Wanderlust Heaven!

My traveling companions started turning up ill as we spent our week in Darjeeling. I was staying at a different hotel, so it wasn’t like they were just down the hall…but still, if you walk for an hour in a place like Darjeeling, you’re bound to find your friends. I went over to Andy’s Guesthouse, where they were all staying, and found Ernesto prostate in bed, bundled up like an Eskimo. So much for Swedes being impervious to the cold.

Went back to the town square, Chowrasta, and bumped into the Germans en route. Tom said he was starting to feel crappy too. They were – as Germans will do – planning well ahead, and had been to the train station to look into ways to get to Delhi. The trains were full for days ahead; that made me worry a bit, as I had to get to Calcutta, and then to Delhi, by month’s end. I walked down to the train station and inquired about trains to Calcutta – and sure enough, I couldn’t get one for the days I wanted, I had to go three days out. Booked it and made a note to think about where to go after Darjeeling.

This country is getting way too crowded – there, I said it. I’m not arguing for extreme measures like forced sterilization, or Catholicism…but this country feels a bit more crowded every time I return, and you start to see the implications when you want to book a train or hotel room. And it’s not like the government is investing wisely in infrastructure – they’ve finally built some new national highways, but the airports and other major works are still woefully behind (China). India won’t get any more pleasant/liveable until this issue is tackled…

Took a walk up Observatory Hill, near Chowrasta. This place doesn’t offer great views – lots of tall trees in the way – but does have a cool little Hindu temple surrounded by scores of Buddhist prayer flags. And apparently adherents of both religions come to pray there. I like that…

Met everyone except Ernesto (still ill) for dinner that night at Glenary’s. The Germans, Tom and Steffi, are very well-traveling and we told travel tales for hours over dinner, then over drinks at Joey’s. There was, of course, the usual one-upmanship and minor braggadocio, which I naturally won.

The next morning, nursing a slight hangover, I thought about my next destination, and decided to visit the little state of Sikkim. The Germans were planning to go there, and I was in no real hurry to get to Calcutta. Walked over with them to get my Sikkim travel permit – many little Indian states require these. Tom and Steffi had already started the process and had the form, and I wrote my details on their form – strength in numbers (or is that guilt by association?). We had to visit two offices – Foreigner Registration and District Magistrate. The first went off smoothly – just 10 minutes there – but the second was closed. It was Good Friday, and Holi (Hindu), and the Prophet Mohammed’s birthday all in one. I think Holi was the deciding holiday, but in any event it was annoying to walk all the way to the District Magistrate’s office for nothing. And why was the first office open, the second closed?

Now we’d have to wait till Monday. We’d wanted to get going to Sikkim on Sunday. Oh well. Another day or so in Darjeeling wouldn’t be a hardship.

I moved over to Andy’s Guesthouse, as my place, Dekeling, was booked out. I was happy enough to move and be closer to my new friends. And Dekeling had pissed me off – my room was unbearably noisy in the morning, for one, it was over the breakfast room and it sounded like an ale house at 7:30 a.m. Also, there was construction going on in the front and I was constantly wading through gravel and concrete. You’ve gotta do maintenance, sure, but this was a little painful for guests. As I checked out they seemed penitent, and gave me a little Tibetan prayer shawl to say thanks. That was cool.

Andy’s is more basic, but perfectly fine. And there’s a great little rooftop viewing station. It was still cloudy and I couldn’t see Kanchenjunga – and wasn’t to see it during my stay in the north, except for a 5-minute stint at a nearby viewing area when the clouds cleared slightly.

Tibetans are all over Darjeeling. They had a couple protests and speeches while I was there. It’s odd – some of them walk around with Hindu tikkas on their foreheads. I wonder why – perhaps to fit in with the locals?

A very drunk fellow was being carried down the main drag – the Mall – by his friends. Reminded me of a few instances in Goa. I made a mental note to stick to beer up here.

Walked a ways out of town to see a prominent Buddhist gompa. The road became pretty steep…it started to rain…I had my little umbrella but was still wet with sweat as I reached the gompa. The gompa itself wasn’t particularly awesome, but it had a nice setting out on a small ridge. I checked it out for a bit, then walked back to town. En route I passed by a gang of monkeys. After a minute I heard shrieking and looked back – they were having it out and it got violent. Then some ran off and it was all over. We humans wouldn’t do that…

Nancy Pelosi, the US Speaker of the House of Representatives, was in Dharamshala for a couple days. The trip was planned a while back, so it wasn’t that she came over to protest the Chinese crackdown in Tibet. But she got loads of headlines here, and pissed off the Chinese more than such a trip ordinarily would have. When the Dems control all 3 branches of government (you read it here), what will they do re China? I hope the populist/rabble-rousing bullshit won’t carry through. I suspect it won’t – every candidate (Repubs too) go on about China during the elections, then do nothing once in office. I suspect that’s the best policy. Although tweaking their noses on the Olympics would feel very good…

That night, back at Joey’s with the Swedes. Ernesto had recovered by now. We had met for high tea at the Elgin Hotel, a pretty solid bit of England still existent in India. It was the height of the Holi holiday, which includes everyone going around rubbing colored chalk on each other. Not my favorite thing…but hard to avoid. Oh, and there’s a fair bit of drinking too. As closing time loomed, a bunch of hammered locals streamed into the bar and started annoying the barman, a high-strung guy in the best of times. Tempers flared…an ashtray got broken…this seemed to set off the barman. Things looked set to go off, but calm soon returned. I actually think our presence helped – the locals were a bit embarrassed to be acting so stupid in front of tourists. Eventually the bar closed and we walked home.

