And the journey continues….
Our next destination was Gangtok in North Sikkim. The beautiful view of hilly terrains, and the river Teesta –Lifeline of Sikkim, flowing alongside the road took away my breath. Oblivious of her surroundings, unmitigated by the rocks, she was flowing as if she would get late for her “date” with the Brahmaputra. On our way, deep down under we saw her being joined by Rangeet. Two shades of green merging to form a different shade of green. The greens interrupted by the rocks and froth did not reduce her beauty even by a bit. On one side, the river deep in a gorge, taking its own course, on the other, the rocks sniggering at the river in a show of dominance. Was she green in envy? At whom? The mighty Himalayas that fathered her?
Villages came one after the other. The terrain was slowly changing. The breath-taking views continued. Marigolds, sunflowers and many other flowers lead me through the land of Teesta. Lush green paddy fields enjoyed the beauty and adorned her banks.
After an hour journey, we reached Rangpo post, which is an entry to Sikkim. And also, “travellers may want to purchase their favourite liquor as Sikkim has very little tax on liquor thus making buying bottles cheap. Cheers!”
On the foot hills of the Shivalik ranges, Gangtok welcomes you with its pleasant weather, peaceful roads and drool worthy chicken momos. Chicken momos were one of the reasons why Sikkim was annexed to the Indian union. (Just kidding). The spotless capital city wins hands down for the cleanliness. By the time we arrived in Gangtok at around 3 pm, the temperature was around 20 degrees. We checked into our rooms at Greendale Residency, had some snacks, and left for sightseeing. We had a quick visit to Ban Jhakri Falls, Flower Exhibition Centre, Do-Drul-Chorten (the most important Stupa in Sikkim) and also an “Art gallery”.
And then came The MG Marg, which is a pedestrian zone and a melting spot where the tourists and the locals mingle. I will describe it as a European road with its cobbled streets, flowers, Victorian street lamps and those ornate benches. The lights make the fountain and the Gandhiji’s statue look magnificent after sunset. We walked into a building off MG Marg, that housed a vegetable market. The cleanliness that we saw outside was missing here. It was like any other vegetable market and the paan stains on the stairs affirmed the fact that order and chaos can exist next to each other. The buildings in Gangtok were strikingly similar in shape, cuboidal. The easiest job here could be that of an architect, probably.
After this hectic schedule, we had our “pure- vegetarian” dinner at our resort and went to sleep. Overnight, the temperatures dipped to 10 degrees but the hotel staff were very courteous and did everything to make our stay comfortable.
And then came the most awaited morning as covered in winter clothes, caps, gloves we set out for Nathula Pass. It would be a sin if one visits Gangtok and not go to Nathula Pass. Nathula (14200 FT) is just 52 Km from Gangtok but the height mentioned can easily tell you the span it can take to reach there. The roads were narrow. Actually, they barely existed on the JN Marg that connected Nathula to Gangtok. A stretch full of stones and boulders, rubble and dust, dotted with villages and Army establishments. We were on a pathway interrupted by landslides at nature’s whims and fancies. Ravines on the right were so deep that looking into it was enough for your heart to skip not one but a dozen beats. On the left, the mountain walls displayed many textures, patterns and shapes-all signs of human intervention. Work under BRO’s Swastik project was in full swing. Army convoys and JCBs appeared to create traffic jams. The experience of travelling through stunning mountain landscapes and reaching Nathula was awe inspiring. Clouds had decided to shed their beauty and be shapeless. The confused clouds cosily placed themselves next to each other. These are the times when you realize that white and blue are siblings. The sky was painted with not just one, but many hues of blue.
A few km up and we were at about 12600 feet above the sea level. We took a detour from what seemed like a base camp and headed to Baba Harbhajan Sigh’s bunker. The base camp had a Baba Mandir which apparently was built for the convenience of the visitors (“duplicate” as per our driver). The original one and the bunker were about 6km away from here.
We saw her again. The same Kanchenjunga that gleamed in glory two mornings before was at her stunning best. She was trying to shoo away the clouds that tried to mask her beauty. The ravishing beauty, majestic in her demeanour was standing tall to touch the skies. What? Did I just spot snow on the rocks? I grabbed a lump of snow from the rocks. (The only other place I did this was from the refrigerator’s freezer as my luck never favours me at hill stations). From here, we started our journey to a place that mattered much in history, a point on the Old Silk Route- NATHULA.
