Gorkaland & Sikkim

Gorkaland cannot be found on an official map of India because the Indian Government refuses to recognise it as a separate state. Well, I recognise it because I’m in it. Everywhere I go, signs say, “We Want Gorkaland.” I witnessed a march of thousands through the streets of Darjeeling calling for a separatist state. The only evidence that I’m back in West Bengal is on the number plates of vehicles. I arrived here by jeep. Normally, I avoid those polluting harbingers of destruction but I didn’t have much of an alternative. I had to admire the effectiveness of this form of transport. I’ve seen four people in the front including the driver. Five in the middle, four in the back row and maybe a few people hanging off the tailgate or sitting happily on the roof. One might say it’s a miracle I arrived safely. Well, I don’t believe in miracles. I rely on them. However, it was a minor miracle that I didn’t throw up on the road to Darjeeling. It was going grand until the jeep reached Kurseong, another hill station below Darjeeling. After that, the road turned into a dirt track and there were frequent groans from the passengers. I would’ve have gotten the toy train up to Darjeeling but at eight hours, it was just too damn slow. Initially, Darjeeling didn’t have much going for it. The jeep dropped me off in the center of town. I was tired, hungry and going deaf from all the horns beeping around me. But once I trudged up the hill to the guesthouse I was staying, Darjeeling started to grow on me. That night, I went exploring through the blacked-out streets. When I asked a shopkeeper if blackouts were regular, he sighed and said, “Every day.” The following day, I went to see the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. It was nestled within the grounds of Darjeeling Zoo. I didn’t have much interest in visiting the zoo but when I turned up at the gate, I discovered I had no choice. The zoo turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I saw an Asiatic Black Bear, separated from the masses by a moat about five foot wide and seven foot deep. He looked cuddly. My favourite animal was the snow leopard, an animal so elusive in the wild; locals refer to it as the phantom leopard. I was disappointed that I couldn’t see any tigers in their ages. The museum was fascinating and it was incredible to see the equipment that Tenzing Norgay used on his successful summit of Mt. Everest with Edmund Hillary in 1953. On my way out, I decided to give the tiger enclosure one last visit and was rewarded by the sight of a Siberian tiger, yowling and prowling within his cage. It wasn’t the Sunderbans but it was good enough.

After spending so much time in the warm south, moving up north gave me a head cold and confined me to bed for an afternoon. It was a good time to get the sniffles as it rained most of Monday afternoon. I was secretly delighted as it cleared the skies somewhat and I got a glimpse of the distant, snow-capped Himalaya. The following morning, I got up around 5.30am to watch the sunrise on Khangchendzonga, the highest mountain in India and the third highest in the world. It would’ve been even better if it wasn’t for the semi-permanent haze. That afternoon, I decided to do something about the view and went and got a permit for Sikkim, the state above Gorkaland. Because Sikkim borders Nepal, Tibet and Bhutan, the Indian Government has always been sensitive about foreigners visiting this tiny state. But it didn’t cost anything and gave me a decent walk through Darjeeling so I can’t complain. The following day, I got into a crowded jeep that took me to the border town of Jorethang. It was a steep descent from Darjeeling but I had faith in my driver. I changed jeeps and after an interminable wait, I was on my way to Pelling. Pelling is a little like Las Vegas in the Himalayas. It is nothing but a 2km strip of hotels. They are there for one reason only: to capitalise on the view of Khangchendzonga. But it is surrounded by Buddhist monasteries and forested mountains. I went for a walk up to one of the monasteries. It was hot and hazy and I was woefully underprepared. I had less than a litre of water and no food. So I decided to wander into the forest and go in search of Rani Dhunga or the Queen’s Rock. It was supposedly the site of an epic battle between Rama and the ten-headed demon Ravana. I don’t make this stuff up; it’s just what The Book told me. The Book also told me to hire a guide, which I didn’t do. As a result, I didn’t find what I was looking for but I did get a good hike in that left me crippled for the evening. No matter, it’ll give me a good incentive to come back at some point in the future and do it again. After the first few days, the weather became overcast and traveller's fatigue set in. So I sat in my room, devouring the books from the hotel's collection. There was little else to do. Before I left, I walked the 3km to the Rabdentse Ruins. It was surprisingly ordered for a site passing itself off as a ruin. It would’ve been even better if I could see the Himalayas in the background but it wasn’t to be.

After a week in Sikkim, I returned to Darjeeling. On Sunday, I took a bicycle through the winding mountain roads around Darjeeling. It had full suspension but the badly-shaped saddle gave me a very sore backside. I made it to a town called Sukhia, about 15km from Darjeeling. The mostly uphill ride nearly killed me as I haven’t ridden a bike since January. The cycle downhill was made all the more thrilling by the fog, which reduced visibility to around fifteen metres. I fly home in a week’s time. My journey is almost over. I have mixed feelings about going home. I’ll be sorry to leave India behind but I am looking forward to eating some food that doesn’t consist of rice. Like potatoes, for instance. Or thick bacon. The list is endless but I'm sure I won't be home long before I go looking for an Indian restaurant. I'll be the snob complaining about how the food is overpriced and couldn't possibly compare to what I've been eating for nearly six months. Oh, the joys of travelling.