West Sikkim

I started in Pelling, a town full of hotels. I forget the exact statistics: 200 residents, 500 hotels or somethings. It's not a bad place, at least when the hotels are empty. There were a smattering of Bengali tourists escaping the heat of the Plains when I was there, and a handful of westerners. The food and lodging is cheap.

The sights are Sanga Choeling Monastery, Pemyangtse Monastery, and Rabdentse Ruins.

Trekking up to Sanga Choeling, me and my friend Esben were caught in the rain. We took refuge under an overhang with a road crew and chatted with them. Esben, who has spent a year in Mumbai, did most of the talking with his conversational knowledge of Hindi.



I stayed a couple nights at Sanga Choeling Monastery where there is a guesthouse run by the monks. Very peaceful. Very sweet. It sits upon a steep hilltop like a fortress above the town. The clouds flow through the chortens. The Gompa has some tantric paintings on the walls and an older monk does a nice daily puja. A couple adult monks, and the rest are little children who have classes daily.

One day a little monk sat by me cleaning his nails with an old razor blade; his hands were pretty filthy. He was maybe 8 or 10 yo. A couple nights later I was by the kitchen hearth watching the little monks boil potatoes in a steam cooker. They weren't done the first time, so they repacked them and put them on the hearth again. Then the older monk told them to mash the potatoes. They peeled them hot with their tough little hands and mashed them between their fingers. Amazing how much responsibility they give the little tykes here, I thought. I prayed he had washed his hands! It was all reheated anyways, and tasted good... a potato dahl curry. And it sat well in my stomach.

There is much more trust here. Usually, I find little kids just want to do what adults do, but we in the West tend to put them off, not taking the time to teach them, to let them do what they are able to do... telling them they are not old enough. Then we kick them out at 18 yo and expect them to know how to do all the things we didn't teach them. But here children are given what they can handle. Little kids have little baskets to carry things in.

One day, I went with the monk on the hour long walk to Pemyangtse Monastery where a Rinpoche was giving a special blessing. I was amazed at how the little kids walked without complaint or grimace. I sat for a couple hours on the floor enjoying the good energy I felt from the Rinpoche ... then my knees and legs began to cramp so I went outside. I chatted with a couple of monks outside and learned that they and the locals do not commonly feel energy. I was surprised because I figured they could. I learned that because of my Reiki experience and energy awareness, I was special even here. I had wondered why I hadn't found some of the mystical experiences I expected here in India.

Afterwards, the monks from Sanga Choeling and I sauntered home to Sanga Choeling, a group of playful boys wandering the road. It was fun.

The next day I started my trek to Ketchopari Lake. It took 6 hours. It was grueling as I took the shortcuts across the switchback road. The short cut was paved with cement for quite aways. This is not a good thing in a humid country on a steep slope. Moss covered cement is slippery! and so I had to go slowly. Then, like many paths here, the cement ended and the trail turned to rock or dirt and grew smaller until it was a mere footpath. Then it came to houses and cornfields and split. So I had to stop and guess which way to take several times. Often someone would be nearby that I could ask "River?".... and they would point.

I saw some lumbermen in the woods. Two men using a pitsaw... a large crosscut ripsaw ... to make boards out of a log. One on a platform, the other underneath, on either end of the saw. It was impressive. They didn't even rest between boards. I passed another similar operation a bit later. Funny, at Sanga Choeling, I had inspected some boards being used to build a shop there, and thought the saw marks were those of a pitsaw.

I was weary by the time I got to Ketchapari Lake. I met a fellow who said he was staying at the monastery and he guided me there. I discovered that he was running a guesthouse by the monastery. I had the impression that I could stay at the monastery and became mistrustful of the gentlemen. I eventually learned that he was correct and there was no lodging at the monastery. I enjoyed a night up on this hilltop "village"... a monastery, a smattering of houses among cornfields and pasture.

The next morning I checked out the Holy Lake of K., and a monk guided me around. Allegedly because of its spiritual significance, a leaf never settles on the water even though it is surrounded by trees. There were quite a few Bengali tourists. I found it amusing that the Hindus did not know to spin the Buddhist prayer wheels in a clockwise direction! They obviously hadn't read a Lonely Planet Guidebook!

I trekked to Yuksom. The path was better marked and more level than the day before. Yuksom proved a nice village with Dzo (Yak / cow crosses) teams wandering through. Yuksom is a gateway to the mountains. I spent a couple nights here in the pleasant village. Some day hikes to the Coronation Throne and Dubdhi Monastery. My knees were sore, so I rested them a bit. Food and lodging were cheap and good here. Some other tourists to socialize with.

Then I jeeped to Tashiding. Tried to trek to some hot springs with Leon, and Israeli guy. It started raining and we couldn't find the way. A local family invited us in for tea and encouraged us to stay the night, saying the hot springs were flooded. Leon went on. I turned back at the next steep part... wanting to save my knees. I stayed with the family. It was strange. They had invited us before when we stopped for tea. Now when I returned, it was not offered. A neighbor boy spoke a little English, and eventually it was ok for me to stay. They put me in a room It was like 3 or 4 pm. No tour. Grandpa had invited me. He was dour faced. His wife or daughter was quite grimfaced and expressionless. She occassionally looked in on me. The neighbor boy hung out for a while. And some small kids. Occassionally, grandma would look in with her cataracted eyes, but not say anything. Tea was brought in. Grandpa came in and motioned "food". seeming to ask if I had food. So I pulled out my biscuits and offered them to him. He refused and indicated I should eat them. So I did. Thinking this was my dinner. I shared them with the little boys. Grandpa had indicated I shouldn't give them much. I couldn't resist giving them more. After a while, Grandpa signed me and I realized he was asking if I eat meat... he indicated goat or cow with horns, then chopping. I made the mistake of saying yes. Eventually rice came in on a plate. Then dahl.... but when I poured the dahl on the rice, it turned out to be a meat stew. Mutton, I think. Rank tasting. I didn't want to be impolite so I forced it down, only to be given a second bowl. I prayed it would settle ok. Soon it was dark and I walked outside, virtually forcing my way out... until they understood I wanted to relieve myself and a boy pointed to the burlap sack sided outhouse. Then I went in and grandpa and uncle were making my bed. It was a long night until morning when I heard Grandpa yelling at family members. It didn't seem like a happy house. They brought me tea in my room. I didn't wait for breakfast. I packed and left. I debated whether to give them money, but didn't want to insult them. I gave them my remaining biscuits, which Grandpa took readily.

It was a long hike back down to the river gorge and up the steep hillside to Tashiding. But I got to the guesthouse by 9 am and enjoyed a proper breakfast. Leon showed up hours later. He never found the hot springs, but enjoyed a much nicer homestay.

Tashiding had a beautiful monastery with a "resident" stone mason who carves om mani padme om into stones continually. Beautiful work. A peaceful devoted man. The monastery was having a ceremony and I sat with the monks a while enjoying the chanting.

I ended up getting approached for Reiki by a man with marital problems which were interesting to hear about and harder to discuss across cultural and lingual boundaries. Then several of his friends came in for sessions. I found it felt awkward because I am used to being able to communicate complicated concepts with my clients regarding intentions and the modality.

After Tashiding, I jeeped to Ravangla where I found a town into drinking with alcohol sold in every other shop. I was told a guide was required for Maenam Hill... the trek I wanted to do. And it rained heavily. I went to a Bon Monastery where I ended up spending the night. I enjoyed it alot.

Then I escaped to Gangtok, where I thought I might find a gay scene in a city of 250,000. Not!