Earthquake in Shangri-La and other harrowing tales

If the latent poignancy of the post title has enticed you into the post, there is much here to keep the reader riveted to this thrilling tale of couch-potato daredevilry. Couch-potato because the action struck while watching TV lazing on a bed, the daredevilry a knee jerk reaction to an earthquake. But more on that later.

I spend every day planning a block buster trip which would take me into a destination which I couldn't afford in the past (monetarily) and am pretty sure won't be able to in the future (age). The North east had been on the list, but was advised against it as the trip was planned in late September and we could expect some of the main sanctuaries in the area closed till November. A brief head banging session produced an odd itinerary which included a 5 day visit to the kingdom of Bhutan followed by a trek in the hills around Darjeeling, we had discarded a trip in to Sikkim in the bargain (fortuitous in retrospect). The plan lent a sense of immediacy of purpose to shopping all sorts of trekking equipment, and the purchases would have been adequate to have equipped both Tenzing and Hilary on their first climb. Nevertheless an amateur mountaineer is entitled to his foibles. After all the Ts had been crossed and the Is dotted, the day of travel dawned. Bhutan was about to be invaded

Chapter 1 - Bhutan

Bhutan lies curiously wedged between Sikkim to the west, Arunachal to the East and our point of entry was to be from the town of Phuentsholing which lay on its southern border with West Bengal. A flight from Bangalore had deposited me at Bagdogara airport after a soporific stopover at Calcutta and we had to take a road journey from Bagdogara to Phuentsholing. Bagdogara seamlessly melts into the town of Siliguri which is a rather large city of reasonable significance in West Bengal. By virtue of its location on the chicken neck and its proximity to 3 international borders, Bagdogara has a heavily manned air force base and little else distinguishes it. Lush green fields (we were still in the midst of a retreating monsoon) and a noticeable increase in the population density were all I noticed while we breezed through Siliguri. Phuentsholing was to be reached in 4 hours if all went well. The landscape duly became forested and we had tea estates pock marking the surroundings. A train chugged right by. rolling hills appeared while we skirted along the borders of Bhutan. The roads were bad and we finally made it to the cacophony of Jaigaon which is the last Indian town before the border crossing and I dwell on this trivia simply because of the contrasts. Seldom have I seen such a drastic difference between 2 towns. Jaigaon had potholed streets, chaotic traffic and garbage strewn all over, Phuentsholing was quiet, gentile with an air of prosperity. Apart from an ominous sign on cigarette smoking, this could have been an ideal Indian town. 

The weather though had been unrelenting, the clouds were all over the place and a gentle drizzle with a rare downpour characterized most of the journey. We met our guide Mr Lodey waiting at the hotel. Dinner , beer was followed by an attempt to get the permits made for the rest of the tour.

Bhutan has a checkered history of influences from Tibet largely dominating its existence and it got a sense of being a nation only in the early 17th century. Spread over a large area it hosts a remarkably low population density and has insulated its Vajrayana Buddhist identity rather well. The current Wangchuk dynasty was credited with creating a strong monarchy and their leadership is currently revered across the country. King Jigme Singye Wangchuk had introduced a constitutional monarchy in 2007 which says much about the mutual trust between the king and his subjects. 

The morning was a rather wet one and we were due to embark on our onward journey to Thimpu which was abut 190 kms away. Lodey much to our surprise had turned up stockinged and dressed in the national dress(mandated while driving a car). The journey was to be through the hills and though spectacular in its majesty the road was treacherous. Landslides had gouged out parts of the road and large tracts of hillsides looked amputated. The roads were maintained by the Indian Border roads organization under project DANTAK and it was midway between Phuentsholing and Thimpu that I was remarkably able to obtain a Dosa from an Indian army maintained canteen. We reached Thimpu in the evening and were dutifully checked into Hotel Destiny which afforded a hot water bath.

Thimpu has a city center a few blocks long and is remarkably open. We walked around town enquiring about watering holes of repute and we finally found one called Rumors pretty close to where we were staying. As the eyelids started drooping , all I snatched as memories was a local whisky which was issued in the year of coronation which seemed to be prized intently by the bar owner.We returned to the hotel to find the gates locked, and it was early morning before we finally managed to crash. 

