When a landslide washed away our plans to visit Gangtok, we found ourselves on an unplanned detour through the enchanting Dooars. What began as a travel setback soon turned into a journey of discovery—through rain-washed tea gardens, buffalo-cart safaris, and the soulful rhythms of tribal dances—reminding us that the best adventures are often unplanned.

Our journey began under a cloud of uncertainty—quite literally. We were on our way from Kolkata to New Jalpaiguri, en route to Gangtok, where Judhajit was pursuing his MBBS. But Mother Nature, with her unpredictable flair, had other plans in store. Days of relentless rain had unleashed a series of landslides, snapping the vital Siliguri–Gangtok highway like a frail thread. The grim news reached us aboard the train—a reminder that travel often laughs in the face of itineraries.

Our return flight from Bagdogra was in just four days, and now the road to Gangtok lay buried under tonnes of earth. For a fleeting moment, frustration knotted in my stomach. But as Paulo Coelho once wrote,

Life always waits for some crisis to occur before revealing itself at its most brilliant.

And brilliant it was, albeit in a completely unforeseen way.

The Detour that Chose Us

With Gangtok out of reach, an impulsive idea sparked within me: why not explore the Dooars?

I knew it wasn’t the ideal season—the monsoon months meant the forests were officially closed—but the thought of emerald hills, rolling tea gardens, and the hush of rain-soaked wilderness was too alluring to ignore.

Judhajit, the eternal enthusiast, jumped at the idea. Jagrata, ever the pragmatic voice in our trio, frowned over logistics—accommodation, accessibility, safety. Still, a flurry of Google searches on our phones during the train ride tipped the scales. By the time we reached New Jalpaiguri, Lataguri had replaced Gangtok as our destination.

Through the Doors of the Dooars

The very name “Dooars” carries poetry in its roots. Derived from ‘dwar’, meaning doors in Assamese, Bengali, and Maithili, it refers to the 18 gateways that connect the Indian plains to Bhutan’s hills. Stretching from the Teesta River in West Bengal to the Dhanshiri in Assam, the Dooars form the lush floodplains of the Himalayas’ outer reaches.

Rich in tea, timber, and biodiversity, the Dooars are more than just scenic—they’re a living, breathing ecosystem.

A Breakfast to Remember

At New Jalpaiguri, we hired a cab and officially set off on our unplanned adventure. But first, breakfast. Our driver took us to Santa Banta Restaurant in Siliguri—a name that raised eyebrows and, soon after, spirits.

The owner’s warmth was matched only by the food: crisp puri-aloo sabzi and dahi-paranthas that melted away the last vestiges of travel stress. With our stomachs full and hearts lighter, we left the bustle of Siliguri behind and merged onto National Highway 31.

The Bagh Pul and the Emerald Road

Soon, the iconic Coronation Bridge came into view—an elegant arch of British-era engineering curving gracefully over the swirling Teesta River. Built in 1941 to mark the coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, the locals lovingly call it Bagh Pul or Tiger Bridge, for the majestic tiger statues guarding its ends.

We paused mid-bridge to take in the panorama. The Teesta shimmered below in shades of jade and silver, its beauty punctuated by a cheeky monkey who decided to join our impromptu photoshoot—accepting a cucumber slice as his toll fee.

Beyond the bridge, the scenery unfolded into an endless green tapestry. Tea gardens stretched to the horizon, their manicured rows forming hypnotic patterns against the undulating terrain. The world outside our cab window felt like a living painting.

A pit stop in Malbazar added a touch of joviality—we stocked up on a few bottles of local beer, the unofficial traveler’s fuel for the road. Signboards warning of “Elephant Crossings” dotted the route, a thrilling reminder that this was a land where humans were only visitors.

Arriving in Lataguri

By afternoon, we rolled into Lataguri, a rustic hamlet on the edge of Gorumara National Park. The name, derived from ‘lata’ (wood) and ‘guri’ (log), whispered of its deep ties with the forest. The drive along NH31 was a joy—smooth, scenic, and serenely unhurried.

We checked into Sonar Bangla Resort, which felt like a hidden gem at ₹1,800 a night for an air-conditioned room.

Our host, Tirthankar, greeted us with warmth and stories of the region. He suggested we visit the Medla Watchtower near Ramsai—one of the few accessible spots even when the park was officially closed.

As evening descended, the resort’s illuminated fountain shimmered in the darkness, lending a touch of magic to our unexpected hideaway.

The Road to Ramsai

After lunch, we set off for Ramsai. The road meandered through tranquil villages and paddy fields, the air rich with the scent of wet earth. We passed the sleepy Lataguri railway station—a postcard of rural calm—before turning east from the Lataguri Welfare Association onto a narrower forest track.