The holiday continued the next day, and I finally got into the spirit. Not because I wanted to, but because the chalk-dudes got me. I was walked back a viewing station, and 5-6 locals with chalk (they were completely covered in it) walked up to a couple other foreigners and gave them a gentle tikka on the forehead. Then they spotted me and came over. I could have run, but that would have been cowardly, so I submitted to my punishment. I said ‘just a tikka,’ the lead guy assented…but then smeared my head with a handful of chalk. I briefly considered breaking his neck, but was outnumbered so simply said something like ‘thanks asshole’ and walked on. Got quite a few stares as I ambled back to Andy’s to wash off. There was lots of hot water available, so I stood under the shower head for a while and got clean. And made a note to stay well clear of roving chalk-heads till Holi concluded…

Tom was getting worse, and spent an entire day in his room at Andy’s pretty much chained to the toilet. I wondered when I’d get so lucky. Seemed like a bug and not food poisoning. Went with Ernesto and Teresa down to the ‘mall’ near Joey’s to check out the ‘department store’ there. They went shopping for jeans – there was a ‘Levi’s Store’ there that seemed legit. As I walked around Big Bazaar I was semi-impressed – they had a huge range of stuff there, including lots of foreign foods and goods. Then I felt a shift in my intestines, and knew I’d need to see the man pretty soon. Told the Swedes I was heading back to Andy’s, and walked very briskly up the hill till I got to my room. I managed to avoid becoming ill, but was queasy then and for a day or so afterward. Lomodil and grapefruit seed extract seemed to get me through the worst of it.

Spent that night at Glenary’s and Joey’s, two of our favorite places. It was our last night in town – we were getting our Sikkim permits the next morning, all 5 of us, and then setting off for Gangtok, the capital, in the afternoon. That was the plan, anyway. Avoided getting too drunk that night – facing Indian bureaucrats with a hangover would be way too depressing.

The Germans told me they’d been sitting in Sonam’s Kitchen (best breakfasts in Asia – seriously) and watched a Westerner dressed entirely in Indian clothing try to negotiate the price of a candy from 4 rupees to 3 rupees. The store owner wouldn’t budge, and the Westerner finally walked out. Give me a break.

Got the Sikkim permits without much ado, and got into our shared jeep to Gangtok. We’d been in Darjeeling for a full week, and had spent it pretty much hanging out together. Good fun. I’m very much a solo traveler and generally enjoy my privacy, but the Swedes and Germans were great company and I was happy to spend a couple more days (that’s all I had before leaving for Calcutta) together in Sikkim.

We’d read about an Italian restaurant called, naturally enough, ‘Little Italy,’ in our guidebook. This place offered many dishes, including spaghetti with meatballs, which brought to mind (for me, at least) the old kid’s song ‘On Top of Spaghetti.’ I remembered the first few lines, then faltered, but a quick check on my handphone’s Internet brought the rest. I sang it a couple times en route to Gangtok – the Europeans seemed to like it.

We stopped just once, in a small town where the main biz seemed to be washing jeeps. We were supposed to stop for 10 minutes…we stayed there for more like 30, during which time the kid washing the vehicle covered every molecule, I swear. He did an incredibly thorough job – not something you often see in this country. Of course, he used the equivalent of a small lake of water to do it. I read somewhere that the average commercial carwash uses a fraction of the water that a guy washing his car at home uses. This came to mind as I watched water run down the road and into the ditches. I guess this part of India gets a good amount of water, but in Darjeeling there were the usual requests to be careful with it, so I wondered. Then we got back in the jeep and continued on.

Got into Sikkim – had to stop and get our passports stamped. Read more about Sikkim in my guidebook. The state used to be independent, until 1975 – but I suspect it was a dodgy independence which rested on the goodwill of India, and perhaps China. Now it’s one of the smallest Indian states, and abuts Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan, as well as West Bengal state – a handy if precarious location which ensures that some travelers stop there. I just wanted to see a new place – so did the Swedes. The Germans had a week or more, so were likely to do some minor trekking. One key benefit of visiting Sikkim is to get a closer look at Kanchenjunga…but it was still cloudy, and Gangtok isn’t the closest point, so more disappointment ensued.

Sikkim is a ‘recent acquisition’ of India’s, as I mentioned. One thing India has done to cement the bond is to pour money into the state, so you see lots of huge buildings and a degree of affluence that is surprising for such a backwater. We passed by a large noodle factory – Wai-Wai, and other large buildings. One had the initials ‘SMIT.’ We tried to come up with its meaning – Ernesto guessed ‘Sikkim Meatball Italian Trattoria.’ We obviously had meatballs on the brain and were set for a reckoning that night at Little Italy…

Got into Gangtok – checked into our hotel, Travel Lodge, a decent place with hot water and TV, but a bit musty. And it offers room service – I generally avoid these sorts of places. The rooms are small, there’s no real table for eating, so guess where people eat their food? I know how I eat – I’m generally neat and don’t get more than 5-6 pieces of food on my clothes…but watching Indians chow down with their hands, you’ve gotta think that 20% doesn’t wind up in their mouths.

Washed up and went out for dinner. We hadn’t had lunch that day, so were starving. As we walked down the hill – quite a ways – to Little Italy, it started to rain. We were short of umbrellas, but managed to only get 80% wet. The restaurant was a seriously long walk – about 30 minutes – and the locals weren’t that helpful about providing accurate directions/estimates of timing. Finally got there, hungry, wet and tired. Ordered some local beers – Dansberg Blue – and a huge amount of food. The meatballs were real beef – probably from water buffalo, not sure. They were done up with a spicy Indian-style sauce which wasn’t great, but I needed meat and was happy enough. And the pizzas were OK too – a bit sweet (welcome to India), but solid. We stayed there for hours, drinking and gorging. Then got a taxi back up the hill to the hotel.

