Diwali in Gangtok

Gangtok was celebrating Diwali the day I got back. We spent the evening upstairs watching fireworks go off all over the city. When I walked up to the balcony, I was greeted by smoke and loud noises--fireworks are illegal here in Sikkim but still very much available. Bangs, whistles, and whines were the noises of the day as we covered our mouths in the rising smoke. I tried some flaky Indian sweets that other people had brought over and watched Prerna light some fireworks of our own--these were the little ones, more like friendship fountains and sparklers than actual fireworks. Dinner that night was especially fun because it was the first time I ate with my hands. I learned the right technique, mixing the rice with the daal and potatoes and creamy pumpkin and green beans before scooping it up in my right hand and using my thumb to push it into my mouth-but I still looked pretty silly eating that way. Diwali lasted a few more days--there was a certain energy to the city at that time. The lights seemed brighter at night and during the day the garlands of marigolds hanging from most doorways were another reminder of the festival.

Dzongri, the rest

I woke up the next morning thinking that something was wrong because neither my watch alarm nor my camera alarm had gone off, but it was just a half an hour too early (imagine that happening if I was back at school -- me waking up before I was supposed to - ha). We had our morning tea and packed up our sleeping bags before enjoying a pancake breakfast. We were on the trail by 8.15. I had packed up my two jackets it the yak pack because I didn't want to carry them, so it was still cold for me in my lightweight blue shirt. But it was all uphill, so I warmed up right away. About halfway, we past Bakhim, where there was a government-owned rest house as well as a little farm with a shop selling candies and drinks for trekkers. We went inside the rest house, empty since it was the middle of the day, to see what it looked like. It was wooden and two stories tall-the only rest house that was two stories along the trail. Bakhim is at 9,000 ft, so the broken windowpanes probably made it drafty inside at night. Downstairs was a room for cooking and a big dining area. Upstairs were 6 or 7 rooms, each with two wooden bedframes. It was sparse but clean. I was ready to see the rest house we would stay in that night (if there was space), but there was still quite a ways to climb. I tried to take steps up like I was on a staircase rather than go straight up the incline, so that my heels wouldn't rub the back of my boots. My feet were feeling infinitely better than the trek in Ladakh, but I didn't want the pain to go from irritating to debilitating. That night we stayed at Tshoka, a veritable village. There were almost 10 houses where the locals lived. Phurba explained that Tshoka was settled when the Sikkimese king needed a place for his yaks to graze. The 3 rest houses, two government owned and one privately owned, came into existence only in the 80s. Tshoka is lively because it is on the main trekking route--trekkers going up to Dzongri or Goechla pass here at the beginning and end of their trips. There are only so many rooms available--maybe 3 or 4 at each rest house--so the majority of trekkers actually pitch tents on the ground outside the buildings. Our guide explained that it was first come first serve to get the spots inside, but it seemed that if your guide was friends with the right people he could find a way to squeeze you in if your group was small enough. Our mountain lodge had a nice balcony from which I sat and watched the activity in "town" while enjoying my afternoon tea. The foothills rolled out from Tshoka in shades of blue, echoed by the lines of the bright blue A-frame tents set up by my room. We could see the lights of Yuksom when the sun set--it made me proud of the human (and yak) power that got us this far. Although I miss the strength I felt in Switzerland, carrying my own pack over mountain passes, I did enjoy the sight of my green Gregory pack strapped to the back of a panting, drooling yak, my Watson Fellowship flag flapping with every step. It was noisy that night, with a big group of Russians celebrating their last night on the mountain with singing and clapping and stomping, but we still had days to go so we turned in much earlier.

