Even as he negotiates a sharp bend ahead, Passang Lepcha makes little secret of his happiness. For one, he is in a chatty mood, with his exuberance leading him to the point of offering me tea when we stopped for refreshments. Passang’s gaiety finds easy explanation in the fact that after a brief hiatus enforced by onset of winter, tourist season in Sikkim is on the roll again. This also explains why on a beautiful March morning in Gangtok, huddled up in Passang’s cab, I’m journeying eagerly to Lachen.
Any trip to North Sikkim is always a special one; wrapped as it is into layers and layers of exquisite beauty, each journey involves peeling of one layer after another to savour the beauty of the kernel.
Located on the northern fringes of this tiny Himalayan state, about eight-six kilometres away from the capital town and at an altitude of 2750 meters above sea level, Lachen markedly manifests what booming tourism can do to a tiny and remote village comprised by no more than hundred odd families. Tourism though, is only a recent phenomenon; industrious as they are known to be, the Lachenpas, before the advent of tourism, were waging a remarkable battle against weather conditions ordinarily regarded as rather harsh for vegetation. The potatoes and cabbages grown in the high terrains of Lachen are famous all over the state: apples grown in Lachen valley were once considered good enough to be exported all over the world, although in recent years the production has dwindled acutely. A perfect counterpoint to the perennial cold of the valleys is provided by the warm and hospitable nature of the people of Lachen.
While it primarily serves as a stopover for tourists venturing further north towards the famed Guru Dongmar Lake, Lachen, in itself, has all the enchantments that should ideally constitute a good tourist destination. Guru Dongmar Lake, a high altitude desert is situated little over sixty kilometres from Lachen. The lake is famous for its clear beautiful lakes and is also regarded as a place of pilgrimage by the Sikhs.
Lachen’s popularity as a tourist hotspot is indisputable, and the measure of it is amply provided by the fact that almost every house placed along the main road has now been morphed into a comfortable retreat for the travellers. All meals are taken care of by the lodges, which is a big deal considering there are hardly any proper restaurants in the area. Notwithstanding the impressive number of lodges in Lachen, during the peak season- which is between March-April and October-November- nothing meets the demand posed by a steep rise in tourist footfall.
After over five hours of continuous ride, Passang brings his vehicle to a halt in front of what reads as a lodge. “Sir, your hotel awaits you”, he affirms with a ready flourish. Few minutes later, I find the ‘flourish’ replicated in its entirety, when Dakpo Lachenpa, the proprietor of the lodge, presents to me my room for the night- a commodious room with a large window overlooking the snow covered valleys. Dakpo and his enterprising wife, as I’m made to understand later, have been running this two-storey lodge for over five years now, and it takes but few glances in the direction of the newly polished wooden floors and recently acquired high end furniture set, to infer that the business is in sound health.
Barely few minutes after I have ensconced myself in my room, I witness my first snowfall. Falling dreamily and, yet, not without an odd-sense of purpose, each flake of snow seems to lay an end to its earthward descent not before putting a little show of reluctance. Soon they are everywhere. Even as the chill escalates sharply, the sight of the valleys, the trees and the slanting corrugated tin-roofs covered in pristine, white furry blanket of snow, is strangely comforting. Enticed by such a comely sight, I feel inclined to take a walk around. As I step outside to indulge the whim, my eager host suggests why not I visit the village monastery. An enquiry in regard to the directions to the monastery produces a response in the form of a squat forefinger pointing in the up-hill direction. The directed route shapes into newly constructed village foot path, which, meandering aimlessly through the many houses and their mandatory courtyards, finally veers, with certain newfound intentness, into the direction of the monastery. As is true of almost all the monasteries in these parts, Lachen Monastery too forms an integral part of the village social life, not only facilitating social cohesion but also providing a physical space for village meetings, ceremonies and gatherings. I find the monastery wearing a deserted look, the Kue-gne or the priest having retired for the day. Sharing an identical regal air, the monastery bears an uncanny resemblance to the Tshug-lakhang in Gangtok; exuding the same pervasive air of aloofness underlined by the loftiness of its location. The overlooking hills- both cold and secular- vying against the monastery for the sky, seem hardly game for companionship. The view of the village from the monastery is, to say the least, panoramic; there being not a single roof hidden from its hallowed glare. If Gods resides in Lachen Monastery then, (omnipresent, as they may be) with the entire village laid out before them like a well-spread mat, they will have no problems dispensing what they may construe as ‘justice’ to the individuals below.Dinner is announced not long after I have returned to the lodge. The meal is simple and homely; showcasing not even a hint of adventurous gastronomic streak in its maker. Next morning, soon after breakfast, the ever punctual Passang honks in front of the lodge. Greeting with a warm smile is all he does before he restarts the engine; no word about how the stay was. Perhaps, he knows too well that some things in life are all so apparent that any interrogations in the regard are superfluous.