Watched ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ that night on HBO. Hadn’t really watched TV in ages, and I like this movie. Thought about my time in Japan – with rose-colored glasses. I wouldn’t mind a kilo or two of sushi. Maybe I’ll check in with my ex-colleague in Tokyo and see where he stands with getting a meeting with an old client of mine…he might need a bit of help??

Gangtok is a modest place. It’s set on a hillside, as is Darjeeling and many other hill-stations. When the weather is good, I hear the views are terrific – but we were a little early in the season and weren’t lucky. I had to head to the NJP train station a few hours south the next day, to board a train to Calcutta…the Swedes decided to share a jeep with me, and get on a train one day later to Jaipur. Rajasthan was their next destination. So it was just a short stint in Sikkim for us; the Germans decided to move to Pelling, to the west, the next morning, in hopes of getting a real view of the peaks.

Spent our only full day in Gangtok making travel plans and then walking around. Getting our jeeps and trains sorted took some time. Then we took a cab out to the viewing area of Ganesh Tok. Pretty good views of town and nearby hills, but not farther. Walked toward a famous gompa…got lost…ended up at a Hindu mandir (temple) instead…punted and caught a taxi back to town. Checked the Internet and saw that the Red Sox won their opener in Tokyo. Thought about tempura and udon noodles.

The Swedes – I doubt this technique qualifies as camera obscura, but it’s kind of unusual:

Had dinner that night at perhaps the poshest spot in Gangtok, Tangerine. Nice atmosphere and good food. It was our final night all together – in the morning we’d split up. Had quite a few beers and told a few more stories. I’d miss Tom and Steffi, we’d come together with them by chance at the NJP station and had spent the past 8 or so days with them. Exchanged contact info, a few hugs, and split up. I decided to walk off dinner on the town’s walking arcade, a very pleasant stretch lined with shops, hotels and restaurants, and thankfully no cars. Walking down this stretch, you forget you’re in a place like Sikkim. I walked to the end and started back – then felt a nasty rumbling in the belly. Oh no. I briefly recalled Lisa’s father’s diagnosis from a Goan doctor – he was perfectly healthy, but his pancreas couldn’t be observed because of some ‘bowel gas.’ I was a good mile from my hotel, and was totally exposed. I got going quickly, and despite a couple scary moments I made it back to my toilet and sat down in a high state of relief.

Was it the food from Tangerine? Perhaps – the ‘effect’ was rapid. I’d had the house special pork dish that night, as well as a very spicy masala papad – but I suspected that I’d caught a case of what Ernesto and Tom previously had, and probably hadn’t shaken yet. I downed some grapefruit seed extract and crossed my fingers.

As I fell asleep that night, I briefly worried about my permit situation. I was listed on a page along with the Germans, who had possession of the actual piece of paper. And they were taking off the next morning at 6:30 a.m. for Pelling. I had meant to photocopy the page, but had forgotten. Should I wake them now, and look for a place to Xerox the page. Nah…I went to sleep and decided to try my luck. My passport had been stamped and my permit details recorded on entry – I figured leaving Sikkim wouldn’t be a real issue.

Next morning, met the Swedes for breakfast before we checked out and got going to NJP (New Jalpaiguri, a major train station near the sizeable town of Siliguri). Ernesto looked awful – he was again ill, probably with a recurrence of the same thing he’d had back in Darjeeling. Maybe he and Tom were playing tag. I didn’t want to play…

I had only been to Calcutta very briefly, back in 1992, and wanted to spend a couple days seeing its sights. I don’t need to get into a lengthy history of the place, or its reputation – you already know it or can learn about it easily enough. Anyway, my plan was just a bit of sight-seeing before heading to Delhi on the 29^th.

We got in our jeep to NJP. Teresa was also feeling weak – it was fortuitous that we had rented an entire jeep for ourselves and not gone in for the 10 passengers/jeep rent-a-seat deal. The Swedes slept for much of the trip while I looked out the window. At the Sikkim border stop we sailed right through – nothing checked. I was deeply pleased not to have woken the Germans in Gangtok. But as we drove onto the bridge separating Sikkim from West Bengal, we hit a snare. Loads of cops and soldiers – a full-blown Tibet anti-China rally on the far side. Something happened that caused a stir – and the cops made us move back, back onto the Sikkim side. We were stuck there for a few minutes – but weren’t in a real hurry, as my train wasn’t till that night, and the Swedes were spending that night at Siliguri. Still, the very state of motionless was a bit jarring and we wondered about our status and prospects.

Got moving again soon enough. Drove by the demonstration, saw a banner trashing the China Olympic Games. Fair enough. Still wasn’t sure what had held us up, beyond general protesting – later read that a Tibetan had tried to set himself on fire. The protest was not allowed into Sikkim, so it stayed on the West Bengal side. And for all I know, it’s still going on there.

Saw a bus plying between Siliguri and a town called ‘Mungpoo.’ One of the best town names I’ve come across…

At Siliguri, the Swedes disembarked. We were a bit sad as we said our goodbyes. Ernesto, Teresa and I had met on the Varanasi-NJP train nearly 10 days beforehand, and we’d spent lots of time together since. They’d overcome my usual cranky anti-social mien and we’d gotten surprisingly close. I felt badly that they were both feeling ill, and that we hadn’t talked that much on our ‘final ride.’ Still, I think we’ll stay in touch and I’d be happy to go see them in Stockholm at some point.

