In North Bengal, a monsoon onslaught has delivered a harsh blow to the region’s tourism lifeline. Broken roads and lost signals have combined to render large swathes of the hilly terrain and forest areas unreachable, leaving visitors — including foreign travellers — trapped in isolated stretches of Darjeeling and Alipurduar. As communications falter and road networks collapse under landslides and flooding, stranded vacationers face fear, uncertainty, and logistical chaos. The very infrastructure meant to sustain a flourishing travel ecosystem has turned against it. In such a scenario, the fate of remote homestays, rugged treks, and nature escapes hangs in the balance. This calamitous disruption is now threatening India’s reputation as a reliable destination in the South Asian tourism circuit, and neighbouring countries watching this unfolding crisis must take note of the vulnerabilities inherent in fragile terrain and seasonal extremes.
Across Darjeeling and Alipurduar districts, heavy, unrelenting rain has unleashed landslides and floods that have severed vital artery roads, washed away bridges, and shredded communication lines. In many interior locations and in hilly areas such as Mirik, entire networks—both physical and digital—have ceased to function, leaving tourists unreachable and isolated.
In the popular Jaldapara National Park in Alipurduar, tourists returning towards Kolkata recalled harrowing experiences as water levels rose steadily. One family fled a lodge in Holong due to creeping water ingress amid swelling rivers.
The collapse of infrastructure has inflicted a double punch: those seeking exit routes cannot travel, while those remaining cannot summon assistance. In some remote homestays—numbering over a thousand in the region—tour operators report complete loss of contact; disrupted communication and battered roads have bewildered even the most seasoned guides.
Airfares have spiked dramatically, from around ₹3,500 to as high as ₹21,000, as travellers scramble for any exit option.
A major concern revolves around the more than 1,200 homestays located in remote, hilly terrain across North Bengal. These properties, often tucked into villages and tea gardens, depend heavily on narrow roads and mobile connectivity for service, logistics, and guest safety. When contact is lost, the tourists residing there become untraceable.
Beyond distressed contact, many visitors are unnerved by the lack of access to supplies, medical help, or safe movement. Several guests missed flights, trains, or buses because they could not descend in time or because connecting roads were closed.
Hotels in safer zones, such as Siliguri, have been instructed not to charge stranded tourists. The state government has committed to providing shelter until rescue or evacuation is possible.
Bridge collapses are complicating logistics further. The iron bridge over the Balason River at Dudhia, which once served as a link between Siliguri and Mirik, was damaged and rendered impassable.
In Dooars, around 130 tourists were stranded when resorts in Alipurduar-I were flooded via a breach in the Sishamara embankment. Vehicles and movement in those resorts halted until safe exit could be assured.
The West Bengal government has mounted evacuation operations using buses, state transport services, and support from local agencies. Some 500 people were slated to be moved via 45 Volvo and NBSTC buses, while 250 were accommodated temporarily in Siliguri.
In Mirik, rescue teams diverted through alternate paths after conventional routes were blocked by debris.
State leadership, including the Chief Minister, has declared responsibility for the welfare of tourists, directing that hotels should not charge those who remain stranded until evacuation is feasible.
Several helpline numbers have been activated—spanning tourism offices, police control rooms, and local network contacts in Siliguri and Darjeeling—to aid stranded tourists in dire need.
The immediate impact on travellers is profound, but the ripple effects may linger long into the future.
When road collapses and signal blackouts leave visitors stranded, confidence in a destination’s safety erodes. Word-of-mouth reports travel faster than marketing campaigns. For international visitors, perceptions of risk tend to weigh heavily in choosing or avoiding destinations. The narrative of being unreachable, with no signal and no route out, deals a reputational blow.
Homestays, guesthouses, local guides, drivers, and small-scale tourism businesses are all jeopardized. As bookings evaporate and occupancy collapses, revenue losses will mount. In terrains where margins are already thin, such shocks can push small operators over the edge.
North Bengal shares environmental and geographical traits with neighbouring Himalayan regions in Nepal, Bhutan, and northern Bangladesh zones. The extreme seasonality, coupled with steep slopes and monsoon intensity, means that transport networks must be engineered for resilience. Failures here are not unique to one Indian state; they echo across South Asia’s mountainous travel corridors.
Critical roads and bridges must be redesigned or retrofitted to withstand landslide impact and flooding. Alternative routes should be developed to avoid single-point failures like the Dudhia bridge that links Mirik and Siliguri.
Beyond mobile towers, satellite-based communication systems or mesh networks for remote homestays could provide fallback links in network outages.
Tourism development authorities must collaborate with disaster management agencies to create standard operating procedures for evacuations, drills, and real-time monitoring during monsoons.Risk Awareness and Travel Advisories
Visitors must be informed in advance about seasonal risks and restricted routes. Insurance mechanisms covering such emergencies may be offered as part of travel packages.
Given that neighboring countries share similar highland challenges, cross-border cooperation in infrastructure planning, early warning systems, and best practices in mountain tourism resilience could elevate regional safety standards.
In the recent crisis unfolding in India’s North Bengal, what was imagined as an escape into nature became a test of resilience. Tourists were left marooned by broken roads and lost signals, turning scenic escapes into logistical nightmares. The plight exposed stark vulnerabilities in hilly tourism circuits that link remote homestays, national parks, and forest trails. In such landscapes, a single bridge failure or network blackout can cascade into catastrophic isolation.
India is not alone in facing such risks: mountain tourism regions across Nepal, Bhutan, and parts of Bangladesh experience analogous perils. Unless infrastructure durability, digital redundancy, and disaster readiness are woven deeply into tourism planning, a single monsoon season may unravel more than just pathways—it may erode trust in once-loved destinations.
