Where the Prayer Flags Fly

If there is one way to experience West Sikkim deeply, it is not through hotels and hurried sightseeing, but through its home stays, kitchens, family conversations, village walks, monastery bells, mountain weather and long, winding roads. Our family of four—Murali, Myself, and our two boys, Tejas (19) and Rohan (15)—set out for West Sikkim in May for a vacation break. What we found was much more than a holiday. It was an immersion into a living cultural landscape: warm hosts, Nyingma Buddhist traditions, stories of kings and monasteries, sacred lakes, fiery food, hand-printed prayer flags, and the ever-changing moods of the Kanchenjunga range.

This is our travelogue, written with affection for family and friends, and with gratitude to the wonderful hosts who made us feel less like guests and more like extended family.

Day 1: Bagdogra to Sindrong — our first glimpse of Kanchenjunga

Our journey began early on 10th May with an Akasa Air flight from Bengaluru to Bagdogra at 5:30 am. We landed around 8 am. Tejas arrived later at about 10:20 am from Hyderabad on Indigo, and once the family was reunited, the holiday truly began.

At the airport we fortified ourselves with steamed veg momos and, in one of those oddly memorable travel details, bought coffee chewable candies from Davidoff. From Bagdogra we started towards Pelling in West Sikkim in a Toyota Innova with our driver, Prabeer.

Somewhere along the way, as is often the case with mountain travel, the rhythm of the plains gave way to the rhythm of the hills. We stopped at Highway Hotel for eggs, noodles, and momos before continuing upward into Sikkim. As the road climbed, so did our excitement.

And then came one of the great moments of the trip: our first sweeping sight of the Kanchenjunga range.

Kanchenjunga—whose name is often translated as The Five Treasures of Snow—is the third highest mountain in the world and the highest in India. Seen from certain angles, the massif resembles a reclining figure and is often called the Sleeping Buddha. The range is not a single mountain alone, but part of a broader massif of many peaks, making the skyline feel grand, layered and almost mythic.

We reached Sindrong village and our home stay, Ma-Khim, by around 6 pm. It was immediately charming: a lovely duplex home, a sweet little garden, and flowers everywhere—geraniums, orchids, succulents, roses and hydrangeas. The place felt cared for in that unmistakable way that only real homes do.

A large Sikkimese family lived here. The father had been a teacher before turning to politics; the mother was a retired Sikkimese language teacher. When we arrived, she was making wicks for butter lamps to be lit at the local monastery—our first reminder that faith here is part of daily life, not something separate from it. They had two sons and two daughters living in and around the village, one as far away as Gangtok.

The family belongs to the Nyingma school, the oldest of the four major schools of Tibetan Buddhism. The others are Gelug, Sakya, and Kagyu. Their eldest daughter, Kunzang, a political science teacher in a nearby school, welcomed us with such warmth that we felt instantly at ease.

The lounge where she received us had an open-plan kitchen, wood-panelled walls, and the quiet dignity of a home that has seen generations gather in it. Prayer flags and sacred cloth banners hung around the room. We learned about Lungta—rectangular cloth prayer flags printed through woodblocks—and the mantra Om Mani Padme Hum, associated with Avalokiteshvara or Chenrezig, the Bodhisattva of Compassion.

Outside we noticed tall vertical prayer flags fastened to poles planted into the earth. These, we were told, are called Darchok. Some are white, some yellow, and others are in the five sacred colours. The colours represent the five elements: blue for space/sky, white for air, red for fire, green for water, and yellow for earth. The white flags, especially, can be erected in memory of the departed; we were told that around 45 days after a person dies, as many as 108 such flags may be raised so that prayers may help the spirit move onward.

At the entrance to the house were prayer wheels. These khor lo are meant to be turned clockwise, and we were told that each spin is considered spiritually equivalent to many recitations of the mantra contained within. The spirituality of the place was not formal or performative; it lived in objects, gestures and habits.

Our rooms were just what one wants in the hills: wooden panelling, clean bathrooms, comfortable beds, and an uncluttered warmth. We were also introduced to the house’s smaller residents—a three-month-old puppy named Thor, and a couple of affectionate cats.