Proceeded to NJP station. I had to kill a few hours, and found the ‘upper class waiting room,’ where there was precisely one seat available. Parked myself there, and read my book – ‘A Fine Balance’ by Rohinton Mistry. I’d neglected the book a bit up north – friends and television both kept me away from it. I wanted to finish it while in India, then stock up on a few more books, so now cranked away. The woman sitting next to me was a real character – she ate a huge plate of rice and vegetables, and spoke to me in Hindi. Her daughter, a recently graduated doctor, translated. These two couldn’t have been more dissimilar. The woman finished her plate, then proceeded to belch 4-5 times over the next hour – the aroma was not pleasant. The daughter was far more polished and was good fun.

Time to board the train to Calcutta, an overnight trip. Found my berth easily enough. Thought about my time up north, in the Indian Himalaya…I’d spent 10 days up there and had enjoyed it immensely. The mountains are a superb part of India – as are the beaches. I’d also visited places like Rajasthan and Varanasi, and generally enjoyed them…but if I had to spend a stretch of time in the country, it would be in the mountains and beaches. Please don’t put a gun to my head and decide which of those two I prefer…

It was noticeably hotter down here on the plains – just that morning I’d rued the cold morning air and wanted some heat. Now I’d be getting what I wanted, and would probably miss the chilly air.

I watched a coolie load suitcases on his head, only cushioned by a wound-up rag. Incredible weight on his noggin. Looked over at the man in the berth across the aisle – he was reading ‘The Three Little Piggies.’ Either learning English, or previewing the book for his child. I settled into my berth and soon fell asleep.

Woke up a few hours before reaching Calcutta. I could carry on here, as I’ve now been in the city for a day, but I’ll leave it for next week. Big Indian cities deserve their own entry – this feels like a natural break point in my narrative. Over and out.

The trip to Varanasi was tiring, but when I reached my hotel – Temple on Ganges, a tip from Emma la francaise in Jaisalmer – I didn’t feel like resting. I walked out towards the ghats to ingest a bit of the parade of human life to be found there. But you’ve got to take the vinegar with the honey…and I immediately found myself shadowed by a teenaged boy who was intent on showing me around. Ragha was friendly enough, and not that annoying, so I didn’t shoo him away. Mind you, I didn’t encourage him to tag along. We walked the length of the ghats to watch the sunset ganga aarti ceremony. They hold this every night, and it’s a circus of flowers, music and crowds. They invoke and use all the key elements – earth, air, fire, water, and one more (marijuana?).

After an hour of that, I was beat and wandered back to the hotel to eat and collapse. Ragha followed me back, and the importuning began. ‘Come to my factory tomorrow.’ ‘I can show you around the old city.’ Etc. Torture. I imagine he’d teach me a few things about the city…but I just despise 1) being followed – it’s creepy even if it’s just a young kid, and 2) being viewed as a money machine. Two commonplace issues we travelers have in India, and elsewhere; no profundity being expressed here. I’ve gotten so sick of #2 that I refuse to give to beggars anymore…the underlying reason may be that I’m cheap, but I don’t think it’s that. It’s more that I find the importuning annoying and invasive. I’m of course coming across as a prima donna here – if I were born without a limb in a third-world country, my position would very likely be otherwise. But I can only stretch my identity and views so far…in the words of the immortal Popeye, I yam who I yam…or was it Yahweh who said that?

My adjunct excuse is that I’ll give to charities, or donate my time to help the needy. But usually I just follow the philanthropic adventures of Alan and Janine, and postpone my good offices until an unforeseen time in the future…

When we reached the hotel I shook Ragha off – he wanted to have a chai (tea) with me, I didn’t feel like it. I put 50 rupees in his shirt pocket – he didn’t want to take any money, preferring instead to lock in the next day…naturally, at an exponentially higher rate. That wasn’t going to happen – I don’t make any deals on the spot, and in Varanasi that goes double. I told him not to wait around for me, I didn’t know when I’d wake up. I hoped he wouldn’t have formed any unrealistic expectations about serving as my man Friday, but I wasn’t sure.

Ate a crappy meal on the hotel rooftop. French fries – flaccid. Macaroni and cheese – out of a box. Papad – leathery. Only veg food, and bad veg food at that. Oh well…I’d heard that the food in Varanasi was weak.

Quick background on Varanasi: it’s thousands of years old, and perhaps the holiest city in India. The Ganges flows by, and the ghats (riverbank steps) are where puja (prayers), cremations, and bathing all take place, around the clock. An intense place to visit, and presumably to live. I’d been there briefly back in ’92, but wanted a deeper experience, so had returned for another tour.

Slept well that first night in town…didn’t make any mistakes. That joke was cribbed from Steven Wright, wherever he may be. Got up and wanted to check out the backstreets. Spotted Ragha standing outside on the street, obviously waiting for me. I wanted to get a cup of coffee at Open Hand Café, which I’d heard about, and looked around for a side route to get me there without crossing Ragha’s path. Couldn’t find one, so exited the hotel a bit away from the lad and walked away without looking back. Thought I was away scot-free…but a minute later Ragha yelled to me and ran up. Ugh.

I was cold towards him – I think he noticed, but carried on. He asked me the usual questions, how had I slept, etc. My answers were curt, and a bit rude. I felt badly as I behaved like this, but at the same time my inner nature was coming out and it would have been an effort to stop it. I walked briskly and hoped he’d understand I didn’t want company, but he persisted.

