From lush tropical forest, postcard-pretty trails to snow-capped peaks, Sikkim has it all. Little wonder, the natives call their home the 'earthly paradise,' writes Mei Leong

Written by Mei Leong on 14 Apr 2009 with 0 comments. Be the first!

From lush tropical forest, postcard-pretty trails to snow-capped peaks, Sikkim has it all. Little wonder, the natives call their home the 'earthly paradise'.

When I told friends and family that I was going to Sikkim, the response was, "Huh? Where on earth is Sikkim?" Well, it's in India and it is also part of the Indian Himalayas.

Most people associate the Himalayas with Nepal. But the Great Himalayan Range actually stretches from Pakistan's Nanga Parbat (8125m) in the west, across Nepal, and over 2000km to the peaks framing Sikkim and Bhutan in the east.

And the tiny, 7300-sq-km Sikkim is tucked between Nepal in the west, Tibet in the north and Bhutan in the southeast. Formerly one of the four Himalayan Kingdoms, Sikkim became the twenty-second state of India in 1975.

The Sikkimese are mainly the Lepchas - its original inhabitants, the Nepalese who migrated from Nepal since early 18th century, and the Bhutias - descendants of Tibetan and Bhutanese settlers. The Lepchas have no written record but their oral history dates back to 1400AD and they still preserve their own language, culture and tradition. After China occupied Tibet in the 1950s, Sikkim also sees a steady influx of Tibetan refugees. Today, the Nepalese make up Sikkim's majority population and Nepali language is the most widely spoken.

World's third highest peak

On Sikkim's Singalila Ridge, a mountain range bordering Nepal and Sikkim, sits the world's third highest peak, Mount Kangchendzonga (8586m). Peaks, averaging 6200m to 7500m, dot the ridge to the north and south of Kangchendzonga, making the area a mountain buff's heavenly playground. But due to its turbulent political history, Sikkim was off-limit to foreigners till the late 1970s. And today, foreigners entering Sikkim still need a 15-day entry permit. Hence, many of Sikkim's rugged terrains, plateaus and formidable mountain passes are relatively unexplored and pristine.

My friends, Hilary, Yin San, Soo and I hooked up with Sikkim Tours and Travels, a Sikkim-based travel operator, for a 10-day trek on the Goechala trail in Kangchendzonga National Park. Despite its 850-sq-km size (one fifth the size of Taman Negara), the national park boasts a terrain that ranges from an altitude of 1600m to 8586m, and a mind-boggling medley of flora and fauna that thrive in the tropical, temperate and alpine zone forests. Our trek would take us from the trailhead in Yuksam at 1,740m, with gradual climbs and acclimatization stays at different altitudes, to the highest point at Goecha La pass (4,950m) and returning on the same trail.

The journey to Goecha la

Our seven-hour jeep ride from Sikkim's capital, Gangtok to Yuksam was quite hair-raising. The jeep careened up and down steep, winding roads overlooking plunging valleys of emerald-green terraced rice fields, cardamom groves, rivers and waterfalls framed by jutting peaks. Good thing we had some anti-vomit pills handy.

The picturesque village of Yuksam (the first capital of Sikkim) is also home to our Nepali guide, Madan, and our porters, Tashi, Pasang, Sonam, Prem and the yak herdsman, Lhakpa. The yak, dubbed as the highest dwelling animal in the world, is a member of the ox family. With a thick, shaggy coat, this beast of burden is usually found in large herds on desolate mountains with altitude above 3000m. But in Sikkim, these animals have been domesticated. To our relief, Lhakpa's four yaks would accompany us on the trek, leaving us backpack-free during the hike.

On our first day, we weaved through a procession of porters - some flip-flopped or in yellow Wellington boots, humping tens of kilo loads of cooking gas tanks, pans and pressure cookers piled on wicker baskets secured at their foreheads with tumplines. We passed groups of trekkers, horses and yaks laden with Basmati rice, baskets of okras and French beans and multi-hued backpacks strapped to their sturdy bodies.

Amid the cool, crisp autumn air, we trudged up sheer slopes through rhododendron, oak, magnolia and bamboo forests while being serenaded by bird calls and fleeting glimpses of magpies, robins and honey suckers.

