Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Vacation Report - North Sikkim

While planning the itinerary our gaze was fixed on North Sikkim. We had to go there, no matter how difficult the terrain. We had also to ensure that it did not entail too much walking as Mum's knees, in their current state, would not hold. All said and done, Lake Gurudongmar was marked down as a must-visit.

We were instructed to pack light as space was needed to haul all the provisions that we would consume in Lachen. It sent a ripple of excitement: it seemed that we were going to an arctic research station. So on came a sack of rice, not-to-fresh vegetables, pulses, oil, cartons of milk, biscuits, juices and corn-flakes. And a big box packed tightly with ropes. It did not seem to be rum or whiskey - if it was then that was hardly a civilized way to treat precious cargo.

After a point the 'roads' became a bit like wild beasts - I tried this trick of staring blankly out of the windshield at the rushing gravel and stones, letting the focus go (as one does while sipping tea and going into a place far, far away in the mind) - and the road would leap at me like the stallions that Liv Tyler invokes in The Lord of the Rings. But who in his/her/its right mind would look at the road while the scene around was spell-binding? Uncorking of cliches will not do justice to the splendour of North Sikkim. The place seemed wilder; the trees were gnarled and deep; the mountains were taller, darker; the streams seemed gurglier and frothier; the waterfalls more numerous; the clouds were lower and frequently wreathed the mountains like mysterious, ephemeral veils. When we broke for a comfort break I remember standing at a spot looking at a distant, tall waterfall with only the murmuring of the stream and the sound of the wind whistling through the ancient trees just below me. It was dark and cool. For some moments I was sealed in this primeval world with its sounds and smells, the rest of the world lost to me in swirling mists - magical!

As we climbed higher it became colder and darker. The mountains were all around us, crowding the sunlight away. On and on we went for 8 hours - with copious halts for lunch and tea, photographs and a quick pee. At last we halted at our hotel - it looked innocuous from outside. And so it proved to be even from the inside - a tad overdressed with tawdry furniture and garish curtains and carpet (carpet!). The welcome was warm. And we got some free (well-meaning) entertainment from the manager of the hotel - he spun tall yarns about the arduousness of Gurudongmar, about how sparse the oxygen was and how light the air was - we would float, he said - and how each step would be a painful realization our mortality. I had a fleeting thought  - perhaps it was here that the earliest moonwalkers from America and USSR had trained? And then he sold us the idea of renting ice-jackets, gloves and caps; and he very kindly agreed to arrange all of it. It was all done with good humour and a twinkle in the eye so with wry grins we parted with the advance money.

Next morning we stopped at Thangu for breakfast. We sat around the fire and sipped steaming hot Maggi with onions, chillies and tomato! It was delicious! They have a unique way of 'toasting' the bread - it is steamed like the momos, whole loaves in one go! To eat you pick a slice and dip it in the bowl of melted Amul butter. The little kitchen was friendly and nice - it took me back to the unpleasantness at Gangtok. When we were leaving for North Sikkim we had an unintended skirmish with the local drivers. As with most such incidents, I'm sure that fault lay on both sides. Now with some days to absorb and reflect I have only this to say: for Sikkim to become a tourist destination it will require not just infrastructure and investments but also a rethink of the attitude of the local populace towards (demanding, pesky, sometimes annoying) tourists. To manage tourism, or indeed any venture that is customer-centric, it requires tact and appropriateness of articulation. After all tourists come here for a vacation, to escape from the stress of everyday existence - a little bit of pampering is a fair expectation. The take-it-or-leave-it philosophy may not be effective. Just a thought, mind you; I'm not an expert in tourism...

It is superfluous to talk about the beauty of the lake. So I won't. Suffice it to say that we did not moon-walk, but yes, it was exhausting to even walk briskly. The jawans were the busiest lot - skipping down to collect the water and to pray. We spent an hour, opening all our senses to the grandeur of the place. It was a silent ride back to the hotel. Most of all, we, the younger lot, felt quietly proud of the way Dad and Mum coped. We did not even feel the need to rib the manager at the hotel. It was smiles and silence all over. The lunch was very Bengali and tasty. It was a 3 hour drive to Lachung next.

After traversing to Chunthang, we forked left towards Lachung. There was a transformation in the state of the roads. It was smooth, wide (as wide as it can be on mountains) and barricaded towards the free-fall end - this last thing was a minor relief; most of the roads that we had left behind had no such comfort. We fairly zipped into Lachung. The scenery was even more spectacular. It would be a fair to say that Lachung is the most scenic little town that I had seen in my life. It had both the soothing, lush and dark beauty of the forests and waterfalls; and the terrible, brooding majesty of the soaring peaks - all black rocks and white snows.

The hotel arrangements were awful! But let's not crib. Instead let's spend some time on a curious incident. We had arranged to visit the valley of Yumthang only. But our driver, Pempa suggested that we had enough time to take a look at the snow slopes of Katao; he would take care of the permits, etc. And so we went - the journey was spectacular and as we passed a military check post, the soldier there took our permit and informed that we were the 19th vehicle since morning. Very good, I thought, nice and early; we were 33rd in Gurudongmar. And so we had fun and took pics and played with the dirty snow; finally we set our way to Yumthang. On our way we were stopped by the Sikkim police - in fact all the vehicles on their way down from Katao were being stopped - and were told to pay a fine of 1000 rupees. The driver seemed to mumble something incoherent when asked the reason for the fine. So we decided to go the police station and understand the reason. What emerged is this: tourists are forbidden to go to Katao as it is a sensitive spot. The tour operators and the drivers and the hotel owners know this. Hence it is kept out of the official itinerary. But this fact is not divulged to the tourist - who then pays extra (as we did) to tour Katao. And everyone makes money from the gullible tourists - including, it seems the military. This came as a jolt. One does not associate our army with such riff-raff. But if it was not then how come the military check post soldier took our permit and informed us of the vehicles ahead of us? They should have stopped us right there!

So it was with a sour taste in the mouth that we made our way to Yumthang, the valley of flowers. But first we had a splendid breakfast at a stall on the valley and we were served by a jolly little woman (a cousin of Pempa the driver) who made pleasant jokes and bustled about happily. We had momos and noodles and eggs. The crankiness vanished, our brows thus smoothed, we stepped down to the valley. No flowers, sadly - it was too late in the season. But the place was nice, an ideal picnic spot. This entire area was part of the Rhododendron sanctuary.

And that was that. All 'places' had been visited and ticked off the list. All that remained was to pack up and leave for Gangtok. By this time I was seeing visions of my cosy bed in Andheri, the aroma of ghee on hot rice and daal wafted in from all directions; I wanted to throw away the inners-shinners, the gloves-shoves, the sweater and the jacket and wear a bermuda a la commando and curl up with a book with the strains of Kishori or Kumarji surrounding me.

In short, I'd had enough of Sikkim; I wanted to go home. But dilli duur ast; we had a 6-day stay with Mum and Dad in Kolkata. Good Lord!