In which Alison writes in her blog while covered in the ashes of dead people

So, we last left our heroine tired, sick and cold in Darjeeling. Firstly (I noticed that, when I re-edit this blog after I return to the land where the internet is free I will have to remove three “First”s from each post) if you have to be sick and cold somewhere, it should be here. I arrived from the bus in Siliguiri, which is a no-there-there kind of town if there ever was one, whose only purpose is to provide Jeeps up to Darjeeling. I got a window seat and, with my protector and 7 new best friends, started out on our three hour journey. Right away, I started noticing signs saying “Darjeeling 75 km” and thinking, this can’t possibly take three hours. I was not counting on the fact that it is 75km straight up in the air, with dozens of hairpin turns leading up through tiny villages (where the traffic is stopped by many ox-carts), and past gorgeous views of the pine and tea covered hills. I was feeling better by this point (having ingested nothing since the plain toast six hours before) and really enjoyed having the wind on my face, and not stopping every time someone wanted to get off/on. About halfway up the drive, we stopped at a side-of-the-road restaurant, in a yellow house perched on the edge of a steep hill, looking down over terraced fields. It was so beautiful, if a little precarious, and when I went inside the women were dishing up momos, Tibetan steamed dumplings. They smelled so good, I had a plate of four. This is seriously a “where have you been all my life?” food. I can’t explain it, but the carroty, cabbagey, salty, oiled dumpling taste was really addictive. Of course, half an hour later we had the squatting by the side of the road, but it was totally worth it.

After we arrived in Darjeeling, I went looking for a place to sleep. I found one for a pretty good rate, cheaper because it had no view but it did have a TV and free hot water (by the bucket). I was a little sorry to not have a view, but realized that a huge picture window view meant huge heat-leaching windows at night. After I blogged, I headed out looking for some food. I broke down, kids, and just wanted spaghetti. I know, I know, I promised not to, but I was so discouraged I needed comfort food. I asked a few places, no dice, and finally I ended up at this lovely restaurant looking over the night-lights of the valley which served veggie chowmein. Fine. It was really good. After so many weeks of Indian food, the Chinese tasted really, really good. And, I didn’t feel like I was selling out, since Darjeeling is so Chinese influenced. Win win!

I got back to the hotel in time to enjoy the middle of “Superman”, which I’d never seen but was really excited about. I woke up really early the next morning, mostly because I was freezing, and headed out for breakfast and to take the toy train. The Darjeeling Toy Train (or small gage railroad) is a vestige of the Raj with an adorable steam engine and bright blue paint. I saw it waiting in the station, and all I could think of was the Little Engine That Could. I was taking the short trip, just 45 minutes to a village called Ghoom which has several monasteries and other sights. If you’re more dedicated, you could go to the big town of Karijeoing (three hours), or even back to Siliguiri (seven hours). I was happy with my little ride, though. Mostly, the people on my train were actually trying to go somewhere, so we had little kids on their way to school, grandparents with tons of baggage, and business men with briefcases mixed in with me and the tow Japanese girls down the car. The ride was basically back down the route we had come, with a loop around a war memorial which was meant to show off the Himalayan mountains (they were clouded over). It was fun, though, because of the engine and because all of the people along the track waved to us as we passed in slow motion (Mom, think Dinner Train). After about an hour and 15 minutes (we had a few unscheduled stops) I got off and started walking the 7km back. I was all downhill, and I was glad for the exercise. The morning chill had come off the air, and the sun was shining, so I was in a pretty good mood even as I tried not to get hit by Jeeps and cursed my camera (the batteries I bought were duds). I know that some of you will be slightly amused by this distress, since I’m always the shutter-bug of the group (I can hear you giggling, Jess), but it was rather frustrating. About halfway through, I stopped at another roadside place for more momos and my first Darjeeling Tea. It was very good, hot and steaming, and as I looked out the window of the café and heard the next train coming, my camera started up! Miracles!

I didn’t stop at any of the monasteries; I think that just would have been a little weird. It’s one thing to visit the ashram where you are, as a foreigner, basically given VIP status, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself at a Buddhist Monastery. It was a little weird, though, because I know so many people who would have loved to visit, and would have known the right questions to ask and gotten so much out of it. So, Em, if you’re reading this I was defiantly thinking of you and wishing that you were with me.

