SIKKIM Girl Guides & Boy Scouts

After Darjeeling, Sikkim was better. Much, much better.

Brighter, milder, calmer, flatter, fitter, happier. The Sikkim capital of Gangtok is a pretty enough town with its MG Mahatma Ghandi high street and bustling market.

Mostly used as a jumping off point for Sikkims East, West and North, we had a bit of gathering to do there, planning- and money-wise, after the exertions of Darjeeling and booked a couple of trips through the unlikely-named Batman tour agency.

Diwali was approaching, and Sunday best and fireworks were in the air. We did our best not to interfere or look too scruffy.

Off to Tsomgo Lake with top guide Tshering and cheerful driver Sonam. A fabulous day out in the jeep, up to higher land, past army bases (to counter the pesky Chinese menace), waterfalls and sheer drops on roads like spaghetti.

The lake was beautiful and heart-shaped, as we saw when we took the ropeway cablecar up to 12,400 feet and did a little light trekking around the rocks above. That might have been China in the distance, it may just have been lack of oxygen and wishful thinking.

Tshering skipped about like a little bunny in jeans and trainers, we puffed along behind, but it was very enervating, great weather, clear skies and damned good exercise.

There were also lots of yaks.

Lakeside

Our next trip, an overnighter, took us North, up and over some very rugged terrain. There was a lot of driving - over ten hours in two days - and our guide was crap. A daft young lad with precious little English, he had pressganged his older brother into coming along to back him up.

The brother was canny, had better English, but they giggled in a huddle in the front most of the way, their main crime being to play a selection of the sh*ttest new pop music available - Sheeran, Bieber, that sort of garbage. I would happily have steered the car over the nearest clliff, but for the earplugs I gratefully dug out of my rucksack.

After checking into our basic hotel in Lachung (chilly, and the bog wasn't hooked up to the cistern = wet floor. Good job it was that pipe and not the other), we headed to the Commander's place for dinner.

The only game in town, this mildly eccentric ex-military man did a ruthless job of ordering his staff around, getting us fed, then shuttling in the next sitting, all the while being a very entertaining host.

His was actually a sad story. His wife had died giving birth to their daughter, so he had sent his kids away to school for their betterment. He had come to terms with life, the walls of his establishment, heavily-bedecked with religious mottos, newspaper clippings and movie paraphernalia, were a labour of love and this was clearly his pride and joy.

We met some lovely Indian lasses and a bunch of excited Bangladeshi lads. As usual, selfies were taken before, during and after the curry.

Anyway, next morning off we headed up the rocky road to the Yumthang Valley, where a river ran through a grand, broad landscape with snowy peaks above and around us.

We decided not to pay the extra 25 quid to go up to Zero Point (bloody chancers - we'd already paid for this), as we'd experienced snow and icy bodies of water before (eg Whitley Bay quarry), unlike the rest of the groups there who were a little more enthusiastic at the prospect.

Then it was 6, 7, 8 long rocking, rolling hours back to Gangtok, jettisoning the "guide" en route, ready for the next stage.