A Soft Landing in India: The Hills of Darjeeling
I crossed the border from Karkhabitta Nepal to Panatanki India at about 4:15 in the afternoon, and while there wasn’t any major physical boundary (just a medium sized river, smaller than several I’d crossed in Nepal) it was quickly clear that I was in a different country. Things were much busier, the population was obviously denser (and this in a part of India that isn’t that heavily populated!) but somehow it seemed to be prettier. Tea plantations had actually started about 10km from the border, but on the Indian side they were everywhere… as far as the eye could see (past the haze and light forest) in in some places.
It took us about an hour to reach the city of Siliguri. It was a busy, busy place, but I didn’t have much time to look at it. I bought a jeep ticket from one of the tourists I’d come from Karkhabitta with, and climbed aboard with the other two (Jana and Maren, a pair of girls from Germany), as well as nine more Indian folk, all on our way up to Darjeeling.
The ride took us through a sprawling military base that was (surprisingly) very pretty before starting up into the hills where Darjeeling lay. We’d hoped that we’d arrive in Darjeeling before sundown, but there was clearly not a hope of that. The jeep flew up the narrow winding (though well paved) road, through a very surprising amount of traffic (it was already dark by this time, but there were still dozens of vehicles on the road.) I was very thankful for the probably-just-high-enough concrete barriers on the side of the road, which allayed my fear of plunging over the edge at least a bit. The skill of the drivers on the road was evident, as they pulled their vehicles aside just enough to let one another past. Only once in the three hour trip did we have to stop and back up to let another vehicle pass.
We arrived in Darjeeling at about 08:30, and I was, to say the least surprised by what we found. It was not at all what I’d been expecting of India. Hardly even in the tiniest way. To begin with there was the weather. It was misty and cool verging on cold. Then there was the emptiness of the place. All of the Indians had got out before the central bus/jeep park which left us three tourists standing entirely alone in the middle of the town. There were no people milling about. No touts trying to drag us to their hotels. No one offering rickshaw rides. There was scarcely even any light!
A few people did materialize, and were all wonderfully friendly and (trying to be at least) helpful. By asking one after another for directions up to a hotel we’d picked from a guidebook we eventually made it there, though it was a fairly lengthy climb through the cool night. Our chosen hotel was full, but we simply walked next door and had no trouble finding rooms (though mine was a bit odd in that the bathroom was about the same size as the cramped living/sleeping space.)
I was very hungry, and disappointed to learn that pretty much every restaurant in town was closed (this should have been obvious by the dark, unlit streets we’d walked through.) Thankfully the hotel manager managed to get their kitchen opened up and procured me some buttered toast and an omlette. It wasn’t spectacular, but was just what I needed before snuggling up into my sleeping bag and drifting off to sleep.
The next morning I woke up feeling a little Bleah, with a scratchy throat. Through the day this turned into a genuine cold. Boo! It was quite misty (cloudy perhaps?) outside, but much of Darjeeling was still visible from my hotel’s position near a high point on the ridge.
My first order of business on the day was to find the main post office, where I hoped to ship some of the contents of my overflowing pack back home. Darjeeling is a difficult place to navigate, as it sits atop a ridge and its streets are steep and tangled and are often augmented by narrow laneways and staircases. Very often a road will undergo two or more 180 degree changes in direction between intersections, and while two spots may be separated by only 100m laterally, there could be 100m vertical and 600m walking distance between them. With a bit of perseverence and directions from friendly townsfolk I did make my way there. I handed my items over to be packed, then went out in search of a money changer so I could actually PAY for the shipment.
The bank was right around the corner, but since it only opened at 10:00 and then took a further 1/2 hour to find out the day’s exchange rate, it took a while. Finally, I headed back only to discover that my shipment would cost about 2000 rupees, (about C$57!) and would take two or three months to arrive. Err… I think I’ll just pay the packing fee and hold onto my goods.
Failed attempts at administrative work complete, I wandered around town for a while, hoping to see a bit of Darjeeling and sort out my plans for the city in the process. Darjeeling is a fascinating place it sits abot 2100m above sea level, surrounded by tea plantations. It was these plantations (or, rather, the promise of the first tea planted in the area) that led to the city’s founding by the British in the late 1800s. As a result of this, almost all of central Darjeeling’s architecture comes from the late 19th or early 20th century, and while much of it has been modified or deteriorated, it all retains some of its original character, and several beautifully preserved examples still remain as well.
