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Up,
up to Kanchenjunga In Calcutta, I was released from a train that took me through Madhya Pradesh and its deserts. As I had to travel open 3rd class for over 2 days, I now know the feeling a chicken has inside a microwave! I stayed overnight at a house for the orphaned children of Calcutta, gifted and managed by Sir Cliff Richard. Mother Teresa's Charity was around the corner. The next evening I was to travel in the 'rocket' bus to Siliguri and thereon to Sikkim. The bus leaves at 6.00 p.m. and arrives in Siliguri at 6.00 a.m. I, as usual was late but managed the 7.00 p.m. 'rocket' that would arrive at 7.00 a.m. I was told 'rocket' meant the bus did not stop until it reached its destination, but thankfully it did as many as five times. On leaving the city, the driver simply floored the pedal of the Tata bus and kept it there until an obstruction came in his way on a very straight road. The entire bus was one big vibrating mass of metal, wood, plastic and flesh! Entertainment was a television and video, while a tin-can speaker delivered pure noise, dusk to dawn! The three chandeliers in the middle of the bus however managed to swing in step with the dancing girls on the screen. In Siliguri, the Sikkim stand is separated with a fence and gate. Sorry, I was told, I could not go to Sikkim as I did not have a valid passport, something that still confuses me as my passport and visa had no problems getting me in and out of India. Refusing to give up, I went into town and inquired about the possibility of entering Sikkim. I was told that Siliguri or Darjeeling, were the only options. So on to Darjeeling I went for a freezing and sleepless night in a guesthouse whose walls were probably made of cardboard. The next morning I decided to go local and calmly took my seat in the first bus to Sikkim. Now, that bus ride should go down the annals as one of the finest short trips ever as the endless miles of spectacular scenery literally hurt your eyes. Snow-capped peaks, alpine forests, terraced farmlands, streams, waterfalls and down in the valley huge foamy electric blue rivers that would make excellent picture postcards but seem almost unreal from a misty bus window! The bus was full of religious people or they knew something about the Tata bus that I didn't, as from start to finish they were in prayer with loud ‘Oms’ especially at dangerous sections. Whenever there was a hairpin bend or the road damaged besides a sheer precipice they chanted 'Om' in unison until that peril was over. Happy in their faith I rode until we reached the Sikkim border. Here, the elite border guards boarded the bus and started checking everything. I was in the middle of the last seat with my backpack and gear under my feet. One guard pointed to my rucksack and made some comment that I presume was in Hindi. Unfortunately my knowledge of that language is limited to Achcha-meaning 'yes' and another word about love that would have got me to jail before I finished the sentence. I just uttered "Achcha" and after a long hard stare, the guard departed. Sweating after my close shave I left the bus at Gangtok on a cold afternoon. I had a few hours left to ready myself for an expedition leaving that night to Kanchenjunga. Kanchenjunga is relatively unknown to the outside world. Located on the border of Sikkim and Nepal, only Mt. Everest and Karakorum's second peak, stand higher than Kanchenjunga. But it cannot offer lush montane forests on the initial few days of the trail. Unfortunately into that lush greenery you need to add a few bucketfuls of leeches! 'Progressively difficult' is probably the only true word our guide said as his "very close" was like from Colombo to Batticaloa! The terrain constantly changed underfoot with bedrock playing havoc with the soles of everyone's boots. The most demoralising part of the entire expedition was the "Breakheart Pass". True to its name it does break your heart as you're on one side of a pass and you can clearly see the other, but one needs to shout to be heard across the 50-foot or so wide gorge. From this point 2 1/2 days of hard trekking will get you to exactly the other side, with a few thousand feet of ups and downs. On my return journey, literally crawling I did contemplate amongst many options, pole-vaulting! Fortunately in this barren, freezing moonlike landscape you cannot find sufficient timber for even a toothpick! Jagged ravines, cliffs, passes, small rivers, valleys and mountains negotiated, you come to the Kanchenjunga massif, which looks so enormous you may have well be observing it from Sikkim! Here is the base camp where the all-terrain, all-weather cargo machines - the Yak, stops! Everyone is allocated his burden of cargo that has to be negotiated through snow, ice and rock all the way to the top. Unlike the Everest regions where most surrounding peaks shelter you, Kanchenjunga presents itself in the open. This may assist by way of avalanches, but does not with the bitter cold and wind. To say the least I tried to find ways of even using my backpack for attire as I was wearing everything, the towel too! Above 20,000 feet I guess only the dead have a good night's sleep as for the living, rest comes in limited quantities and on a bad night hardly any. My brand new Olympus OM 101 camera had decided that this was the place to end its life! Even the film roll refused to come out and I had to carry the deadweight all the way back to civilization. Food up here tastes like water or vice versa and I lost so much weight even my elastic shorts hung loose upon my return. My return train had no room to even stand and I had to make amends up on the roof, the luggage rack that is! During my return the weather and the trail were so bad that I had to seek refuge at the Rumtek monastery. Now, if one does not have a date four days after, February 10 would guarantee you a cultural extravaganza of sorts. On the 10th, the monastery opens its doors to the world and displays its treasures, manuscripts, music, dance, traditional dresses, and best of all sword artistry! While it was heavily snowing outside, to the tune of drums, cymbals and long pipe, the swordsman of the monastery made Hollywood and its Ninjas a poor second! A perfect finale for the restless soul aided by a good measure of daring and lots of luck. The old proverb that 'fortune favours the brave' still holds true. |
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