We walked on wooden planks through foggy forests of spindley rhodedendron trees, reminding me of the rainforests of Washington. Bark peeled off in big maroon strips and the yellow moss was soft under our feet. After lunch, the fog so so thick we couldn't see the views at all. I wasn't worried though, remembering my day of fog in Switzerland when I walked from Schwarzwaldalp to Faulhorn; the mountaintops, pink in the setting sun, were even more striking because they came as a surprise. Dzongri is above 14,000ft and it definitely felt that way. My tent was crusty with sparkling frost by 6pm. I was in a tent and not in the rest house because Dzongri was much smaller than Tshoka, so there was less space for trekkers to stay inside. We were lucky that Kevin and Margie got a room because it meant we had a warm place to eat our meals for the two nights we were up at Dzongri. As we were drinking tea that afternoon, I heard people talking outside and immediately identified them as Spanish. I busted out my rusty language skills to talk with the Basque and Catalan guys. I floundered a bit for the right words but the basic structure I still have down (Chile here I come!). We went to bed early that night in preparation for the busy morning we had planned.

Phurba came to my tent at 4.15 to wake me up. It was freezing. Really. I dressed in all the layers I had and met Kevin and Margie by their room. They were similarly bundled up. I downed some biscuits with honey along with my tea to have energy for the walk and doned my headlamp. By 4.40, the whole group headed out and up under a dark and starry sky. The walk to Dzongri viewpoint for the sunrise left me breathless from the beginning. The frozen dirt crunched under my feet as I trudged upward. We turned off our headlamps after a while because the path became more and more clear. I kept glancing to my right, to the line of orange on the horizon. That was my timekeeper, my statistics -- all the pressure I had been missing up until this point. I thought back to 8 (ish) years ago, when I took off on a sunrise adventure and missed the sunrise... it was one of those winter trips to Montecito Sequoia. Rebecca was the only one who was up for the trip up to a ridge at such an early hour. I strapped on skis like all the other guides while she donned snowshoes. I remember how the moon was bright enough to guide us as we slid silently past the snow-laden branches. But I didn't really know how to use cross-country skis in the backcountry - so Becca on her snowshoes passed me up when 6 feet of powder was more than I could manage. I was stubborn enough to make it to the top, of course, but by that time everyone on top was enjoying a fully risen sun while they sipped tea. So I couldn't miss it this time. Not when I knew everyone else in my group would make it. There was no conversation as I fell in behind Kevin and Margie on the march up the hill. There were no flat bits of trail, it seemed, only steep climbs. My breathing was heavy and loud and I could feel a cramp coming on in my stomach. But we negotiated a curve and I could see the prayer flags waving at the top of the viewpoint. I could see the rest of the trail. I knew I could handle it. My breathing stayed heavy but I calmed down a bit. My hands, sweaty but warm in the fleece gloves, kept my trekking poles pumping all the way up. We made it with time to spare. I took and posed for a few obligatory pictures but then I sunk down to rest. I felt warm enough to take my beanie off and let my crusty hair breath, but the sweat made me get cold again. I let my feet dangle as I looked all around. Mountains in every direction. Snowy peaks that soared above 20,000 ft. Nepal just on the other side of the Singalila ridge. My exhaustion--the climb and the early hour combined--was like the feeling after a volleyball match. My wind, my power was gone. Then the sun, up until then hidden behind the peaks in front of us, hit the top of Kanchendzonga. The snow, and the swirls of snow coming off the top in the wind, were all lit up pink. The sun rolled forward, lighting up successive peaks in order of their altitude. Sitting there, so drained and sweaty, so hot and cold, I could only feel awe that I had reached that spot--yep Rachel "softie" Gross got a little teary-eyed at the sunrise. We stayed up at the viewpoint a lot longer, but for me, that was the moment. The sun hit us at 6.03, warming us, giving new excitement to the little group gathered by the prayer flags. The snowy peaks had been the highlight thus far, but I turned round and round as the sun lit up the surrounding landscape in rainbows of orange and green and brown. We got back to Dzongri 3 hours after we left, tired but increasingly thrilled with the morning adventure as we processed what we had seen. The rest of that day pales in comparison with the morning adventure. We took a day hike to a lake. The lake itself was not a big sight, but the clouds stayed away until 1pm, which afforded clear views of the same peaks we had seen that morning. I thought of a brochure I saw for UPS when I was still in high school-- the photo was of the Sound, downtown Tacoma, with Mt. Rainier looming in the background. From 0-14.000 with a sweep of the eye, or something like that. The landscape I saw that afternoon was almost the same--a feast for the eyes at every altitude, only this landscape started at 14,000 and towered higher and higher. That night was even colder--the only time my sleeping bag was pushed to its limits.