‘You want to visit my factory today?’ ‘No.’ And I kept walking. That seemed to do it. He hung back and I was finally alone. I’d later run across him (probably not by accident) a couple more times, and each time he went into his factory routine. I could appreciate him needing money for his studies and lifestyle, but I had zero desire to go to a factory and look at saris…and I’m not traveling to save the world (Bush and Cheney can go do that), I’m traveling to nourish my soul and mind. There you have it – my modest and shallow nature laid out on a platter. At least I didn’t say I was traveling to meet exotic women…

Finally free, I wandered around town. Had a coffee at Open Hands Café, a great little place with wi-fi and a shop with some nice locally-made products. Made a note to return to download podcasts. Walked by a little shop on the street and saw a little boy standing there, looking at me. His eyes were absolutely extra-terrestrial, electric blue and fathomless. For a moment I was sure he was blind, there was no way those eyes could see. But he was clearly staring at me – as if I were such a sight – and when I looked back a minute later he was still watching. I’ve seen some orbs in my travels, but never a pair like those. If he were female (is that proper grammar?) and had any kind of figure, the magazines would be all over him/her…

Walked up the ghats to watch the cremations. It’s sobering and yet natural to watch burning bodies by the Ganges…they pile up a stack of wood, of various sorts, and the body goes on the pile, or sometimes in the middle. Sometimes the body’s wrapped in cloth, sometimes not. I recall seeing a foot poking out of one woodpile – it hadn’t gotten burned and I don’t know what happened next, I suppose they managed to burn it eventually. There are scales where they weigh the wood used for the cremations…sandalwood is apparently the priciest variety. Outcastes handle the carrying of the bodies and the grunt work – no different there than with anything else in India.

You can’t photograph this process, and I didn’t want to anyway. It’s not something you forget.

Prime Minister Singh was coming for a quick visit on Friday, there were tons of cops all over town and they were erecting barriers and enclosures to protect him. Singh is a good man, not the usual venal politico – he was Finance Minister back in ’92 when I first came to India, and he’s been PM for the past several years, doing a good job despite having the Communists in his coalition. Like Vasco da Gama with worldwide travels, Singh is sort of my Indian touchstone – a reassuring, reliable face in a country where there are so many faces, many deeply unreliable…

As I was walking away from the cremation ghat, called Manikarnika, I felt a plop on my shoulder. Sure enough, bird shit, a nice pile of goo. I’ve been shit on by birds only a few times in my life, and nearly every time was in India (I do recall getting nailed once in Martha’s Vineyard). It’s supposedly good luck, but I think that was dreamed up by the dry cleaning industry. I wiped it off with my handkerchief and rued the skies. Then I walked back to change shirts.

One persistent and memorable sight on the Ganges is that of the dhobi-wallahs. These people, usually women, wash clothes in the river. They take the clothes, wet them in the river, then whack them on rocks to get the dirt out. Often they take buttons off too…you would not want to give your bespoke items to these people. I avoided doing any laundry in Varanasi, because of this washing method and also because I don’t trust the water there. The Ganges itself is filthy, it’s actually septic – no oxygen in the water. You do see some small fish in the river, but only when they come up for air, which is all the time. There’s a tower in town where the water is filtered, but I wonder how well that works. I did take showers, naturally, in my hotel, but that was about it.

Had dinner that night at Hotel Pradeep, Philippe in Jaisalmer told me about this place. It has meat and beer, two items not easily found in Varanasi. I bargained hard with a tuk-tuk driver for the trip there and back. He wanted 350 rupees and justified that outrage by saying it was a very long ride, perhaps 40 minutes. That was news to me, and I replied that I would just stay in town. He then said it wasn’t really that far, maybe a half hour. The PM was coming, roads were closed, etc. but he knew the best way to go. You can really trap these guys with their own words – the trip is so far, I won’t bother then, oh no it’s not really that far. It’s kind of far. When you get them to admit it’s not that far, you can get the price down. And when they’re not that busy, they’ll eventually take any fare that at least covers their variable cost, i.e. fuel. They pay 150 rupees a day to rent the tuk-tuk, and they need to get at least a few fares to cover that fixed amount. Once you understand their costs, you can work to get better deals.

There’s that process, then the larger one. My driver was looking to hook me for a few days, not a single ride…although if he could bilk me for one ride and still keep me on the hook, he’d not hesitate. This guy, Mohan, was fairly entertaining and not the worst theif I’d met, so I didn’t close out the possibility of taking him to go visit Sarnath another day.

The hotel restaurant, Eden, was OK. Great rooftop location, miserable service. But I got my chicken reshmi kabob and Royal Challenge beer, and I was pretty happy. Then rode back to town.

My Lonely Bible cites Varanasi’s population as 1,211,749. They might be off by 1-2 people, don’t you think?

I noticed that I had a few spots of ash or dirt on my shirt – Varanasi is a dusty, dirty place so wasn’t surprised. But I did wonder if the spots were from the cremation ceremonies I’d seen that day…were molecules of the recently departed mingling with my own? I recalled the Bill Bryson book ‘A Short History of Nearly Everything’ in which he has a bit about the molecules of past figures, like Shakespeare, blending with our own…our bodies might have a million molecules that were once in Shakespeare’s body. Food for thought…

A travel agent I saw about tickets to Darjeeling commented on the way I hold a pen. I put three fingers, plus my thumb, on a pen when I hold it and write. It runs in the family – I never thought anything of it until I sat and watched others write, they just use two fingers. Random, huh?