I wandered through the busy streets of Darjeeling (and although they were deserted at 20:30 the previous night, they WERE busy now.) While doing so, I observed the faces on the streets and noted that they didn’t look like most “Indian” people I knew. Indeed, they looked a lot more like the Nepalis I’d met in the mountain areas, with strong North Asian influences in their appearances.
I found myself in the main square of the town, sitting atop the ridge. Even if it was still a bit misty about, its wide open space was a relief after the cramped streets I’d been walking on. Indeed, so cramped and hilly are the streets that taxis are pretty much unknown in Darjeeling, and the idea of a pedal powered rickshaw is laughable. From there, I wandered around the pretty area surrounding the square before heading back into the hustle of the market. Now THIS was a bit more like my preconceptions of India. Its streets were positively crammed with people. There were fading, peeling painted signs everywhere, and businesses, including fairly official looking places like the marriage registrar’s office were jammed into little holes in the wall.
During my walk I had made a plan for myself, deciding to skip camping on Tiger Hill to see the sunrise on the Indian Himalaya (I’d seen more than my fair share of mountains in the past few weeks) and focus on the sights in and near Darjeeling itself. My plan almost immediately ran into problems, however. I went to the train station and booked my train ticket from Siliguri to Patna to be used in a few days time, but was unable to book a ticket on the “Toy Train” (a narrow [0.5m or so] gauge historic hill railway that’s actually a World Heritage Site.) I’d finished my first reservation at 13:59, and since the reservations office closed at 14:00 hadn’t had time to make the second. I’d planned to take the train to Ghum, 8km distant and walk back past its many Buddhist Monastaries (though India is mostly Hindu, Darjeeling is still firmly in Buddhist country.)
After leaving the train station I ran into a Sadhu (a Hindu wandering holy man) who I’d already seen three times during the day. He convinced me that it was fate calling to us and we should have a cup of tea together (or rather he convinced me that we should have a cup of tea together by saying that it was fate calling to us [a subtle difference, but one I feel compelled to point out.]) I had a chai (Indian Chai is a delicious mix of milk, sugar and various spices) and he a coffee. As we left he asked if I’d mind taking a photo of him and several of “his” children from the neighbourhood. I promised to do so. Since I already needed to develop and mail a bunch to Jalum in Janakpur, I figured one more wouldn’t matter.
I spent the remainder of the day sitting in Darjeeling’s botanical gardens. They weren’t anything spectacular (the abundent barbed wire fences throughout did detract from their appeal) but were a nice place to sit in the afternoon sun and bask and read. The wander back through town was interesting in its own right, as I passed kids playing cricket in the park, an old cable car station and more and more and more people.
That night I had a nice vegetarian (though I’d lapsed briefly in defference to being a good guest during Holi in Janakpur, I’d decided to keep up my vegetarian diet anyway) Thali at my guesthouse. All meals there were served as room service, not in some attempt at luxury, but since the hotel had a kitchen but no room large enough to use as a restaurant.
As with each of my nights in Darjeeling, the night’s sleep was coooold. I’m not sure if I’d been spoiled by a few days, or what it was, but the nighttime climate there seemed chillier and damper than even the 4000m high tea houses I’d stayed at in the Annapurna Region.
After forcing myself out from under my toasty sleeping bag, I headed down to the railway station in plenty of time to catch the 09:15 toy train, but was disappointed once again. I arrived at 08:00, when the ticket office supposedly opened, but no one appeared until 08:30. By the time I arrived at the front of the queue, it was 09:10 and the last three tickets were sold to an Indian in front of me. This made me especially bitter towards the queue-jumping guide who had procured a pair for his tourist guests earlier.
Ah well. This just meant that I headed to the Happy Valley Tea Estate earlier. The estate was a nice 40 minute walk outside of town, and while central Darjeeling was interestingly busy, the outskirts were pleasantly placid. I’d read in my guidebook that plucking and processing of tea leaves began in April, and had figured that March 29 would be soon enough to catch them in action. Wrong. My guide around the factory informed me that they started each year promptly on April 1.