I woke up fully expecting the clothes I had rinsed out to be frozen. They were. There is nothing like shaping a crunchy long sock and having it hold that exact shape. I dressed in other clothes, leaving my crisp clothing in the yak pack awaiting a thorough session in the strong sun of the lower altitudes of Tshoka that afternoon. The first part of the walk was in the shade, and the little streams we passed were all frozen to varying degrees. It was my duty, naturally, to test each one to see just how frozen--I skated and scooted and stomped my way across ice--some of it cracked, some fell through completely (only a couple of inches, Mom, don't worry). My gore-tex boots held up to the test and I managed not to fall. When the sun hit the trail, the views were dramatic enough to keep me looking back every chance I got. These were the views we didn't have on the way up because of the fog. Going down is much easier for me. My boots kept me sure footed and my recitation of the entire Oklahoma! soundtrack kept me energized. We were at a different guest house in Tshoka this time--I liked all the space I had though it seemed a bit strange to have so much room to myself when the porters just set their sleeping bags on the dining room floor. The afternoon we lazed away over tongba (well, not for me) and good conversation at a "cafe" that one of the locals runs. A conversation with a trekker who had been to some of the places I plan to visit in Patagonia, along with Margie and Kevin's recommendations for Tanzania, kept me thinking about my plans for the rest of the Watson year.

The last day was more difficult than I thought. My feet told me they had had enough pounding on the rocks for this trip. Lunch was pretty special--we ate at the foot of a waterfall and had a chance to dip our sore toes in the icy water. We got back to Yuksom in mid-afternoon. I was tired and dirty and I could feel the old ankle "fun" starting up again, but I knew this trek had been a big success.

I took a 6.30am jeep back to Gangtok and admired how the rice fields that mark the contours of the hillsides are turning golden in the sun.

Dzongri trek (first days)

I left Gangtok for Pelling last week on a share jeep. Prerna's suggestion that I get my ticket the night before made the 6 hour ride more pleasant because I was in the front seat, sharing the bench with only 2 other people as opposed to 3. I got there after dark, so I couldn't see the mountains peaking through the clouds, even though I knew they were there. Dinner was at a westerner-filled restaurant, a strange shift for me since I had been so long in the local scene in Gangtok. But it was pleasant, nonetheless, because I sat next to an older Swiss couple and the conversation turned to Aescher and Wildkirchle and other places in Appenzell that usually only locals know about. I enjoyed the first few chapters of Robinson Crusoe, one of the books taken from Bandana's schoolbook collection (since I exhausted Prerna's already). It seemed fitting to start the adventure book as I was starting my own adventure, though I had none of the misgivings or bad omens that Crusoe suffered. I woke up at 6:15, not early enough for the sunrise but it was still clear enough that I could see across to the snowy peaks for the first time. Gangtok has some views of Kanchendzonga, but only if you are high enough and it is early enough to still be cloudless. Peaks like these I hadn't seen since the dramatic flight out of Ladakh. During the 26km taxi ride to Yuksom (which took more than 2 hours), I stopped at Khecheopalri Lake, a holy wishing lake surrounded by fading prayer flags. Surrounded by Bengali tourists, I didn't make a wish, but I did find a little trail that led away from the crowds and around the lake. The silence the holiness of the lake demanded was dimished somewhat by the buzzing of insects on the reeds--it is a sound that might fool you--it seems silent until you really stop and listen. There were some small waterfalls along the road that all the jeeps stopped at--they were nice but after Yosemite Falls (and Vernal and Nevada Falls) these little ones aren't quite as notable. In Yuksom I met with the guides, Phurba and Jeewan, and my fellow trekkers, Margie and Kevin. I read a few more chapters in my book - by this time Crusoe had left his Brazilian plantation and landed on a deserted island - but I left the book for another day since we were meeting at 7.15 to start our trek. 