Did some yoga in my room that night, a tight squeeze but not too bad. Went to watch the ganga aarti ceremony again. Heavy security because the PM was somewhere around there, watching behind a bullet-proof glass. Wondered where he was, but didn’t bother to ask the cops/soldiers – they might have misinterpreted my question. I felt a bit odd, like something was about to happen. Walked away from the crowds and felt better. Claustrophobia, or a sense of impending doom? Nothing wound up happening, but it’s generally a good rule of thumb to avoid huge crowds and gatherings, in India and elsewhere.

Ate dinner at a faux-Japanese place called i.ba café. Had some decent noodles, not that greasy. I do miss East Asian food, it’s much less heavy than Indian food.

Finished ‘The Moor’s Last Sigh’ by Salman Rushdie. As mentioned in earlier entries, yet another excellent work. I’ve become a huge Rushdie fan and will get my hands on ‘Satan Verses’ one of these days.

Woke up at 5 a.m. next day to do a sunrise boat tour. This is a must-do in Varanasi, you can watch the city waking up and doing its thing – bathing, swimming, laundry, cremations. Duck-duck-duck-goose. Hired a boat and rower for a ride to Manikarnika and back – about two hours. A little boat rowed by a boy came over and he sold me a little candle in a lotus leaf for 20 rupees. I lit it and said a little prayer for my mother’s soul before I placed it on the Ganges surface. It floated away…I kept looking back at it as we rowed on…I swear it stayed lit for 10 minutes before flickering out. Varanasi is a filthy, hard place, but this is what you come for.

Life in all forms, and peace. That’s what you see and feel in Varanasi as the sun rises. Later, as the intensity and heat of the city weigh on you, negative thoughts and criticisms intrude, but at first light of day everything is fresh and optimistic.

Watched people bathing and swimming in the holy river…loads of boats full of tourists all round. The colors of the ghat-side buildings and palaces was tremendous. One tourist boat was full of Buddhist monks, some with expensive cameras…another couple boats had Japanese tourists, all in identical white outfits. Here’s a few shots from that morning’s ride:

That afternoon, took Mohan’s tuk-tuk out to Sarnath. This dusty little cow-town is one of the 4 spots on the ‘Buddhist Route.’ Lumbini is where Buddha was born; Bodhgaya where he was enlightened under the pipal/bodhi/banyan tree; Sarnath where he gave his first sermon to his new disciples; Kushinagar where he died. Sarnath is near Varanasi, so decided to visit this place.

Sarnath has a few good sights, but the key thing is that it reminds you of the rich, Indian origins of Buddhism, which is now hardly to be found in India. Between the Hindus and the Muslims, Buddhism was quashed in India and now there are few adherents, and they’re mostly dalits (untouchables) who have converted to attempt to escape the caste system.

In Sarnath there’s a banyan tree supposedly grown from a root of the original Bodhgaya tree under which Prince Siddhartha Gautama became enlightened. The root was taken to Sri Lanka, and eventually it grew into a tree there. At some point the original tree in Bodhgaya died – legend has it that Emperor Asoka’s queen, jealous of his faith, did it in. Anyway, a root was later taken from the Lanka tree and brought to Sarnath, and now it’s full-grown as well. Here it is, believe it or not:

A few stupas and a nice museum in Sarnath, made for a good couple hours of wandering and thinking. Then returned to Varanasi, stopping for a quick peek at the Ramnagar Fort/Museum, where the maharanah used to live. There was an old American ‘Ply Mouth’ car there, in poor shape. Not like the autos in Udaipur…

On the ride home, over a very rickety pontoon bridge, a ladybug landed on my hand. I haven’t seen a ladybug in decades. When I was a kid I loved seeing them, they’re so calm and ‘friendly.’ This one stayed on my hand for 15 minutes before finally flying off. I thought that just might be a good omen, and that I wouldn’t wind up being cremated on the Ganges ghats anytime soon…

Things in Tibet flared up, and quickly spread. Serves China right. I always thought Taiwan would be the trouble-maker this year, and might even try to declare independence during the Olympics. There are stirrings in Taiwan, sure, but the Tibet situation seemingly came out of nowhere. Interesting. In the coming few days I’d see pro-Tibet/anti-China marches in Varanasi and in Darjeeling – there seem to be at least a few Tibetans all over India, and in many parts of China too. China is blaming the unrest on the ‘Dalai clique,’ which is really laughable. Do they really believe that? What the fuck is the ‘Dalai clique?’ The Dalai Lama, Richard Gere and Steven Spielberg? Please. I wonder who’s more cynical, the Burmese junta or the Chinese government. It might be a dead heat.

The Dalai Lama has actually come under pressure from many Tibetans for being too conciliatory and forgoing independence, opting instead for greater autonomy. That’s certainly more realistic, given that China and Tibet are neighbors and there are a billion Han Chinese. For China to say the Dalai Lama planned and executed the current protests is crazy…but in any event China is getting what it deserves. For it to bid for the Olympics and then hope/plan to keep everything under wraps was never realistic. Eminently predictable, though – China never surprises, they always take the hard line. Would it really damage China’s interests to sit down with the Dalai Lama and negotiate with him? Imagine if (and this is complete fantasy, I admit) China made the D.L. the governor of Tibet, and treated the province with a softer touch? That would give the government some real credibility, and global admiration – which the current round of ‘people’s war’ declarations and crackdowns certainly won’t.

I think the Olympics will be a lot messier than China bargained for. This Tibet uprising, which will probably not result in any concrete gains for the Tibetan people, will at least embolden others to raise their flags and air their dirty laundry. Good for them.