The deeper we ventured, the denser the foliage became. We were now skirting the edges of Gorumara National Park—a haven spread over 80 square kilometers in the floodplains of the Murti and Jaldhaka rivers.

Gorumara National Park

Gorumara National Park, our ultimate point of interest, sprawls across approximately 80 square kilometers, a sanctuary teeming with diverse flora and fauna. Home to magnificent creatures like elephants, Indian rhinoceroses, bison, leopards, and various deer species, it’s also a haven for birdwatchers, boasting over 200 avian species.

Situated in the floodplains of the Murti and Jaldhaka rivers in the Dooars region, the park’s history dates back to 1895 when it was declared a reserve forest. It was later designated a wildlife sanctuary in 1949 and finally a National Park in 1992. Notably, the Ministry of Environment and Forests recognized Gorumara as the best-maintained protected area in India in 2009.

Surrounded by rolling hills, the park proudly shelters three iconic Indian species: the great Indian one-horned rhinoceros, the Indian bison, and the Indian elephant. Its avian population includes vibrant species like minivets, drongos, pheasants, and the Indian pied hornbill, alongside Brahminy ducks and others. The dominant tree species is sal (Shorea robusta), interspersed with siris, khair, teak, and simul.

Adding to its charm, the park is dotted with picturesque tea gardens, and the Murti River meanders through its heart. Several watchtowers strategically placed within the park offer breathtaking panoramic views. Around the forest’s periphery lie small villages like Sarswati, Budhuram, Bichabhanga, Chatua, Kalipur, and Murti Forest Village.

The Buffalo Cart Safari

By 4 p.m., we reached the Budhuram Gate at Ramsai. Here awaited a surprise—our safari would be aboard a buffalo cart!

At the Ramsai gate, a unique mode of transport awaited us for our visit to the Medla Watchtower: buffalo-cart safaris! This was a first for me, an unusual yet undeniably charming way to navigate the terrain. A fleet of seven buffalo carts stood ready, each capable of carrying six to seven people.

These safaris, run by the Gorumara Nature Guide Self-Help Group, not only offered visitors a rustic experience but also supported the local community. Tickets were modestly priced—₹40 per person and ₹80 for a group guide.

While waiting for our turn, we sipped tea at a nearby stall and explored the charming Ramsai Butterfly Garden, a fluttering explosion of color just behind the ticket counter.

Soon, our guide called us, and we boarded our cart near a small cluster of Shiva temples.

The ride began at a gentle trot. On one side stretched endless tea gardens; on the other, the wild Jaldhaka River coursed through dense sal forests. The river, born of the glacial Kupup Lake in Sikkim, weaves its way through Bhutan before embracing the plains of Bengal.

We scanned the riverbanks with anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of wildlife. The rhythmic clop of hooves, the whisper of wind through the trees, and the occasional bird call created a serene symphony. Wildlife sightings were few—a couple of deer in the distance—but the peace of the journey was its own reward.

The Medla Watchtower

After about 25 minutes, we arrived at the Medla Watchtower. A short wooden climb led us to a panoramic view that stretched for miles—lush grasslands, winding rivers, and thick sal forests blending into the horizon.

In the distance, a few Indian bison grazed lazily under the fading sun. The famed rhinos and elephants eluded us, but their presence was palpable. As the golden light filtered through the trees, the park seemed to hold its breath—a perfect stillness that city life can never offer.

Our guide pointed out salt pits where animals often came to replenish minerals. We lingered there, breathing in the scent of rain and leaves, before descending as dusk painted the sky in amber hues.

A Cultural Finale

But the day’s magic wasn’t over yet. Our safari ticket included a tribal dance performance at the nearby Budhuram Forest Village. As we arrived, the villagers welcomed us with tea and biscuits. Soon, the air pulsed with the beat of traditional drums. A group of beautifully dressed tribal women took the stage, their rhythmic movements narrating stories of harvest and heritage.

The performance was raw, vibrant, and deeply moving—a celebration of community and culture sustained through tourism. Knowing that the proceeds directly benefited the villagers made the experience even more fulfilling.

Reflections Under the Dooars Sky

Back at Sonar Bangla Resort, the night was alive with the hum of cicadas and the distant croak of frogs. We sat on the veranda, sipping tea and reflecting on the day.

What had begun as a travel mishap had transformed into a journey of rediscovery. The Dooars didn’t just fill a gap in our itinerary—it filled a space in our hearts.

As sleep gently took over, the rain drummed softly on the roof, and I couldn’t help but think: sometimes, life’s most beautiful detours aren’t on the map at all.

Travel Tip:
If you plan to visit the Dooars during the monsoon, remember that official safaris inside Gorumara remain closed. However, community-led experiences like the Ramsai buffalo-cart safari and cultural shows provide a wonderful, ethical alternative to connect with the land and its people.