"In spring (April and May), the mountain slopes are dappled with rainbow-coloured rhododendron blooms," said Madan, a college student cum part-time guide with seven years' experience. Along the trail, Madan also pointed out some wild herbs like the sisnu, a Vitamin A-loaded and edible plant good for the eyes, and the bon mara, where the juices from the crushed leaves are great for stopping a bleeding wound.

Serendipity at its best

On our third day, from the Tsokha campsite (3,048m), we had our first sneak preview of the ragged skyline of snow-capped peaks thrusting into the crystal-clear blue skies. At dawn, when the clouds parted, the jagged peaks of Mount Pandim (6691m) loomed over our campsite. Over the days, we clambered up nerve-racking steep hills, plopped our feet into ankle-deep mud, trampled through mossy or conifer forest, strolled across bucolic pastures and clawed our way up rock-strewn trails.

I huffed and panted. And the thin air and the crazily steep slopes provided a jolting reminder of my air-deprived lungs and throbbing knees. By day four, when we reached Dzongri campsite (4,030m), Soo was suffering from pounding headache and heart palpitations - effects of altitude sickness.

But the staggering beauty of the rugged peaks, the sweet juniper-laced crisp air and the sporadic moments of stumbling on a blue poppy or the noisy robin eased the fatigue and lent the much-needed solace.

After each day's hike, averaging three to nine hours, we looked forward to Indra's scrumptious 'gourmet' meals like the stir-fry masala vegetables, freshly made, hot chapatis or fresh mushroom and shredded cheese pizza, and banana pie for dessert.

At the Lamuni campsite (about 4200m) with its bone-chilling, whipping wind, we huddled beneath our porters' thick wool blankets in their hut and savoured the warmth from Indra's cooking fire. Swigs of the 42.8 alcohol-proof, six-rupee "Honey Bee" brandy I bought from Gangtok, and hot water bottles (provided by the porters) kept us toasty after we slid into our 'chilled' sleeping bags. In the freezing morning air, we looked forward to either Sonam or Tashi's morning call with a pot of hot tea and bowls of hot water for washing.

"I could really get used to this (first-class treatment)," said Yin San once, sighing.

Yes, life seemed blessedly simple...

Strangers on the trail

It was also the chance meetings that made the journey so unforgettable.

I'll never forget Lhako Doma, the pretty and ruddy-cheeked Tibetan lady who runs a cafe and a mom-and-pop store in Tsokha, a small Tibetan settlement with seven families, and the only village on the Goecha La. Over hot chai (milk tea), I listened to Lhako Doma as she talked about her yearning to return to the Tibet her family fled from, 30 years ago.

Also, I had my first tomba, a mild rice wine made from fermented millet, with a bunch of rowdy but fun American students who were studying Nepali in West Bengal. During the trek, I was reading Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake and voila! I met a Los Angeles-born Bengali trekker whose parents came from Kolkata. Naturally, we launched into a spiel on identity crisis and cultural displacement.

But seeing Mt Kangchendzonga (from Goecha La) was definitely the 'whipped cream topping' to our trek.

It was also the longest and toughest day. At 3am, we set out from campsite with headlamp and flashlights, and floundered our way through rocks and boulders and more steep inclines. After dragging our feet for hours through the moraines and sandy trails of the Onglakhing Glacier, we clambered up the last 500m rocky hill. Then, we tottered on a one-metre wide steep trail skirting the pass before straggling to the top.

There it was, the awe-inspiring peak looming above us. I could almost reach out and touch it. Simply awed, we fell into silence. Only the flapping of the colourful prayer flags broke the stillness on the pass.

And there's something about lofty peaks that always turn me into a schmaltzy fool. The sight of the snow-dusted, colossal peak with its jagged 'fins' elicited a lump in the throat and teary eyes.

A week after we left the trail and I bade farewell to my trekking mates, I found myself standing at Tiger Hill near Darjeeling, West Bengal. Shivering in the pre-dawn hour, I was sandwiched between hundreds of Bengali tourists craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the mighty Kangchendzonga. Tiger Hill is just a 30-minute jeep ride from Darjeeling and it boasts a sweeping view of Kangchendzonga, the other peaks on Singalila and all the way to Nepal with views of the tiny mounds of the Everest, Three Sisters and Makalu peaks.

But I abhorred the raucous crowd and missed the Goecha La trail terribly. Then, as the sun slowly breaks over the horizon, Kangchendzonga started peeking from the morning fog.

Once again, it cast its magic spells