After breakfast, we climbed up above Yuksom to see an old monastary on a hill. I was slow on this first little walk and I worried that too much time had elapsed since my last trek. But this was just a warm-up, and the walking only got better. We gave our bags to the porters who brought them to the yaks (4 total for our group), and we stopped briefly at the Coronation throne before starting on the actual trail. The throne was basically an eroded, whitewashed rock. The colorful designs of the monastaries I still find interesting, but I am not very attracted by the rocks imbued with holy powers or significant histories. The first day on the trail lasted only 3 hours, but it felt like a full day since we didn't get on the actual trail until past 11. We had to stop and have our permits checked at more than on outpost at the beginning of the trail. Permits are necessary for all foreigners, which is why it took a while to arrange this trek. Part of the permit fees went to government organizations like the forest ministry that was in charge of environmental concerns, but although we saw plenty of signs in English advising us on environmentally friendly trekking practices, we saw little of this in action. From the farms just outside of town, we climbed gradually on rocky trails. We passed over 3 suspension bridges, some with loose boards that threatened to fall at any minute, and were passed by teams of yaks heading down the mountain. I mentioned how hungry I was to Jeewon and he obliged by finding a few roots for me to sample. As he played Beatles songs and music from a recent Bollywood hit, Rock On, from the speaker on his cell phone, Jeewon picked a yellow leafy plant with a white stem. Peeling away the outer layer of the stem, he told me to eat the rest. It was tart like a lemon and surprisingly juicy. The other plant I tried wasn't quite as good--it made my mouth go all dry and pasty. I made it to camp about 10 minutes behind Kevin and Margie. Together we enjoyed tea and chubby bananas and then lunch, quite late at 3pm. We were at a campsite rather than staying in a rest house because the nearest rest house would have been too far for our first day. There was still a structure--2 rooms, made of wood-- where the guides and porters could cook (and sleep). Our tents were up above the trail while the cooking went on in the building below the trail, so there was no scent of fuel wafting towards us as we relaxed in the afternoon, only the sound of huge nuts falling from the trees. I enjoyed talking with Kevin and Margie from the very beginning. I understood the subleties of how they described themselves ("I was raised Catholic" and "we live in Georgia but we're from the Midwest") and that made me realize how long it had been since I had spent time with Americans. Of course I have met a few during the last 3 months, but mostly I have spoken to local people and trekkers from other countries. That is what I was expecting as I planned for this project, but it was comforting to find people from back home with whom I had so much in common. From the earliest conversations, Kevin and Margie proved to be great trekking partners. We all enjoyed the starry sky for a while that evening while the light played tricks on the mountains across the valley, making us think that an outcropping of rocks was some abandoned building. 