Through the gate that said “Nathula”, we walked up the 90 stairs and it actually took my breath away (“Literally”). It is no joke to climb those stairs!
On the right side was a photography prohibited area, a few metres from there was the Indian Army post. We were at a place that looked more like the portico of one of the two buildings. Behind me was a building with the tricolour proudly fluttering, bringing out the Indian in each one of us.
I was standing in front of a building with excess of red, golden pillars and a star on its fore head. I walked close to it and hey! What am I seeing? There is a fence. Err, so that is C-H-I-N-A. That was China! Within minutes, three nattily dressed young Chinese soldiers came close to the fence, one of them smoking and clicking his camera nonstop. He had decided to get pictures of every single young lady on the Indian side. None of our rules apply to him, he is on the other side. Different rules, different time zones, different language, all together a different world. How much can a small fence does?
Soon, the Chinese soldiers shed their initial indifference and started posing for photos with the Indian tourists. How different was it for them than working in two different teams? The soldiers on either side of the fence were ready to pose for photos, but refused to shake hands. A trip to Nathula was never complete without breaking a piece of rock from the memorabilia stone. And boy! that hammer was HEAVY. In the midst of all these photographs, I managed to sneak my hand to the other side of the fence. Yes, I did that. That was touching Chinese soil. What else can give you a high when you are on the border?
We left the BRO slogans, the Army’s “Hum Hi Jitenge”, “Mera Bharat Mahaan” lines and started our drive down hill to Gangtok. Passing many snow-capped buildings behind us, we were coming down from a high point in our lives. We passed The Tsomgo Lake (also called Changu Lake or Tsomgo Lake) which was calm and beautiful. The Yak owners were shouting to strike a deal to take us for a ride on those animals. Yaks, to my surprise seemed so harmless.
Visibility was almost zilch. Sun suffered from a bout of inferiority complex and hid himself. Our driver seemed undaunted with the zero visibility. The headlights pierced through the darkness. The nonstop horn seemed to show him the road. We were soon in Gangtok for our next round of Chicken momos.
It would be unfair not to mention those hundreds of smiles I got back for every eye contact that I made, irrespective of gender or age; immensely friendly and pleasant locals bring in a smile on our faces. And here my journey came to an end as to begin another one…HYDERABAD.
Our next destination was Gangtok in North Sikkim. The beautiful view of hilly terrains, and the river Teesta –Lifeline of Sikkim, flowing alongside the road took away my breath. Oblivious of her surroundings, unmitigated by the rocks, she was flowing as if she would get late for her “date” with the Brahmaputra. On our way, deep down under we saw her being joined by Rangeet. Two shades of green merging to form a different shade of green. The greens interrupted by the rocks and froth did not reduce her beauty even by a bit. On one side, the river deep in a gorge, taking its own course, on the other, the rocks sniggering at the river in a show of dominance. Was she green in envy? At whom? The mighty Himalayas that fathered her?
Villages came one after the other. The terrain was slowly changing. The breath-taking views continued. Marigolds, sunflowers and many other flowers lead me through the land of Teesta. Lush green paddy fields enjoyed the beauty and adorned her banks.
After an hour journey, we reached Rangpo post, which is an entry to Sikkim. And also, “travellers may want to purchase their favourite liquor as Sikkim has very little tax on liquor thus making buying bottles cheap. Cheers!”
On the foot hills of the Shivalik ranges, Gangtok welcomes you with its pleasant weather, peaceful roads and drool worthy chicken momos. Chicken momos were one of the reasons why Sikkim was annexed to the Indian union. (Just kidding). The spotless capital city wins hands down for the cleanliness. By the time we arrived in Gangtok at around 3 pm, the temperature was around 20 degrees. We checked into our rooms at Greendale Residency, had some snacks, and left for sightseeing. We had a quick visit to Ban Jhakri Falls, Flower Exhibition Centre, Do-Drul-Chorten (the most important Stupa in Sikkim) and also an “Art gallery”.
And then came The MG Marg, which is a pedestrian zone and a melting spot where the tourists and the locals mingle. I will describe it as a European road with its cobbled streets, flowers, Victorian street lamps and those ornate benches. The lights make the fountain and the Gandhiji’s statue look magnificent after sunset. We walked into a building off MG Marg, that housed a vegetable market. The cleanliness that we saw outside was missing here. It was like any other vegetable market and the paan stains on the stairs affirmed the fact that order and chaos can exist next to each other. The buildings in Gangtok were strikingly similar in shape, cuboidal. The easiest job here could be that of an architect, probably.