Speaking of others who deserve their fate – Bear, Stearns, the U.S. investment bank. Months ago B.S. kicked off the sub-prime mess when two of their hedge funds nearly collapsed. A month ago B.S. was valued at around US$30 billion, now it has nearly collapsed and was bought for just US$260 million or so. Wow. I didn’t have any Bear stock, but still its collapse brought down the entire market and spread fear. I hope lawsuits are filed and execs don’t get paid, but I imagine the ones who get hurt most are the new hires and admin staff. Good thing my money is mostly overseas…

My fraternity brother Ari has his own investment company, Corax. He writes a great blog about stuff like this – check it out at http://coraxvp.blogspot.com/. Corax focuses on broken brands. He recently lambasted Bear, Stearns…of course, in that case, we might be talking about a brand that’s soon to be permanently erased…

Had dinner at Bread of Life Café. Had a decent bagel – first in many moons. Sat next to a cool British chick and talked with her for a while. She’s about to start university in the UK – what a composed 19-year-old. I think when I was19 I was an immature brat, and certainly hadn’t been to places like Varanasi. Her grandmother was born in Shimla, and was part of the Raj – hence the Indian connection. You meet random people everywhere…

Got interviewed by New Delhi TV on the ghats the next day. A bunch of weird questions about drugs in Goa, tout hassles in Varanasi, etc. They told me the interview would be shown the next evening at 6, but I wasn’t able to find it. Not sure if it was ever shown…

Was taking off that evening for the tea-station of Darjeeling, far to the northeast. Had a few hours before my train, so went for lunch. Wandered into Haifa Café, saw a dude using his Apple and asked if he was getting wireless. Yes. Cool. I had my laptop with me, so fired that up and caught up on my podcasts, emails, and virus definitions. Keeping a laptop tuned is like keeping a car on the road. The fellow, Dave, is a Canadian writer and artist who has spent time in Tokyo and Chiang Mai, and is now applying to a journalism program in India. Really enjoyed chatting with him, he’s a lifelong traveler and is quite creative. Reminded me a bit of my old buddy Paul from Tufts, same sparkle in the eye. One thing I liked about Dave is that he was able to find a local watering hole in the old city, whereas I had to go to Hotel Pradeep for my fix. I appreciate that sort of ingenuity. Dave’s website is davebesseling.com, check it out sometime.

Nearly grabbed a copy of City of Joy at the hotel before leaving, but decided I didn’t want to carry more books. I really am a book whore…

To Darjeeling, Queen of the Hills. A place I’d been meaning to visit for years. A hill-station much like Dharamshala, Manali, etc., but in West Bengal state. Yet another British-established town where they fled the summer heat. Took an overnight train, and expected a quiet, drab ride. But no. I shared a cabin with 3 fun people – Rajiv, an Indian textile engineer, and Ernesto and Teresa, a lovely Swedish couple. Good mix of people. Rajiv got things going by offering all of us some of his Royal Stag whiskey, which we poured into our water bottles. Rajiv chastised me for not pouring enough, but the bottle was small and I didn’t want to hog it. Had enough to get a decent buzz. We talked about lots of things – India, Darjeeling, local politics, Varanasi, work, US elections. Rajiv told us he works 7 days a week and hasn’t vacationed in 8 years. That was sobering. But he seems to enjoy his work; I’ve noticed that Indian men are very much into their jobs and tend to define themselves by it. He’s a lovely guy and meeting people like him on trains is one of the best bits of traveling.

Rajiv at one point pulled out a camera with an MP3 player on it, and cranked it up. Some Backstreet Boys…then a rap song called ‘It’s My Life,’ by a black Swedish dentist named Dr. Alban (sp?). Rajiv had thought it was by a black American artist, but Ernesto and Teresa recognized it and knew the artist. Random. I love that sort of shit.

Slept well enough that night. Woke up at 7 or so, and we resumed our chat till we reached NJP Station around 11 a.m. or so. One of the best train rides I’ve had in memory…

Shared a jeep with the Swedes and with two agreeable German travelers, Tom and Steffi. The ride to Darjeeling was about 3 hours, and was memorable. The rode was steep…it started to rain heavily…the toy train tracks were near the road and sometimes we caught a glimpse of the little train. The ride reminded me of traveling to McLeod Ganj/Dharamshala and other Himalayan hill towns. Traveling through the rain and fog was dramatic and a far cry from the searing heat of the Gangetic Plain.

Passed through small towns en route – Kurseong and Ghoom. They looked a bit like some of the towns on South Africa’s Cape peninsula, like Simonstown. Of course, there was no Brass Bell pub from Kalk Bay here…just lots of little Tibetan and Nepali shops.

Darjeeling is the anti-Varanasi. It’s clean…the air is cool/cold…the place is calm (even with the local Tibetans in a bad mood)…and it’s liberal – you can get meat and beer. It felt strangely familiar, much like the other hill stations I knew. Inspiring and fresh. I’m glad I like so much of this world. Varanasi certainly had its merits, and I was glad I spent a few days there. But it was time to move on, and Darjeeling felt like the right next move.

Checked into the Dekeling Hotel, run by Tibetans. Good little place – the rooms are great, red carpeting (clean), very cozy. But it’s not quiet – you can hear noise from the restaurant downstairs, and from the halls. And they were working on the entrance, so there was rubble everywhere. Still, maintenance is a good thing and I didn’t complain about the noise from the work – particularly since they were giving a bit of a discount to compensate.

My hotel’s restaurant was closed to protest the China crackdown on Tibet. And there were other signs that things were not completely normal, either.