Dorje was a new driver who was assigned to us and he dutifully took us around the city and surroundings. A Rio styled Buddha which towered over Thimpu was being constructed, a local monastery which was very picturesque and the local zoo where I managed to get a glimpse of the Thakin which is the national animal of Bhutan (for lovers of gruesome tales, the Bhutanese version of the origins of the Thakin is a collectors item). The afternoon saw us at the the Thimpu Dzong which reflected its status as a fortress rather than a monastery. It was huge and there were slits visible in the wall which were used by the archers to fire at the enemy outside. We were in for a treat as there was a rehearsal on for a festival. Monks danced away in the rain to a slow beat, while a character with a dragons head went around regaling the audience with jokes. Post that we headed to a trade fair  in the middle of the city and I found most of the goods on sale were Indian and on the expensive side.We had meanwhile bumped across brochures for a youth art movement and after significant difficulty managed to find the studio. Some of the artwork was good though the entire place was undergoing a renovation.

The shopping was limited and the city had been a slightly underwhelming experience, and we dutifully headed off to the hotel to catch some rest before heading for dinner. It was around 6:30 in the evening when the earthquake struck and it found us at our most vulnerable. The building shook a few inches and was a very unnerving experience. The first 2 seconds were spent determining exactly what was happening and then a mad rush for the stairs. Have heard that when you near death , your entire life flashes past you , but all I could think about was lugging my weight out of Hotel Destiny (could there be a more infuriating name). We were in the streets in the next 5 seconds and looked rather undressed for the occasion - the entire street was looking up at the building swaying. I looked back to see the hotel owner looking down at us from the building and I wondered whether earthquakes were commonplace in Bhutan. Slowly realization dawned from and I could hear loud Hindi music from the trade fair. We gingerly headed back up and the news started pouring in. Sikkim had been the epicenter of the earthquake and this pretty much had the potential of ruining the second half of the trip.

Mornings always put things in perspective and while we headed out to our next leg we pretty much had figured that it would be a while before news from Darjeeling would make any sense. We moved on to Punakha. Punakha was the summer capital of Bhutan for a while and even now hosts one of the most important fortresses (dzong) in Bhutan. Most towns in Bhutan are in valleys and connected by roads which cut across the hills. Punakha lay 72 kms east of Thimpu and again was reachable through an extremely scenic patch through a national forest. Tashi was our driver this time and he seemed to be a rather mischievous sort, screaming away at passerby's . We crossed the Dochu la pass which boasts of 108 chortens dedicated to the armed forces who lost their lives battling the ULFA. A heavy mist hung around the surrounding mountains as we descended towards Punakha. We were headed to Wangdi town where our resort was located. We checked in to the hotel which boasted of a remarkably well stocked bar (again with the coronation whisky taking pride of place). After a quick lunch we were off to the monastery. The monastery is spectacularly nestled between 2 rivers with a backdrop of mountains. The king was supposed to marry this fiancé here in a month and there were preparations afoot. Thankas abounded as did murals which conveyed tantric symbolism. A sense of calm and peace pervaded the area. It was nightfall by the time we reached our hotel. Tashi took us up to a village monastery the next day and we walked past a village which seemed poor , but the people looked rather cheerful. The monastery had a bunch of young students learning english and offered a remarkable view of the entire valley.  We then headed to the Wandi monastery which was in poor shape and was in a state of restoration our next stop was to be Paro.

Paro easily is one of the most important cities in Bhutan for two good reasons - it hosts the only international airport in Bhutan and it boasts of the Tigers nest monastery. We skirted Thimpu before getting on the road to Paro which we reached rather late in the evening. Confusion prevailed in the morning as we were left driverless and only some frantic calls brought our schedule back on track. We were to climb to the Tigers nest monastery and then head back to Phuentsholing. To the unfit and the unprepared (count me in both categories) the Taktsang or the Tigers nest monastery is nothing less than torture. The myth is that Guru Rimpoche flew here on the back of a tiger and the spot on which he meditated is marked by the monster. One look at the monastery  from a distance and you realize why he needed to fly. Nestled on a craggy looking outcrop off a sheer cliff the monastery was a pretty but daunting sight. 3 grueling hours later when we were level with the monastery , we were shocked to see stairs going down a good 300 metres before rising up again to the monastery. It was drizzling and we were soaked but more by sweat than by rain. Monks passed by us rather daintily and by the time we reached the taxi , the legs had lost sensation. Tashi was a in a foul mood as he had the onerous task of dropping us back to Phuentsholing and he drove like the devil. Landslides had ravaged the mountains, triggered by the earthquake and I was positively squirming with every twist and turn of the road. Thoughts like having no will or the lack of insurance coverage were put to rest only when we were safely offloaded in Phuentsholing where I duly hugged Tashi more out of relief than any goodwill. This was to be our last night in Bhutan 