I got back to town about noon, and mostly just wandered the streets for a while, getting a feeling for the town. Everything was laid out in layers, each road was a switchback that up past the rows of houses and shops. The buildings seemed too small for what they were, like toy houses. They were all brightly colored, with blue and green tin gingerbread trim and prayer flags and wheels decorating many of them. Those that didn’t have prayer flags had tiles of the gods and goddesses stuccoed into their sides in geometric patterns. Most of the shops were for Tibetan curios, warm clothes, or the fruit/pan/candy/cigarettes stands that are ubiquitous here. I was getting puckish, so I got yet another momo snack at a place with a gorgeous valley view. The people there were exceptionally nice and friendly, and it was no smoking. It’s funny, in the south almost no one smokes, I was shocked when people started lighting up in Calcutta and they smoke even more here. I’m especially annoyed by the other travelers, who are often allowed to smoke in restaurants in their home countries. I bought a few things, including a Tibetan Cook Book as my Darjeeling souvenir. At 4:30, I went to the New Eglin for high tea. After my momos, which were delicious, but a while ago, I was ready for another meal. I walked into the reception of this lovely hotel, a one level sprawling building, with white and green trim, and found myself completely alone. I wandered through dining rooms and into a sitting room that looked over their gardens and then over the valley, when a white-turbaned waiter found me. “High Tea, Madam?” he said to the smell traveler who hadn’t washed her hair in five days. This guy was classy.

Well, I was settled in the sitting room, in front of a roaring fire, and as the sun went town I was served cheese sandwiches, brownies and cookies along with a huge pot of tea. About an hour into my very leisurely repast, a group of Irish men who were actually staying at the hotel came in. They settled down with lots of lilting conversation “We might be in Dublin!”,“Will ya look at that silver?”, “The woman wants your room key so she can put in the hot water bottle, can ya imagine?” The woman in question was a 60 year-old Asian version of Mrs. Claus, complete with bonnet and apron. I was sincerely jealous, and vowed that next time I come to India I will be very, very rich and thus about to stay for months in places like this. I invited the men over to sit in my sectional (since they didn’t have a fire) and we drank tea together until I started getting slightly less classy looks from the waiters (this was about two hours after I arrived) and started to feel sleepy. I trundled off into the cold back to bed, and fell pretty promptly asleep.

In the morning, I stopped back at the place with the view for a breakfast of Tibetan brown bread and tea. I was just getting settled in when I looked up and there, right out the window, were the mountains. It was amazing. It was just like someone had pasted them there, they rose about a blue streak that looked like sky above the green hills. I ate breakfast quickly, then ran out looking for a spot to take pictures (yup, it’s me). I found about 20 people gathered at the observation point, taking pictures, saying prayers, doing Thai Chi to the mountains. After that, I wandered down the hill north of town, visiting some tea plantations and just seeing what there was to see. I got back, checked out of the hotel, stopped for a lunch of Thunkpa (it was in my cookbook, but it basically Tibetan chicken noodle soup) and brown bread and got some momos to go, then got back in a Jeep and headed back to Siliguiri. We took a different road down than we had up, even more steep and passing at least 10 different tea farms. It was a nice way to end my visit, and I got to the train station in plenty of time to catch the 4:50 to Varanassi.

My night on the train was non-descript. I went AC, which I don’t generally like because it’s really cold and the windows don’t open, and the people are much more reserved about personal space. So, since I was on a side-upper bunk, I was basically stuck in a dark windowless box for 14 hours. Still, I slept well, and there were no snorers and the baby stopped crying by 9:00pm. In the morning, I managed to snag a seat on the lower bench, where an adorable child who spoke no English found me and started chattering away in Hindi. She kept saying “Auntie!’ and then following it which a string of words that I could almost kinda sometimes follow (she told me about the train, the emergency window, her brother, her shoes, and my hair). She was so cute, I was almost sorry to get off, but my train was right on time and I got down at the station, called my hotel, and waited for them to come and pick me up.

We took a cycle-rickshaw from the station t the entrance of the Ghats, which are the riverbanks of the Ganges. My hotel is right on the river; with a roof-top restaurant and a terrace with a view (my room also has a view, remember Kyla I said I would never take it for granted again!). We had to walk the last bit, through tiny narrow streets that are just as confusing as the souk in Rabat. Luckily, there are signs painted on all the walls directing you to various places (“Vishnu Guest House à” ect. ). We arrived and I was pretty floored. It’s a brightly colored, lovely place. The restaurant serves travelers food, but the banana-peanut butter toast tasted really nice. As I ate, I saw two men deposit ashes into the water, feet from where women were washing clothes. Then I headed out to the river, and took a boat tour in the fog. It was about 11am, but it was cloudy and the river was bathed in blue light. It was just as crazy as you might imagine it. There were men meditating, women washing, boats full of pilgrims doing religious services on the water, a goat had gotten into one of the temples and was eating the marigolds from around the neck of the Goddess. My boat went past the burning ghats, where bodies wrapped in gold foil are placed on sandlewood, the family standing around. I tasted ash in my mouth as we sailed away.

After that, I rested in the hotel until I came here to catch you all up. I have two more days in Varanassi, and I plan to have very little program for either of them. Just rest and relax a little (strange place to do it, I know). I’ve decided not to go to Dhaslama (too cold, too far, too much hassle) and Amristar is a little up in the air. I’ll keep you posted.