WAY UP IN A FAR CORNER OF INDIA, squeezed in tight between Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan, is the state of Sikkim. catches the eastern rise of the Himalaya and is full of some of the most extravagant natural beauty you’ll ever witness. in 1992, it changed my life forever.
Sikkim was closed to tourists and travellers at the time, but a contact in the Army worked his magic and granted a friend and me unprecedented access. Our only guide was a battered old Lonely Planet book, and we spent many weeks having the best offbeat adventure that any 19-year-old could wish for. We rode on train roofs, swam in glacial lakes, and stood and stared in silence outside hilltop Buddhist monasteries.
Of all the experiences on that trip, there were two that transformed me completely. First was meeting the local people. Their warmth and welcome left lasting impressions on me. As we shufled into one village after another, the people of Sikkim demonstrated vital lessons that I’ve held onto ever since: they gave without asking, they never judged, and they offered strangers like us the very best of their kindness.
Those kindnesses have stayed with me since. They’ve shaped everything from how I approach my adventures to the sort of people I choose to work with. Kindness is about a lot more than courtesy: it’s about valuing people and seeing their worth, no matter how different they appear.
And then there was the time that I headed off for a high-mountain adventure on my own. I made my way northwest, into the foothills of the lower Himalaya. I had none of the right gear with me, and was woefully ill-prepared and under-equipped in every way. But it felt like something was drawing me in. I kept climbing and hiking higher and higher every day. When dawn broke one morning and I found myself staring across the distant horizon at Mount Everest, I knew that one day I would attempt to climb the peak.
Of course, travel isn’t always perfect. And it shouldn’t be. I have, on occasion, got horribly lost and, over the years, have come far too close to death and not making it home. And then there are the bouts of diarrhoea and malaria, sometimes so crippling that I thought I’d never stand again. But I’ve found that the tough moments of any adventure are often just as pivotal as the spectacular ones. When they’re all over, they’re often the times we laugh hardest about.