India
Embracing the chaos on a drive in Sikkim
Hairpin turns and landslides, majestic mountains faded by smog.
Drivers constantly on their phones as they navigate bends and fallen rocks, oncoming trucks and stray dogs.
And people, so many people. Walking, cycling, standing on the edge of roads…
This is how I’m welcomed into India on this, my second visit to the captivating country.
Our driver is speeding around those hairpin turns and sharp bends. He’s overtaking trucks and cars and buses, somehow wedging our vehicle between the queues of traffic in our lane and the oncoming vehicles flying toward us. All trying to navigate the narrow roads cut precariously into the sides of steep slopes.
A sign on the left says ‘Watch for falling rocks’, while a sign to the right says ‘Caution Road gives way’ and my favourite ‘Watch for elephants’.
We don’t see any.
Elephants, that is.
We do see road edges that have crumbled under the pressure of too much traffic and rain, rocks that have fallen across the road and barren land on neighbouring mountains where landslides have created their own roads.
With each turn I’m thrown from side to side in the back of a car that has no seatbelt. A car that at home in Australia would be long forgotten in a pick-a-part dealership or long since abandoned at the rubbish tip. Yet here in Sikkim, in northern India, it’s our mode of transport. The vehicle has been selected by the taxi company that my husband Adrian and I have contracted to run a private tour for us for the next six days.
It’s a good deal, they book the accommodation and drive us from hotel to must-see tourist attraction and back again, between cities and towns. They’ve picked us up from the airport at Bagdogra and we’re on our way to Sikkim before finishing in Darjeeling.
But with each bend, each rock strewn across the road, I feel just a little more nervous about our destination and our mode of transport.
“Can we perhaps go a little slower?” I ask the driver.
“Can’t,” the driver shouts back over his shoulder as he navigates yet another bend. “Inner line permit.”
“We need to get to the state border by 8pm,” Adrian fills in the blanks. “We have to get the inner line permit there or we can’t stay anywhere – can’t even sleep overnight in a hotel.”
“Oh,” it’s all I can muster as we fly around yet another bend.
We reach the border and drive into a carpark.
It’s 7.54pm.
“In there,” our driver tells us with his limited English. “Up, up.”
We run across the road up the stairs and into an office.
It’s empty. I walk up the hallway and find a door, open it only to find someone in bed.
“Sorry,” I whisper, before running back downstairs.
“There’s no one there,” I say to the driver.
“Up, up,” he says again. “Up there.” He points.
So we run back inside as someone yells to us, “I’m here”. There is a man sitting at a desk. He writes our details in a thick A4 sized black book, hands us a form and sends us next door.
We run back down the stairs, still competing with the clock to have our permits completed and our details registered before 8pm.
We go to a window downstairs in a building that looks identical to the one we’ve just been in.
A man writes our details in an identical looking black book, stamps our passports and hands us a piece of paper. We need to keep the paper, he tells us, and hand it over whenever we’re asked for it.
This is Sikkim
A land of giant Buddhas and Shivas where Buddhism and Hinduism live side by side. And temples big and small fill roundabouts and dot streetscapes.
A land of roadworks and piles of rubble and cars and trucks, so many cars and trucks, edging their way along disappearing roads.
Of bright colours and small bamboo stalls decorated with bags of chips hanging like ribbons on display. Where landslides create massive clearings in the side of mountains and where drivers show incredible patience as they edge past fallen rocks and around narrow bends crowded with vehicles.
Of breathtaking views and heart-stopping drives along narrow roads that wrap around mountains so high they kiss the clouds.
It was hard for me to fall in love with Sikkim at first. I spent a good deal of my time in the back seat, hanging on to the ‘Jesus bar’ as we careened around corners, rising higher and higher.
I dreamed of straight roads; but knew that the bends and the fallen rock helped keep the speed of our drivers down.
Fortunately there was always tea, and not just any tea, milky chai.
Even when we were perched on the top of a mountain looking out over the third highest mountain in the world.
Even when we were frolicking in the snow because the road ahead, that was meant to take us to a lake, was closed due to ice and clouds.
There was chai.
The chai helped me stop and appreciate those amazing views and the beauty in the landscape all around me.
It gave me a reason to be still in a land that feels like it is constantly in a rush.
And those roads, I realised, were a metaphor for what was to come in India. A country that throws you into chaos and unpredictability, where you’ll be squeezing your eyes shut one minute for fear of toppling over the edge, and gazing with wonder the next, onto some of the most breathtaking scenery you’ll ever encounter.
Anything can and does happen in India and all you can do is lean into the chaos.
Fast Facts
We travelled to Sikkim in 2024
We travelled with Wizzride taxi association which organised a private tour in northern India for us.
We stayed in Sikkim for two nights.
Was it long enough: India is both incredibly frustrating and unbelievably enticing. Both at the same time. We could have stayed longer, but it was long enough to see the highlights.
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