After this hectic schedule, we had our “pure- vegetarian” dinner at our resort and went to sleep. Overnight, the temperatures dipped to 10 degrees but the hotel staff were very courteous and did everything to make our stay comfortable.
And then came the most awaited morning as covered in winter clothes, caps, gloves we set out for Nathula Pass. It would be a sin if one visits Gangtok and not go to Nathula Pass. Nathula (14200 FT) is just 52 Km from Gangtok but the height mentioned can easily tell you the span it can take to reach there. The roads were narrow. Actually, they barely existed on the JN Marg that connected Nathula to Gangtok. A stretch full of stones and boulders, rubble and dust, dotted with villages and Army establishments. We were on a pathway interrupted by landslides at nature’s whims and fancies. Ravines on the right were so deep that looking into it was enough for your heart to skip not one but a dozen beats. On the left, the mountain walls displayed many textures, patterns and shapes-all signs of human intervention. Work under BRO’s Swastik project was in full swing. Army convoys and JCBs appeared to create traffic jams. The experience of travelling through stunning mountain landscapes and reaching Nathula was awe inspiring. Clouds had decided to shed their beauty and be shapeless. The confused clouds cosily placed themselves next to each other. These are the times when you realize that white and blue are siblings. The sky was painted with not just one, but many hues of blue.
A few km up and we were at about 12600 feet above the sea level. We took a detour from what seemed like a base camp and headed to Baba Harbhajan Sigh’s bunker. The base camp had a Baba Mandir which apparently was built for the convenience of the visitors (“duplicate” as per our driver). The original one and the bunker were about 6km away from here.
We saw her again. The same Kanchenjunga that gleamed in glory two mornings before was at her stunning best. She was trying to shoo away the clouds that tried to mask her beauty. The ravishing beauty, majestic in her demeanour was standing tall to touch the skies. What? Did I just spot snow on the rocks? I grabbed a lump of snow from the rocks. (The only other place I did this was from the refrigerator’s freezer as my luck never favours me at hill stations). From here, we started our journey to a place that mattered much in history, a point on the Old Silk Route- NATHULA.
Through the gate that said “Nathula”, we walked up the 90 stairs and it actually took my breath away (“Literally”). It is no joke to climb those stairs!
On the right side was a photography prohibited area, a few metres from there was the Indian Army post. We were at a place that looked more like the portico of one of the two buildings. Behind me was a building with the tricolour proudly fluttering, bringing out the Indian in each one of us.
I was standing in front of a building with excess of red, golden pillars and a star on its fore head. I walked close to it and hey! What am I seeing? There is a fence. Err, so that is C-H-I-N-A. That was China! Within minutes, three nattily dressed young Chinese soldiers came close to the fence, one of them smoking and clicking his camera nonstop. He had decided to get pictures of every single young lady on the Indian side. None of our rules apply to him, he is on the other side. Different rules, different time zones, different language, all together a different world. How much can a small fence does?
Soon, the Chinese soldiers shed their initial indifference and started posing for photos with the Indian tourists. How different was it for them than working in two different teams? The soldiers on either side of the fence were ready to pose for photos, but refused to shake hands. A trip to Nathula was never complete without breaking a piece of rock from the memorabilia stone. And boy! that hammer was HEAVY. In the midst of all these photographs, I managed to sneak my hand to the other side of the fence. Yes, I did that. That was touching Chinese soil. What else can give you a high when you are on the border?
We left the BRO slogans, the Army’s “Hum Hi Jitenge”, “Mera Bharat Mahaan” lines and started our drive down hill to Gangtok. Passing many snow-capped buildings behind us, we were coming down from a high point in our lives. We passed The Tsomgo Lake (also called Changu Lake or Tsomgo Lake) which was calm and beautiful. The Yak owners were shouting to strike a deal to take us for a ride on those animals. Yaks, to my surprise seemed so harmless.
Visibility was almost zilch. Sun suffered from a bout of inferiority complex and hid himself. Our driver seemed undaunted with the zero visibility. The headlights pierced through the darkness. The nonstop horn seemed to show him the road. We were soon in Gangtok for our next round of Chicken momos.
It would be unfair not to mention those hundreds of smiles I got back for every eye contact that I made, irrespective of gender or age; immensely friendly and pleasant locals bring in a smile on our faces. And here my journey came to an end as to begin another one…HYDERABAD.
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