Dinner that night was simple, fresh and delicious: rice, dal, curry, a spicy dalle chilli chutney, and fresh creamy curd. Dalle chillies, we learned, are serious business in the hills—small, round, fruity and ferocious. We later heard numbers like 1 to 3.5 lakh on the Scoville scale being casually quoted, and after tasting them, we believed it.

We retired by 9:30 pm, already feeling that this was exactly the kind of holiday we had hoped for.

Day 2: A village walk, Tara Devi and the pace of mountain life

I woke at 5 am hoping to watch the sunrise over eastern India. We caught a glimpse of dawn, though the nearby Narsing peak, visible from our room, did not quite catch the golden light as I had imagined. No matter. The mountains teach patience. I went back to bed and slept until 9.

Narsing Peak from the room

Breakfast was chapati, aloo sabji and fruit, after which we set out on a relaxed village walk: the monastery, the government school, the football ground, and even the cowshed. In the hills, nothing feels far apart from anything else—faith, education, play, farming, animals, family life. Everything belongs to the same landscape.

Sindrong Village Monastery

Government primary school amongst the Cardamom farm

Wild orchids in trees

A working kitchen in the Village home

One of the most fascinating places we visited that day was the Tara Devi sacred rock shrine, a short hike from Sindrong. The story around it is best understood as sacred local belief rather than scientific claim. We were told that this is no ordinary stone, but a heavenly fragment—sometimes spoken of as part of an asteroid or celestial body. Tiny crater-like depressions on it are locally said to correspond to the lakes of Sikkim, making the stone feel like a spiritual map of the land. Whether understood literally or devotionally, the belief reflects something deeply Sikkimese: the sense that mountains, rocks, caves and lakes are alive with sacred presence.

This way of seeing the landscape stayed with us throughout the trip. In Sikkim, the sacred does not sit apart from nature; it appears through it.

Later in the day, the boys enjoyed the newly opened swimming pool in the village, snacked on momos and fries, and we returned home for dinner and another quiet night in the hills.

Day 3: Ropeway through clouds, monasteries, birds and block-printed blessings

The next morning dawned cloudy and mist-filled. The mountains outside our room had vanished behind fog; only the sun, pushing through layers of white, suggested they were still there. Breakfast was aloo parathas with thick homemade dahi from the local cow’s milk. The dairy throughout our stay was exceptional—rich, clean, deeply satisfying. We watched the lady of the house churning butter with a rod, a method different from the rotating churners we were used to.

Then came an unexpectedly delightful little adventure: plucking passion fruit. Using a long bamboo stick with a slit at the end, we hooked the stalks from a creeper that had fully wrapped itself around an old juniper tree. Opening those thick peels and slurping the tart-sweet pulp inside was a simple but memorable pleasure.

We then headed towards Pelling, specifically the Sangha Choeling side, and took the ropeway. The cable cars travel some 400 metres across a valley, and the experience was magical. At times we seemed to float through clouds, seeing almost nothing except the ghostly approach of another car passing close by. There was a real feeling of suspension between earth and sky.

At the other end we made our way to the towering Chenrezig or Avalokiteshvara statue, around 42 metres high, with the skywalk beside it. Looking down from that height while walking on the skywalk was exhilarating. Around us were mountain views, tall junipers and birds—we thought we spotted a verident flycatcher and a red finch among others.

Climbing the steps beside the prayer wheels towards the statue, we entered a monastery that was serene beyond words. Inside was the thousand-eyed, thousand-armed Avalokiteshvara, embodying compassion that sees and reaches everywhere. The walls were deep red with gold detailing; butter lamps flickered; seven bowls of water sat as offerings. The atmosphere was so calm that I sat and meditated for ten minutes without effort. Sometimes place itself helps prayer.

Back in Pelling we visited Pemyangtse Monastery, one of the most important monasteries in Sikkim and associated with the Nyingma order. Built originally for the ta-tshang or “pure monks,” it has a commanding spiritual and historical presence. The main image is Padmasambhava, or Guru Rinpoche, the great Buddhist master credited with bringing tantric Buddhism to the Himalayas. We also learned about his eight manifestations, expressing wisdom, power, compassion and the protection of dharma. The highlight for me was a many-tiered intricately carved wooden structure depicting hell in the lower steps and ascending states before liberation. It had been carved single-handedly by one sculptor and was astonishing in detail and colour.There was something particularly special in hearing Tenzing (Our guide and the youngest brother of the family hosting us) speak about his grandfather, who had served as the head monk there for about twenty years. In Sikkim, history is rarely abstract; it is always held by someone’s family memory.