gangtok etc. -- one month later - oops

I flew from Leh to Delhi and Delhi to Bagdogra, covering the long distances across India in only a few hours. The last 120kms were not quite so easy, however. There is no airport in the hilly state of Sikkim, so you have to drive to get there (or take a helicopter, I suppose, but I really wasn't up for that). There was supposed to be a direct taxi service at the Bagdogra airport to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim, but when I enquired, I was informed that no taxis would be leaving until 5 that evening (it was 11am then) because of a strike. This didn't bother me too much, because it was India, after all, and travel inconveniences are part of the territory. Besides, Zoe had emailed me to tell me that because of the strike she and Prerna couldn't pick me up. So instead I took a taxi ride into Siliguri and tried to get on a share-jeep going to Gangtok. They also warned me it would be hours until one left, but we loaded up after only 2 hours. By loaded up I mean that in the SUV 2 plus the driver squeezed into the front while 4 people each got to share the bench seats in the middle and back row. Imagine four adults sitting in the back of an SUV like elementary school kids in carpool. Add heat. Add Hindi music. It was a real party. I couldn't believe that 120km would really take 4 hours -- I was right, in a way: it took more than 6. The roads in West Bengal (the state just south of Sikkim) and Sikkim itself are worth noting. They are incredible - windy, crumbling, rocky - and cars of all kinds, not just jeeps and trucks, manage to use them. I was lucky enough to have a window seat, and I couldn't help but keep my head almost out of the car the whole drive. It wasn't the heat, which was uncomfortable but not unbarable, but rather the sights along the way. In Sikkim all the roads are windy - inclines of almost 30 degrees and curves that make the road south out Sequoia seem easy are the norm here. At best, the roads resemble the alley at home- mostly smooth but a few potholes. Because of the rain, the roads are always falling apart. During the drive it was pavement, rock, dirt, mud, and stream. Luckily the jeep had no problem with all this. I could see why a short drive would take so long. Another reason was the animals on the road. Cars have to stop (or at least swerve) to let chickens, goats, cows, and monkeys cross the road. I kept my head out the window as we passed 4 storey high bamboo and waterfalls pouring onto the road and the monkeys stared right back at me. After 2 hours we made it to the bridge with a sign that said "Welcome to Sikkim" in the usual light green that is practically the state color. But I wasn't welcomed quite yet. Our jeep joined a long line of cars waiting for the strike to end. People could walk across the bridge, as I did to register as a foreigner, but the cars had to wait. 2 hours later, the sun had set and the police finally whistled at us to start moving. We had lost a few passengers so I was comfortably situated in the front seat now as our jeep was the first to slowly move through the crowds of people right at 6 o'clock. It took another 2 hours to get to Gangtok on the windy roads; I was almost lulled into sleep except that the driver kept stopping to pick people up along the way. Gangtok is a city on a hill--the main road, the national highway, that we had been on the whole time, goes right through the center of town. The driver handed me my backpack from the top of the jeep where it had been tied down and I walked down the road to find a phone to call my friends Zoe and Prerna. It was too late to meet them that night, so we hooked up the next morning (Rosh Hashanah, in fact). And this whole description was only the first day.

Comfortable with Prerna and her family, I checked out the possibilities for trekking after a couple of days. To do the high altitude trek with huts, Dzongri, I need a permit, which was impossible to get only for one person. This meant waiting for another foreigner's travel plans to coincide with mine to insure that I got the permit. It finally worked out--I am leaving today for Pelling en route to Yuksom to start my trek. I will be out there for a week before returning to Gangtok. 

One highlight while I have been waiting is getting to stay with Prerna and eat all the local food that they eat normally. Meals always include rice - usually we have dhal and some kind of potato or vegetable dish. I have tried nettles and prickly vegetables and bitter ones too. I have had new kinds of fruit juice, bitten into a guava for the first time, and had my mouth burn from eating things that are just too spicy for my American palate. Prerna's house is pure veg, which means no meat, no eggs, and also no onions or garlic. I helped Prerna's sister Bandana make momos - by help I mean mostly I watched and I tried my turn at folding the dough around the cabbage mixture a few times. My momos were lumpy dumplings rather than expertly creased but they still tasted pretty good. 

While waiting for the trekking agencies to find some other trekkers, we went to Yangang where Prerna's grandparents lived. It rained every day there, which created perfect conditions for the best rainbow I have ever seen: it was a full arc, reaching across the entire valley. I couldn't help thinking how funny it was, to be driving on the eroding roads of steamy Sikkim--a place entirely new to me--while at the same time singing along to Avril and Pink. I see the influence of American music and movies everywhere here-Prerna and Zoe know both Backstreet Boys and Rihanna's latest hits better than I do. 

Along with my friends, I have been a guest at a neighbor's place downstairs and at the house of a family friend. Being a part of life here means that the time I spent here trying to make the trekking work wasn't wasted. I am lucky to have the connections here that I do. I am sure Zoe and Prerna are ready to have a break from me asking "what now?" all the time, but they will get to see me next week since I am leaving the gear I don't need here. Now I will see how my body will hold up to the mountains again. My camera is charged up. My bag is packed. My boots are shiny and clean-- ok not really. I didn't get that carried away. But I am ready now for another adventure.