TRAVELOGUE: Strolling through the land of happiness


It was one of those moments every parent dreads. The children were sitting under the stars around a campfire with our guide after a long journey from Calcutta. In the cool mountain air we could hear hundreds of Buddhist prayer flags rippling on the hill above our house and the sound of laughter from somewhere across the valley. We had finally made it to the Himalayan kingdom of Sikkim, in north-east India, ready to begin five days of walking, staying overnight in village homestays.

“So,” said Sidarth, our guide. “What can anyone tell me about Buddhism?”

Silence. In England we had borrowed books from the library and talked at length about the Buddha, in an effort to prepare our children (Felix, 12, Maya, 10, and Jago, seven) for their holiday in Sikkim, where the majority religion is Buddhism. All, it seemed, had been in vain.

“OK, let’s start with the wheel of life,” Sidarth said, unfazed by our children’s shameful ignorance.

We shouldn’t have worried. Our holiday would soon be providing a better insight into Buddhism than any book. Twelve hours later we were in Rinchenpong Gompa, a 230-year-old monastery, listening to monks as young as six recite morning prayers.

The idea behind our “village walks” holiday was to give visitors a snapshot of rural life in Sikkim. It was run by Shakti Himalaya, which offers similar trips in Kumaon and Ladakh. We had told our friends that we would be trekking in the Himalayas. In truth, we were strolling in the foothills of South Sikkim, but the scenery was no less impressive.

Bordered by Nepal to the west, Bhutan to the east and Tibet to the north, Sikkim is one of India’s most beautiful states, heavy rains leaving it lush and fertile. But it is the looming presence of Kanchenjunga, the world’s third-highest mountain (28,208ft), that lends the region its defining magic.

As a family in Britain, we often struggle to get everyone out of the house for a good walk. There were no such problems in Sikkim. When we woke on our first morning and saw the snow-capped Himalayas floating high in the sky, it put a certain spring in everyone’s step. And the walking itself, about eight miles a day traversing terraced hillsides through farmsteads, villages and temples, was full of gentle adventure.

It was the homestays that lifted the holiday above the normal trekking experience. The children remember our first house, Sandyang Lee, the most fondly, citing Sidarth’s fireside Buddhist lesson, the discovery of hot-water bottles in our beds and the pots of Marmite and Nutella that graced our outdoor breakfast table.

“Our houses in Sikkim should be seen as nothing more than a local and authentic alternative to camping,” says Jamshyd Sethna, who set up Shakti Himalaya. “We have helped to renovate them to make them cosy, clean and comfortable yet keep their simple charm and maintain the experience of living in a Himalayan village house.”

My own favourite was Radhu Kandu, our second stop. It was a traditional wooden Sikkimese family home perched on a terraced hillside and only reachable on foot. The nearest road was almost a mile away and we had walked a further five hours from Sandyang Lee to get there.

The father of the house taught at the local school. His daughter, Durga, befriended Maya on our first night at Radhu Kandu, where we watched a performance of Nepali dancers and a local man who could play the flute through one nostril.

Early the next morning, Durga took Maya to milk the family cow. Later, we joined them on a walk down to a hillside smallholding, where the children held baby goats, cradled chicks and watched water buffalo being fed.

As we sat looking down on the blue-misted valley, an eagle soaring high above, it was easy to understand why Sikkim in Tibetan means “land of happiness”. Everyone seemed content with their lot. Even the smallest dwellings were immaculately kept, with rows of potted flowers lined up outside.

I’ve no doubt Buddhism has a lot to do with it, but Sikkim is also the beneficiary of big government grants. The state, which only joined the Indian Union in 1975, is a sensitive military area (foreigners need permits, a free formality) and Delhi is keen to maintain its loyalty to India rather than nearby China.

There is no income tax or tax on alcohol. The roads are smooth, there is a ban on plastic bags, the minimum wage is high and organic farming is the norm. No wonder Sikkim is the envy of India. (It has a drink problem, but that’s another story.)

It’s fair to say that we were pretty happy with our lot, too. At Shakti’s suggestion, we had begun our holiday with a stay at the eccentric Tollygunge Club in Calcutta and ended it with a couple of nights of luxury at the Glenburn Tea Estate in nearby Darjeeling.

In Sikkim, we were thoroughly spoilt by our team of seven travelling staff. All of the village houses we stayed at served Indian food cooked by our own Shakti chef. And each afternoon, we crested a hill after a long climb to find tea being served in china cups.

But it was Sidarth who made the holiday. Not only did he teach the children to shout “Kiki Soso! Lyargyalo!” (“May good energy prevail over evil energy”) whenever we reached a summit, and how to suck water from the roots of ferns, but they now have something to say when someone asks them about Buddhism. As Felix said, we’ll go back to Sikkim, in this life or the next.

SOURCE; BARUN ROY
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