By 2:30 pm hunger had caught up with us, and we drove to Yangthang Farms, a privately owned property with a bird park, orchidarium, restaurant and museum. The bird park delighted the boys with black swans, emus, geese, mallard ducks, mandarin ducks and many varieties of pheasants. The orchidarium was a bit disappointing because the orchids had recently been cut, but the museum made up for it. It was wonderfully curated with old momo steamers, teapots, butter-churning vessels, swords and shields from Nepal, flags, clothing and domestic artefacts. Lunch there was hearty and comforting: momos, laccha parathas, kadai paneer and dal tadka.

Back at the home stay, one of the most meaningful activities of our trip awaited us: a block-printing workshop on Lungta prayer flags.We printed on soft, starched square cotton pieces in the five traditional colours. Kunzang and Tenzing guided us through the process, helping us prime the carved wooden blocks and press them onto cloth. The designs included the Lungta, or wind horse; forms of Tara Devi; Guru Rinpoche; and Buddha, or Sangye in Tibetan. Each block carried not just image but mantra and blessing.

We learned that Lungta literally means wind horse and is associated with life force, vitality, good fortune and the carrying of prayers into the world. These flags are meant to be hung in open places where wind, sun and rain can carry the blessings onward. The proper sequence of colours is significant: blue, white, red, yellow and green—space, air, fire, earth and water.

As I pressed the carved blocks onto the cloth, I felt something shift within me. These were not merely decorative prints. Each figure, each syllable, each line of sacred text felt like a blessing set into motion. A prayer flag in Sikkim is not meant to be admired indoors; it is meant to meet wind, weather, impermanence and the world.

Dinner that evening was another local feast: fern curry, potato with cheese, rice and rajma. We slept by 10 pm after being told that a monk would arrive early the next morning to bless the flags we had made.

Day 4: Smoke, scripture, drum and water — blessing the prayer flags

We woke at 7 am and gathered in the lobby where a monk from the village had come to consecrate our flags. What followed was one of the most beautiful ceremonies of our trip.

He first opened sacred scriptures wrapped in a yellow satin cloth. These long rectangular manuscript leaves are known as pecha. Incense powder was added to burning charcoal in a handheld censer for sang, the smoke offering. A small ritual drum—the damaru—provided rhythm and invocation. Holy water, carried in a ritual vase or bumpa, was sprinkled as blessing and transmission.

It felt like a layered awakening of the flags: purification through smoke, invocation through scripture, activation through sound, and blessing through water. Before the flags ever touched the wind, they had been ritually awakened. It was solemn and intimate and unforgettable.

After taking blessings from uncle and aunty and feeding the pregnant cow, we had breakfast—phulkas with chana, omelette and fruit—and left Ma-Khim at about 9:30 am.

Before heading to Yuksom, we visited the Rabdentse Ruins, one of the most atmospheric places of the trip. The entrance is through the Bird Park in Pelling, close to Pemayangtse Monastery, and from there it is a lovely 30–45 minute walk through dense forest. The trail itself was magical—quiet, green, damp, and full of little details. We spotted at least nine or ten different kinds of mushrooms along the way, making the whole walk feel like a nature trail as much as a historical one.

Rabdentse is often called the “Machu Picchu of India,” and while that may be a dramatic comparison, the setting does have a haunting beauty. Hidden among the forested ridges are the remains of what was once the second capital of the old Kingdom of Sikkim. After Yuksom, the capital was moved here in the 17th century by Tensung Namgyal, and Rabdentse remained an important royal centre for many years before it was eventually destroyed during invasions. What remains today are weathered stone ruins, old chortens, and the outline of what must once have been a royal complex looking out over the valleys.

The view from the top is said to be one of the finest in the region, offering a sweeping bird’s-eye view of both West and South Sikkim. Sadly, the clouds were not in the mood to cooperate that day, and Kanchenjunga stayed hidden behind thick mist. Even so, the experience of standing there among the ruins, with forest behind us and layers of hills falling away below, was unforgettable. There was something deeply moving about walking through silence and moss to a place that once held so much of Sikkim’s history. From Rabdentse, we continued onward to Yuksom, almost as if we were tracing the story of old Sikkim backwards—from its later capital to its first.