Any trip to North Sikkim is always a special one; wrapped as it is into layers and layers of exquisite beauty, each journey involves peeling of one layer after another to savour the beauty of the kernel.
Located on the northern fringes of this tiny Himalayan state, about eight-six kilometres away from the capital town and at an altitude of 2750 meters above sea level, Lachen markedly manifests what booming tourism can do to a tiny and remote village comprised by no more than hundred odd families. Tourism though, is only a recent phenomenon; industrious as they are known to be, the Lachenpas, before the advent of tourism, were waging a remarkable battle against weather conditions ordinarily regarded as rather harsh for vegetation. The potatoes and cabbages grown in the high terrains of Lachen are famous all over the state: apples grown in Lachen valley were once considered good enough to be exported all over the world, although in recent years the production has dwindled acutely. A perfect counterpoint to the perennial cold of the valleys is provided by the warm and hospitable nature of the people of Lachen.
While it primarily serves as a stopover for tourists venturing further north towards the famed Guru Dongmar Lake, Lachen, in itself, has all the enchantments that should ideally constitute a good tourist destination. Guru Dongmar Lake, a high altitude desert is situated little over sixty kilometres from Lachen. The lake is famous for its clear beautiful lakes and is also regarded as a place of pilgrimage by the Sikhs.
Lachen’s popularity as a tourist hotspot is indisputable, and the measure of it is amply provided by the fact that almost every house placed along the main road has now been morphed into a comfortable retreat for the travellers. All meals are taken care of by the lodges, which is a big deal considering there are hardly any proper restaurants in the area. Notwithstanding the impressive number of lodges in Lachen, during the peak season- which is between March-April and October-November- nothing meets the demand posed by a steep rise in tourist footfall.
After over five hours of continuous ride, Passang brings his vehicle to a halt in front of what reads as a lodge. “Sir, your hotel awaits you”, he affirms with a ready flourish. Few minutes later, I find the ‘flourish’ replicated in its entirety, when Dakpo Lachenpa, the proprietor of the lodge, presents to me my room for the night- a commodious room with a large window overlooking the snow covered valleys. Dakpo and his enterprising wife, as I’m made to understand later, have been running this two-storey lodge for over five years now, and it takes but few glances in the direction of the newly polished wooden floors and recently acquired high end furniture set, to infer that the business is in sound health.
Barely few minutes after I have ensconced myself in my room, I witness my first snowfall. Falling dreamily and, yet, not without an odd-sense of purpose, each flake of snow seems to lay an end to its earthward descent not before putting a little show of reluctance. Soon they are everywhere. Even as the chill escalates sharply, the sight of the valleys, the trees and the slanting corrugated tin-roofs covered in pristine, white furry blanket of snow, is strangely comforting. Enticed by such a comely sight, I feel inclined to take a walk around. As I step outside to indulge the whim, my eager host suggests why not I visit the village monastery. An enquiry in regard to the directions to the monastery produces a response in the form of a squat forefinger pointing in the up-hill direction. The directed route shapes into newly constructed village foot path, which, meandering aimlessly through the many houses and their mandatory courtyards, finally veers, with certain newfound intentness, into the direction of the monastery. As is true of almost all the monasteries in these parts, Lachen Monastery too forms an integral part of the village social life, not only facilitating social cohesion but also providing a physical space for village meetings, ceremonies and gatherings. I find the monastery wearing a deserted look, the Kue-gne or the priest having retired for the day. Sharing an identical regal air, the monastery bears an uncanny resemblance to the Tshug-lakhang in Gangtok; exuding the same pervasive air of aloofness underlined by the loftiness of its location. The overlooking hills- both cold and secular- vying against the monastery for the sky, seem hardly game for companionship. The view of the village from the monastery is, to say the least, panoramic; there being not a single roof hidden from its hallowed glare. If Gods resides in Lachen Monastery then, (omnipresent, as they may be) with the entire village laid out before them like a well-spread mat, they will have no problems dispensing what they may construe as ‘justice’ to the individuals below.Dinner is announced not long after I have returned to the lodge. The meal is simple and homely; showcasing not even a hint of adventurous gastronomic streak in its maker. Next morning, soon after breakfast, the ever punctual Passang honks in front of the lodge. Greeting with a warm smile is all he does before he restarts the engine; no word about how the stay was. Perhaps, he knows too well that some things in life are all so apparent that any interrogations in the regard are superfluous.
