Mesmerised by the Himalayan mountains
From a truly divine sunrise to chanting monks and blaring horns, Wendy Driver is mesmerised by her mountain adventure
It is 5.30 in the morning and still dark as I join a huge crowd of Indian tourists at a viewpoint on Tiger Hill. Rudi, my guide, inches his way through the throngs standing 20 deep on the terrace until we reach a grassy slope at the very front. We have come to see the dawn rise over the Himalayas. ‘After the Taj Mahal this is the next “must-see” in India,’ he tells me.
There is a party atmosphere with families taking selfies on their phones and iPads. Many have camped out since 2am to watch the spectacle. A roar erupts from the spectators as a great red orb creeps above the horizon illuminating an endless panorama of mountains stretching for hundreds of kilometres.
Directly ahead of me loom the towering peaks of Kanchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world. Within the space of a few minutes its icy crags are transformed from murky grey to pearly pink before turning a brilliant white. It is breathtaking.
The busy bustling town of Darjeeling is just nearby, its buildings sprawling down the hillside among the tea plantations.
For a real sense of history stay at the iconic Windamere Hotel which was once a boarding-house for tea planters. It retains many of its original features with open fires in the bedrooms and claw-foot baths. Faded sepia photos adorn the wood-panelled rooms and a red pillar box stands in the sunny gardens.
Darjeeling is the first stop on my journey to the neighbouring state of Sikkim, a former kingdom wedged between Bhutan and Nepal. It turns out to be a long drive through jungle-clad hills where monkeys sit staring at us from the top of telegraph poles.
The bone-crunching ride takes us along dirt tracks with sheer drop-offs just inches away. It’s a relief to arrive at our destination, a remote corner of West Sikkim where we plan to do some gentle walks through the Himalayan foothills. We are staying in three traditional village homes, all tastefully converted into luxury accommodation by an Indian company, Shakti. Each property has just two or three beautifully appointed bedrooms with modern slate-tiled bathrooms.
We even have our own chef, Tika, who travels with us from one house to the next, producing delicious, Indian meals. At our first house in Rinchenpong we climb the steps to a grassy meadow for breakfast, tucking into fresh fruit, yogurt and spicy omelettes while gazing at snow-crusted peaks.
The houses are situated in villages just a day’s walk apart. We hike past crumbling Buddhist monasteries, their prayer-wheels rusty with age, and circumambulate walls of mani stones with sacred engravings.
Tramping through dense chestnut forests, Rudi points out flowers and plants with healing properties.
Shakti certainly knows how to look after its guests. I am not superfit and after plodding up a steep hill in the heat of the day I am delighted to find Sonam, our waiter, with a tray of cold towels and fresh rhododendrum juice. At lunchtime Rudi finds idyllic picnic spots with jaw-dropping views where tables are laid out for us with pizzas, pasties and salads.
Ambling through the villages we stop to chat with locals in their brightly painted wood and plaster houses. We are even invited into their mud-floored kitchens for tea. They are immaculately clean.
Children in smart uniforms sometimes accompany us on their way to school. They are often taught outdoors as the bare concrete classrooms are too small to accommodate them all.
In the evenings when the temperature plummets we wrap ourselves in hand-woven blankets and huddle round a firepit under the stars for an aperitif. Rudi persuades me to try tongba, fermented millet beer. It burns my throat like firewater but instantly warms me up.
At our village house in Hee an engagement ceremony is taking place. The owner’s sister is to be married and the family insist on us joining in the celebrations.
Buddhist monks have been chanting for three days in the shrine room right next to my bedroom and I am woken by horns, cymbals and bells. The brideto-be, dressed in gorgeous red and gold brocade, sits nervously beside the groom.
The last property at Radu Khandu is the remotest, hidden away in the woods and a good halfhour walk to the nearest road.
Ballou, the pet mountain dog, joins us for a long hike to the small town of Dentam. By the time we get there it is almost dark so Rudi whisks us back by car while Ballou is left to find his own way home.
He is still missing when we go to bed but I find him asleep on my doorstep in the early hours. Maybe he sensed we had a 4am start for our homeward journey.
He certainly wasn’t going to miss the chance of a scamper down the mountain.