That night, found Joey’s Pub and had a few beers there. The bartender put on some Stevie Ray Vaughan and asked me if I knew the tune. I did indeed, and told him I’d seen SRV live at Tufts a few months before he died in a plane crash. He seemed to think that was something. Saw a photo on the wall of the (former) Nepali royal family, circa late 1990s. Before the entire family was slaughtered, in an incident you’re probably familiar with. I mentioned in one or two of my Goa posts that all the Nepalis there believe it was a conspiracy – the crown prince did not do the deed in a drunken/drugged fit, it was the king’s bro, who is now the new king. I’m coming around to this conspiracy theory…it does make a lot of sense, and everyone from this region seems to believe it. Might be worth doing a bit of online research to see if Westerners are buying this story. I generally hate conspiracy theories, but am open to making the occasional exception…

Joey’s plays great 70s music. They put on a John Lennon album with the song ‘Beautiful Boy.’ I’m fond of this song, in part because I cribbed a line from it to use in the Darden graduation speech I gave in 1993. The line is ‘life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.’ That’s one worth keeping in mind.

There was a thangka (Tibetan wall hanging) at Joey’s that was the same as one I’d bought in Dharamshala back in ’92. I wonder where it is now…

One thing I like about India: when someone serves you, they extend their right hand with the food/drink/item, and touch their left hand to the elbow of their right. It’s a sign of respect – an odd gesture, but quite touching.

Got out of Joey’s late that night. Realized I had no drinking water. Wandered the streets looking for a place to sell me some. Darjeeling shuts down very early…I looked everywhere, and finally found a little chai shop that had some. I had been mentally preparing myself to drink the tap water…which at least is mountain water. I would rather die of thirst than do the same in Varanasi…

Next morning, took the toy train ‘joy-ride’ to Ghoom and back, a couple hours. Pretty good ride – good Himalayan views, although it was pretty cloudy and the buildings get in the way. The toy train dates to the 1880s and is now a UNESCO World Heritage site. Mark Twain rode on it way back when, and one of the cars bears his name. A few shots from that ride:

I love trains.

It’s quite cold in Darjeeling right now, and at night you need to bundle up. Haven’t had this sort of evening weather in years – it’s great for sleeping, but you do want to cuddle. I should have tried harder to pick up that British girl in Varanasi…

Have been spending a lot of time in the renowned Glenary’s Café, because it has 1) great pots of tea, and 2) wireless. The view is quite nice, if it’s clear. You feel a bit like the old Raj days sitting in Glenary’s…

Keep running into Ernesto and Teresa, and Tom and Steffi too. It’s a small town. The other day we went for high tea at the Elgin Hotel. That was luxurious…a nice break from chai shops. Then we wandered over to Joey’s for the rest of the night – sank quite a few Kingfishers and tested the menu there. Joey’s is the clearinghouse for tourists, and not a few locals, in Darjeeling. Expect to wind up there most evenings…

Have also been wolfing down some decent Tibetan food – momos (dumplings) and thukpas (noodle soups). The latter are great for breakfast, a good change from Western breakfasts and Indian fried torture. When I lived in Hong Kong I’d often have congee or noodle soup for breakfast – it’s hot, light, nutritious, and healthy, unlike most other forms of breakfast.

Newspapers still full of Tibet protest stories. Chinese government not bending at all. Oh, for a Chinese Kevin Rudd!!

Spent a morning hoofing it over to the local zoo and the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. The zoo was much better than expected – bears, leopards, and deer. Won’t torture you with shots of the animals, you can find better photos elsewhere. The HMI was also entertaining – it was formerly run by Tenzing Norgay Sherpa, who got to the top of Everest with Edmund Hillary in 1953. Norgay’s grave is next to the HMI:

The HMI has an Everest Museum with loads of info and items from the various climbs. Spent an hour looking at the sights there.

After lunch, went to the Botanical Gardens, which the Swedes had recommended to me. The contents of the gardens were pretty good – lots of Himalayan species there. But I really liked the views of the looming city from the lower parts of the greens, and there was a road at the bottom which wound around the ridge and which offered spectacular views – check it out:

Was sore from all the walking, and the cold air really seeps into your muscles. Did an hour of yoga, that helped quite a bit. Went for dinner at Park Hotel’s Lemongrass Restaurant, which supposedly has Thai cuisine. I had the local equivalent of pad thai, which was decent – at least there were noodles. And I had a very good spinach in beans dish – the Indian spinach dishes are swimming in masala gravy, so this was a good and healthy alternative. A hot buttered rum to top things off.

It’s funny – even places calling themselves ‘Chinese’ or ‘Thai’ here offer tandoor dishes, etc. Next to Joey’s is a Chinese joint that has a sign prominently proclaiming their tandoori chicken. Give me a break.

Speaking of Joey’s – went there last night, after that quasi-Thai food. Sat next to a Canadian electrician who was very down on India. He and his girlfriend were cutting short their trip here by a couple weeks. He/they just don’t like the locals, it seems. At first I thought he was a clueless Westerner who had culture shock – but it turns out he’s widely traveled and has even been to backwaters like Ethiopia. Hmm. I understood his mood – Indian men stare at you, and particularly at women, like you’re aliens. And touts can drive you mad anywhere in India, along with the beggars. Still, I thought he was missing the point. At least you can connect with many of the people here, and sometimes try to understand (and perhaps change) their views and actions. You can’t do that in many places where language is an issue. But I suppose India just isn’t for everyone. Perhaps the Tourism Ministry can incorporate that into its ongoing ‘Incredible India’ ad campaign. ‘India: Not for Everyone.’ A ring of exclusivity, no?

A couple final images re Tibet – one from brother-in-law Dave, another from a Tibetan friend in Dharamshala. Over and out.

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