The Man, The Myth, The Legend
Trip Start
Aug 17, 2011
1
18
Trip End
Oct 31, 2011
Sikkim, India
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
It was about 7 or 8 months ago that we first decided that we'd be coming to India. Sometime shortly after this, Rob mentioned it to his friend Guillaume. Guillaume took on a distant air and said to me, "There is a place you must go. A very special place. You must find a place called Kechupalri Lake, in an area called Sikkim. Once there, ask for a man named Pala. He will take care of you." This is not your usual you-should-see-the-Taj-Mahal travel advice. I was intrigued. So we came in search of Pala.
First we had to get to Sikkim, which is a special place indeed. An independent kingdom until 1975, Sikkim is set in the Himalayas, bordered by Nepal to the west, Bhutan to the east, and Tibet to the north. Looking at a map, you'd never guess it's part of India. With its own language, laws, and culture, it bears more similarity to these neighboring countries than to India proper. Upon crossing the Sikkimese border, they even stamp our passports.
Our first stop is a transfer town called Pelling. It takes a full day and two share jeeps to get here. By that time, we've been thoroughly squished and jostled and need a rest. We check into a hotel with a gorgeous view of Khangchendzonga, the world's third largest mountain, and enjoy a Sikkimese beer, some mo-mo (the local word for Chinese dumplings), and of course, some American Chop Suey.
In the morning begins the second, more arduous day of our journey to meet the legendary Pala. We leave our big packs at the hotel, and set out with some water and a change of clothes. From here on out, we go on foot. By road, it's about 30km to the lake. A shortcut makes our hike about 18km. Our starting point, Pelling, is a mountaintop town, so that means the first three hours of our hike are quite steeply downhill. The path zigs across rivers and swings back through farm after terraced farm. The locals whose yards we cut through are all friendly and only a little surprised. When we occasionally take a wrong turn, they'll quickly point us in the direction of the lake. Kechupalri Lake is considered holy by Buddhists, and is a common pilgrimage site, so they know that anyone hiking in this area is headed that way.
Around 1, we reach the river at the base of the valley. We cross a suspension footbridge and sit for lunch. While we're eating our odd assortment of snacks (packaged fruitcakes, orange cream cookies, dried daal), an old woman, clearly quite poor, sits with us and mimes that she'd like some food.
It was about 7 or 8 months ago that we first decided that we'd be coming to India. Sometime shortly after this, Rob mentioned it to his friend Guillaume. Guillaume took on a distant air and said to me, "There is a place you must go. A very special place. You must find a place called Kechupalri Lake, in an area called Sikkim. Once there, ask for a man named Pala. He will take care of you." This is not your usual you-should-see-the-Taj-Mahal travel advice. I was intrigued. So we came in search of Pala.
First we had to get to Sikkim, which is a special place indeed. An independent kingdom until 1975, Sikkim is set in the Himalayas, bordered by Nepal to the west, Bhutan to the east, and Tibet to the north. Looking at a map, you'd never guess it's part of India. With its own language, laws, and culture, it bears more similarity to these neighboring countries than to India proper. Upon crossing the Sikkimese border, they even stamp our passports.
Our first stop is a transfer town called Pelling. It takes a full day and two share jeeps to get here. By that time, we've been thorough squished and jostled and need a rest. We check into a hotel with a gorgeous view of Khangchendzonga, the world's third largest mountain, and enjoy a Sikkimese beer, some mo-mo (the local word for Chinese dumplings), and of course, some American Chop Suey.
In the morning begins the second, more arduous day of our journey to meet the legendary Pala. We leave our big packs at the hotel, and set out with some water and a change of clothes. From here on out, we go on foot. By road, it's about 30km to the lake. A shortcut makes our hike about 18km. Our starting point, Pelling, is a mountaintop town, so that means the first three hours of our hike are quite steeply downhill. The path zigs across rivers and swings back through farm after terraced farm. The locals whose yards we cut through are all friendly and only a little surprised. When we occasionally take a wrong turn, they'll quickly point us in the direction of the lake. Kechupalri Lake is considered holy by Buddhists and is a common pilgrimage site, so they know that anyone hiking in this area is headed that way.
Around 1, we reach the river at the base of the valley. We cross a suspension footbridge and sit for lunch. While we're eating our odd assortment of snacks (packaged fruitcakes, orange cream cookies, dried daal), an old woman, clearly quite poor, sits with us and mimes that she'd like some food. So we share. Trying to make a contribution to our meal, she points out a nearby citrus tree and tells us to eat, but whatever these things are (some kind of kumquat or unripe orange), they're wayyyy to sour for our liking. After lunch, we go our separate ways, but not before getting a picture with her.
Now it's all uphill. Steeply so. The road winds back and forth to even make it accessible to cars. Our map, though, has us taking shortcuts, climbing paths that weave between the roads to cut out a few unnecessary kms. This is great except that an hour or so later, we learn from some locals that we've made it to the wrong road, and walked about a mile in the wrong direction. We're getting very tired, and the sun is on its way down.
We find the right road, and a sign reading "Kechupari - 8km." Shiiiiiiiiiit. We haul ass for about 45 minutes and make some good time, but our legs are throbbing. The road winds around the edge of a little nook of a valley, meaning we'll lose sunlight even earlier. Finally, we "arrive." Kecheopari is nothing more than a strip of shops and hotels set up next to the lake, maybe a dozen in all. Rob asks a boy on a bike, "Where Pala? You know Pala?" The boy responds in infuriatingly perfect English, "Up! You have to go up!" pointing at the tree-covered hillside. No. There can't possibly be any more Up. But there is.
Into the woods we go for what ends up being the toughest half-hour of our six and a half of hiking. Finally. Finally, we are there. At the top of the mountain sits Pala's village, a half-dozen stone homes. a few cows and goats, all clustered around a small Tibetan monastery.
About 10 other backpackers are staying up here--much more than we (or Pala) had anticipated--but they're a great group, and we enjoy our time with them. Tea is served, followed by a delicious, fire-cooked veg dinner (Pala used to be the cook for the Dalai Lama).
A beer order is taken, and a boy sent down the hill to carry up a case of the local sikkimese brew. A bonfire is started, and the drinking commences.
People start heading off to bed so we ask Pala which room is ours. Surely he noticed us when we arrived and had someone set aside a room? "No problems! No problems!" is the reply we receive and it slowly begins to register that Pala has no idea what we're talking about and that we have nowhere to sleep tonight. Luckily Pala has a son who runs the guesthouse next door. No real rooms free, but he allows us to squeeze into the meditation room.
We spend the next day doing nothing except eating, talking to other travellers, and looking out at the mountains. It's awesome. We're on a tight schedule though, so we're only able to spend two nights with the legendary Pala. At the end of the weekend it's time to collect our baggage and start our long journey to Kathmandu.
