAFE tea-plantation-cum-colonial-hill-station town that is Darjeeling.
Susan’s Random Shoutout: Janinie, you would love all of the splendid fabrics! Should I buy some for thee?