We stopped for lunch at a local place where Maggi, egg fried rice and tea tasted better than any elaborate meal, and then went to Khecheopalri Lake, where rain began to fall. There is something about sacred lakes in the rain that makes one instinctively quieter.

On the way toward Yuksom we stopped at the Rimbi area, saw a striking glacial river, admired waterfalls including the Kanchenjunga waterfall, took photographs, and picked up local jewellery and charming fridge magnets that can hold a little soil to grow tiny plants.

By about 6:30 pm we reached Yangpal Home Stay in Yuksom in the rain, where we were welcomed with a red shawl by the owner. There are welcomes, and then there are Himalayan welcomes—simple, ceremonial, and deeply sincere.

After resting in our rooms, we had chang, the local millet brew, followed by dinner: rice, potato and fern curry, mushroom curry, dal, and fried fermented spinach. We ended the day reviewing photographs and sleeping contentedly.

Day 5: Yuksom — leeches, monasteries, falls, food and the founding of a kingdom

We woke early and visited Kathok Lake, a small, reflective body of water that seemed to hold the stillness of Yuksom within it. The reflections were beautiful, but the morning also included an energetic brush with leeches that had to be pulled from our shoes—an entirely authentic hill experience.

From there we trekked up to Dubdi Monastery, believed to be the oldest monastery in Sikkim, founded in 1701. The walk itself, through greenery and quiet, was part of the experience. Dubdi belongs to the Nyingma tradition and is deeply linked to the early history of the Sikkimese kingdom. It feels intimate rather than grand—painted walls, old prayer spaces, and a deep hush. We prayed there, and also paused by an old juniper tree said to be more than a century old.

Later we visited the local Elephant Falls and the nearby Phagmorong Cave, associated in local belief with the meditation of a goddess. The boys, unfazed by the cold, put their feet in the freezing water and turned it into a challenge of endurance. We also stopped at the helipad, played ball, and enjoyed a plateau ringed with mountains brushed by low clouds.

Lunch at the Traditional Inn was memorable: egg thenthuk, ema datshi with rice, egg Maggi, chowmein, momos and even rhododendron wine. By now Sikkim’s food had become one of the quiet stars of the trip. It mirrors the mountains—simple, warming, bold and honest. We ate or heard about thukpa, thenthuk, niguru (fiddlehead ferns), gundruk (fermented greens), dalle chilli achar, and the wonderful habit of turning everyday local produce into food of real character.

That evening in Yuksom we also spent time thinking about the history all around us. Yuksom is not just another pretty village. In 1642, Phuntsog Namgyal was consecrated here as the first Chogyal, or Dharma King, of Sikkim. The word Chogyal itself suggests that the ruler’s role was spiritual as much as political. Yuksom is often understood as “the meeting place of the three learned monks,” because three great lamas are believed to have met here to fulfil a prophecy and crown the king. At Norbugang, visitors can still see the stone throne, the chorten, and the sacred tree associated with that founding moment.

A chorten, we learned, is far more than a monument. It is a sacred Buddhist structure representing the enlightened mind. It is solid, not entered like a temple, and is filled during construction with mantras, relics, grain, incense and other sacred items. Its very shape symbolises the five elements. In a land like Sikkim, chortens do spiritual work in the landscape—marking thresholds, blessing valleys, and standing witness to history.

Day 6: Into Kanchenjunga National Park — and deeper into Sikkim’s history

On our last full day we woke around 6:30 am and were thrilled to catch sight of Mount Kabru, snow-clad and luminous from our window, just after I had silently wished to see more snowy peaks. Breakfast was buckwheat dosa, mixed with egg so that it held together better than the crumbly version we had eaten earlier at Ma-Khim, along with dum aloo curry and paneer. Here, we learned, paneer is often called churpee.

We headed to the Kanchenjunga National Park information centre and read up on the trekking route: Yuksom at around 1806 metres, then Sachen, Bakhim, Tshoka, Dzongri at nearly 3,961 metres, onward to Thansing, Lamuney and beyond toward Goecha La (4000+ metres). We learned too that “La” is a suffix added out of respect, which gives the famous trek its name.

