Yuksam environs

The appeal of Sikkim initially struck me while somewhere in Nepal. With its slices of India, Nepal, the Himalaya, Hinduism and Buddhism, I could visualize a rewarding journey. Reaching the small town of Yuksam, which marks the end of the road in western Sikkim, consumed nearly five days of transit from Kathmandu. To continue further north from there, it’s on your own two feet.


Tara & Bhim
Surrounding Yuksam, walking trails connect several hillside villages. While hiking around one day, we noticed ‘Home Stay’ sketched on the side of a home. We were invited in for tea, and decided to return the next day to stay a few days with Tara and Bhim, who welcomed us as if we were their own. The small farm had several houses and a stand-alone kitchen, whose bamboo walls and roof contained a beautiful earthen kiln for cooking over an open fire. The kitchen was decidedly Tara’s place; anyone else in the kitchen was simply a guest, including her husband Bhim. The cow also belonged to Tara. Bhim worked for Tara.

Tara fed us like princes. Each meal was a labor of love, always vegetarian and straight from the farm: lentil curries with chard, spinach, potatoes, chilies and radish; cilantro egg omelettes; warm glasses of whole milk; a host of spices, few of which I could properly identify; bowls of honeycomb drenched in honey for dessert. Everything Tara served was harvested within an hour of preparation - as fresh as food gets.

The standard of living here would be considered low by Western standards, but it’s light years beyond what I observed in East Africa. Here, children wear new shoes and neatly pressed school uniforms, nearly every home has a corrugated iron roof, and consistent rainfall yields abundant produce. Hospitality is a central value and you won’t be asked for money in exchange for tea or a meal; rather, it would be up to you to offer something you deem appropriate.

The other day I was hiking towards Dubdi Gompa on an obscure trail that led directly through a family’s home. There was a buzz of activity, and four generations sat together in a circle chanting a Hindu prayer. They insisted I join them and served me milk tea and a heaping plate of squash curry and soup. I later learned they were in the midst of a funeral ceremony for their recently passed great grandfather. Back home, it’s difficult to imagine such an act of welcoming being extended to a complete stranger, as I was to them.