Pujan, my sprightly 30-year-old guide, picks me up in Gangtok one bright and sunny morning for the drive to radhu Kandu. It’s almost dusk by the time we reach the village; though we’ve been on the road for most of the day, we’ve traveled less than 50 kilometers as the crow flies. But a warm welcome awaits us at a wood-and-stone house tucked into the edge of a lush forest, where the family matriarch smudges a red tikka on my forehead and loops a garland of jasmine around my neck. An outdoor fire and butler with evening drinks are waiting in the central courtyard, and i can smell dinner—a range of local curries and flat breads—being prepared in the kitchen.

The next day, Pujan and I set off for the second homestay, a three-hour walk away in Hee. We traverse dark, eerie woodlands and terraced orchards where flowering fruit trees mingle with the spiky leaves of cardamom plants. We meet a pair of men hefting huge bundles of green sapwood downhill, and we pass cute, blue-trimmed houses  festooned with lilies and orchids. Greeting us at Hee are glorious views of Kanchenjunga, which I savor over breakfast the next morning.

It’s late afternoon on day three when we make the uphill slog to rusem Monastery, a derelict gompa that two or three hundred years ago belonged to a wealthy and powerful family of landowners. Pujan tells me the family hired a local monk to perform rituals here, but then reneged on his payment. so the monk cursed them, and the family fled, leaving the prayer hall to the elements. From rusem, it’s a short, scenic amble to sandyang lee, the last stop on our route. Another storm is brewing and fog has enveloped the hillside. I worry that we won’t be able to see Kanchenjunga again, but sure as day, early the next morning, there the mountain is, jutting high above the rising mist.

Originally appeared in the October/November 2012 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“The Road to Kanchenjunga”)