We began walking from the park entrance along a steep cobbled path. The trail was demanding—rocky climbs, muddy sections, slushy leaves, running mountain water, loose sand and long ascents. We crossed the first suspension bridge, Pha Khola, over the Rathong River, and paused to photograph the river and the waterfalls around it.

Tenzing then surprised us by saying we could go a kilometre further toward Sachen. Along the trail we saw mules, goat herds, and the fascinating zho. A zho is a yak-cattle hybrid, valued in the Himalayas because it combines the hardiness of the yak with the utility of domestic cattle. Built for mountain life, it can carry loads, handle altitude better than ordinary cattle, and looks exactly like what it is—a strong, shaggy, sure-footed in-between creature of the highlands.

By then, however, the trail had taken its toll. My shoe soles gave way again, and we collectively decided that good sense was the better part of adventure. We turned back.

On the way down the boys again found water irresistible and stopped at the river and falls to get their feet wet. We shared some Congress peanuts with Tenzing, who found their flavour quite interesting.

Back in Yuksom we returned to the Traditional Inn for lunch and met Tenzing’s brother, Zikadel Bhutia, with whom we had a long and fascinating conversation. It was here that Sikkim’s historical story took shape for us more clearly.

Sikkim’s history begins with the Lepchas, the indigenous people of the land, and later the arrival of Bhutia lineages from Tibet. One of the most important remembered events in this early history is the Lepcha-Bhutia brotherhood at Kabi Lungchok, symbolising coexistence and shared belonging. Older historical memory also speaks of a larger Sikkim than the present state—one whose influence at various times stretched into regions now associated with Nepal, Bhutan-facing frontiers, and the Darjeeling-Kalimpong belt.

Over centuries, invasions from Nepal and Bhutan, and later British intervention, reduced the kingdom’s size and power. After Indian independence, Sikkim did not immediately merge with India but remained an Indian protectorate. By the 1970s, however, democratic movements were challenging the monarchy. Indira Gandhi played a crucial role in the final transition, and after political unrest, constitutional change and the 1975 referendum abolishing the monarchy, Sikkim became the 22nd state of India.

It was one of those travel conversations that stays with you—not a textbook lecture, but history given shape by someone for whom it is both inheritance and identity.

Later we visited a local prayer wheel hall and spun all the wheels. We also bought North Face trekking pants in the village market—because even pilgrimage and history leave room for practical shopping.

Back at Yangpal by about 3:30 pm, we rested through the evening. Tea was served with local snacks—khapse, fried treats made in beautiful leaf and conch shapes, and zeroo, a thinner snack somewhat like crisp vermicelli discs. Dinner by Machi-la at 7:45 pm was another loving spread: papads, fried bitter gourd, squash vine curry, local green dal, and rice. We had walked 15,000 steps, climbed plenty, and ended the day packing for the next day’s drive down to Siliguri.

What we brought back, besides photographs

West Sikkim gave us landscapes, yes—but even more than that, it gave us layers of understanding.

It taught us that prayer flags are not decoration, but blessings sent into the elements. That prayer wheels are acts of devotion in motion. That a stone can be sacred, not because geology proves it, but because generations of faith have loved it that way.That a chorten can stand as both spiritual symbol and historical witness.That stinging nettle, or sisnu, can sting fiercely in the wild and yet become nourishing food after careful picking and boiling—a perfect metaphor for mountain life itself: tough on the outside, generous within.That Sikkimese kitchens know how to transform the local into the unforgettable: dalle chilli achar, bamboo shoot pickle, gundruk, sinki, niguru, churpee, thenthuk, khapse.And that some of the best travel memories come not from famous attractions, but from conversations in home stay lounges, homemade curd, a monk blessing hand-printed flags, and the sight of clouds lifting just long enough to reveal a snow peak.

A note of gratitude

Our deepest thanks go to our hosts at Ma-Khim in Sindrong and Yangpal in Yuksom for welcoming us so warmly, feeding us so lovingly, and sharing not just rooms but stories, customs, family life and faith. What we experienced in West Sikkim was not tourism in the usual sense. It was hospitality in its truest form by Enroute West Tours and Travels .

We arrived as visitors. We left with the feeling that part of us had been quietly adopted by the hills.

• Dr Aruna Muralidhar