Chapter 2 - Darjeeling et al 

 The trip from Phuenstsholing to Darjeeling is pretty much retracing the trip back to Siliguri before which we were handed over to the driver of the Darjeeling leg of the tour- Raju. Raju happened to be a budding bird-watcher and knew a bit of the flora and fauna around which made the 3 hour trip into Darjeeling from the coronation bridge a delight. What a contrast to Bhutan this was even though this had the same shroud of mist on the mountains. People abounded everywhere , the roads were extremely poor and we were lucky to get in to the hotel before nightfall. I had a signal for the first time on my phone and switched over to the weather app only to be dismayed by a prediction of rain and showers for the next few days. Nandu our guide stopped by to meet us and he appraised us of the trek that we were to undergo over the next few days- little did we know what was in store.
 Raju drove us up to the village of Dothere the next day and we hired a porter (shamelessly for me- the rest carried their own luggage) and Nandu, Sange (the porter) , us were trekking up the Singalila ridge. We had 4 days of trekking and our first day's target was the village of Thumling. Before we headed out we were fed with fried Momos and fortified with a drink of Chingping (herb whisky) and suddenly love was in the air (someone call me up, I can't write sentimental mush). Thumling took us 3 hours of walking through clouds and the visibility was extremely poor. The temperature dropped suddenly and we huddled around a fire swigging the local brew. After a decent dinner we headed off to sleep. 

The weather next morning was even worse, the visibility had dropped significantly and it was raining now, after a few hours walk we stopped for lunch at a village house. I managed to pretty much upset my stomach and the rest of the walk was tortuous to say the least. Kalpokhri was the destination and the reason it is so named is because of the pond in the village which is black.  Though our hostess had laid out the works (there was chhang served in a bamboo container with straws) the weather and the stomach pretty much had me way low.

 Day 3 it rained hard and by now I was well past any misery, I just plodded through enjoying myself. We were to reach Sandakphu, which was the highest point in West Bengal and the walk had some excruciating climbs and it was a totally drenched group which trundled up into Sandakphu. Sandakphu offered wide views of the entire himalayan range from the distant Everest to the rather overpowering presence of Kanchenjunga. It wasn't to be though. The clouds weren't yielding and the sun played hide and seek. But for one brief moment the clouds parted and the peaks of the mountains revealed themselves in a golden hue - that was by far the moment of the trip, suddenly there seemed a god above.

If I were to believe that was a sign of better weather the next day, it wasn't to be, it was pouring cats and dogs and we proceeded to Rimbik. We descended through slippery rivulets , bamboo forests , mountain shrubbery , you name it every bit of inclemency was thrown at us. 25 Kms of purring rain , a river in spate (Sirikhola) a few remnants of landslides and then it stopped as we touched Rimbik, and the weather cleared.  Someone seemed to be having a good laugh at our expense. It had been four days in and around Darjeeeling and we hadn't yet got to see the Kanchenjunga in all its glory.

Rimbik was a sleepy little town and with some beer to help we actually slept through it. Raju came by in the morning to take us back to Darjeeling, but not before we took a brief stop over at Dothere. The Chingping gushed in torrents into us and we were right royally drunk on the way back (more love and mush but what the hell). We deposited ourselves into a rather soft bed and another cloudy day came by.

We had chosen to sight-see around Darjeeling and a trip to the Japanese temple was followed by a wishful attempt to ride the toy train to Ghum station from Darjeeling (a princely distance of 5 kms). Someone mentioned that the waiting list on these trains was about 90 days and my hopes had sunk. But thanks to a rather benevolent railway official we were granted quota seats and we got an hours ride in a world heritage train (I could have as well walked all along the train). Raju took us to by a tea garden in the evening and plied us with more Chingping and Momos (I am hereby forsaking Momos) and this would have been the 6th day in succession that we had gone asleep stone drunk.

As a last Hurrah we had chosen to take a trip to Kalimpong which was about 70-80 kms from Darjeeling and. I hardly knew what was in store and Kalimpong didn't seem to offer much- a cactus collection which was remarkable, another monastery and an old orphans school (currently a rich mans school) and a viewpoint where we chose to grab a few bottles of beer again. I managed to get a few samples of chilies that were much hotter than the varieties on offer in Bangalore. A parting night of merry abandon was organized for in Raju and Nandu's honor and we proceeded into our last sleep in Darjeeling.

A sombre mood hung over the return trip to Bagdogara. We had survived an earthquake , walked through pouring rain in the Himalayas and somehow time had cruelly sealed all of them into a vault of memories. The moments had clearly passed while I took the car back from the airport home, but as I sit down to write this down, it all comes tumbling out, my tryst with the Himalayas is far from over- I had seen the Kanchenjunga after all.