Despite the factory being out of operation, seeing the machinery and facilities involved in tea processing was still modestly interesting. (You wouldn’t think there was that much to it, but each estate produces hundreds of grade-size combinations of tea leaves.) Even better than the tour were the views of the tea laden hills above the factory (the factories are always near the bottom of hilly tea estates so that the wet leaves are carried downhill after plucking) and Darjeeling itself sprawling on the ridge in the distance. (Though I will admit that these views were partially spoiled by the power lines from the nearby sub-station.) I even sat around on the dirt road leading down to the estate and read for a while on the way back up.
I headed further out of town through the steadily thinning urbanity and passed by the road up to the zoo and the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. The HMI sounded somewhat interesting, and admission was (according to my guidebook) only 5R, so I headed on up. On arriving I was dissapointed to discover that differential pricing was now in effect, and foreigners paid 100R for a (mandatory) combined ticket to the zoo and HMI. Sigh… It didn’t sound THAT interesting.
I headed back into town along this higher, tree lined roadway. It was a very pleasant walk, with the birds chirping and insects buzzing. I stopped at a little roadside stand for a cup of chai and plate of momo (steamed Tibetan dumplings just as popular in Darjeeling as in Nepal) and a chat with fellow customers. Everyone wanted to know what I thought of Darjeeling and India. While I hadn’t been there long I could honestly answer that I was quite enjoying myself.
Approaching the Central Square I sat down on a sort of terrace-promenade that, had it not been so hazy, would have had a gorgeous view out over the surrounding hills. While there I met Jana and Maren and we all set out down the hill for the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Centre. We were stopped just after beginning by an Englishman who informed us that it was closed that day. Never mind… The ladies carried on to the zoo and the HMI, while the English fellow and I walked back into town, chatting about travel in Asia as we did so.
We parted ways and I headed to the bus/jeep park in Chowk Bazaar, the central market area of Darjeeling– A momentary pause here– You may be wondering what all of these references to jeeps are about. In many parts of the Indian Himalaya, most public transport actually does take the form of share jeeps. People are crammed into the (generally fairly new and comfortable) vehicles, and they take off for the destination noted on a placard in the windscreen. They occaisionally drop off or pick up passengers along the way, but on the whole it’s about as quick and comfortable local public transit option as I’ve yet met in Asia.
As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself… I headed to the jeep/bus park and picked up a ticket on the bus (not jeep) to the town of Jaigon for the following morning.
Once again the evening was spent at my hotel having a room service thali and going to sleep early (as noted before, Darjeeling shut its doors and turned out the lights early, so there really was never much else to do.)
My last morning in Darjeeling I woke up not feeling great. Not only was my cold still with me, my stomach was grumbling and large quantities of of paneer (Indian soft cheese) scented gases issued from various my body. I ought to have paid more attention to what I was eating the previous night… I recalled that some of it wasn’t particularly hot…
Shrugging off my minor health issues, I packed and headed down to the front gate of the hotel. Once again (though this time at 06:40 instead of 03:50 as in Janakpur, Nepal) I had to round up someone to unlock the front gate so that I could leave the hotel and catch my bus.
As I walked down towards Chowk Bazaar, I caught sight of snow capped peaks off in the distance. The hazy, cloudy days up til then meant that I hadn’t seen anything of the town’s renowned Himalayan views, but as in Pokhara, Nepal, it seemed that the mountains had come out to see me off on the morning of my departure. The peak in the centre of the image is Kangchenjunga (or Kangtsendzonga if you prefer a different transliteration) the third tallest mountain in the world, 8586m, which sits astride the India-Nepal border.
I’d actually developed reasonable Darjeeling direction sense by this point, and didn’t have TOO much trouble getting down to my bus, which (differing widely from buses I’d taken in southeast Asia) actually left more or less on time and headed down the road out of Darjeeling.
Despite the fact that more or less every plan I made in Darjeeling seemed to go wrong somehow, I still enjoyed the place. Perhaps going to a place known primarily for its mountain views after a 2.5 week trek around Annapurna wasn’t the most obvious direction to take, but it did gave me a fairly peaceable start to my time in India, and entirely aside from this, was a nice place to visit.
Coming up: Bhutan! Yes, BHUTAN!!! (Okay, maybe I’m overhyping it a little.)
Tags: India
Llew