Run to the Hills...

...and freefall. (small town pretty)
Sorry, but its worth it if at least 3 people might understand, no?

Darjeeling. Now there's a nice name. It means "land of lightning" I believe, though in exactly what language, I'm not sure.
Everyone I'd spoken to had said not to go there as it's too cold at this time of year. But it was now or never, and I fancied a nice cup of tea. Actually, I don't really like Darjeeling tea, but I didn't want to go to Assam right now as things seem to be kicking off. And in case you're wondering, it was tribal people from Assam who first showed the british how to make tea, and it was the british who decided to plant it in Darjeeling. I digress...



It wasn't so cold when I arrived, so I went for one of the oldest hotels in town: at the highest point, lots of charm, a 3-room suite, 3 resident mice, very cheap (off season), no insulation, and a very old electric heater. I've could've got more heat from a match. It was SO COLD. 4 blankets, 2 duvets, thermal underwear, still cold.
But the views! The backdrop to the town is the Kangchendzonga range (part of the Himalayas), which has the 3rd highest mountain in the world. More on that later. It wasn't clear enough to see Everest, which was a real shame, as was the fact that I didn't use my camera for the 2 clear days I had in Darjeeling. And then the clouds came down. Or maybe they came up. In any case, 2 days of cold, cloud, very few backpackers, and a town that goes to bed at 8, became mildly depressing. I read. A lot. In fact, I've read more on this trip so far than on the whole of the last one.



Anyway, I'd had enough of being cold so headed to Kalimpong (about 800m lower), with the intention of travelling onto Bhutan.



Kalimpong was great. I was really lucky with the weather, had an amazing hotel (where Hilary & Tenzing stayed pre-Everest), & spent most of my time gazing at this view from my balcony:



Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Himalayas. I've never seen anything like it. Just the name is awe-inspiring, but to see part of them in the flesh is a genuine privilege. OK, I know you want more... The peak on the right is the aforementioned Kangchendzonga.



The West Bengal hills really didn't feel like India to me. I realise I'm saying that a lot, but that's the way it is. No one place defines the feeling of India in the same way that no one place defines Europe. This (very new) country is really more like a continent. Its so big, so diverse in environment, culture, language etc, it has a larger population than Africa. I could go on. Oh yes, the hills. The Nepali/Tibetan influence is visible everywhere which, put simply (crudely) is more relaxed, more friendly, and almost hassle-free compared to most of India.



Now, according to the book, the Bhutanese powers that be had relaxed their $200/day tourist fee in the city of Phuentsholing, just across the border for Jaigon. Having decided to risk travelling through a political strike, packed my bags and bought my bus ticket, I was having lunch with an American guy when the owner of the restaurant overheard our conversation and told me Bhutan was no longer open for free, and hadn't been for a couple of years. I verified this on the interweb and narrowly avoided 12 hours of nervous buses only to be turned away at the border. So I stayed in Kalmipong for one more day, which was nice.



I was quite sad to leave the hills. But I intend to see the Himalayas again, from the other side, while I'm in India, and I was in the mood for some hot weather again. And my jeans needed a wash. Here's the best mode of transport in the hills, minus the 6 people clinging onto the back/sitting on the top:



And here's the Teesta river as seen from the road from Kalimpong to Siliguri:



Siliguri is without doubt the worst place I've been in India. All the downsides, none of the positives, but it is the major train station to/from the northeast. Still, I only had a few hours to kill. Or so I thought. Having survived 6 hours without pulling any hair out, I went to the train station, where the flashy digital bulletin boards only display information on the train that's most recently departed (along with 6 lines of scrolling "don't set fire to the train, don't cook on the train, don't push people off the train, try to stay inside the train while its moving, this board designed by BEC, Bangalore flash flash flash). I queued to ask for the platform number. Nice man said platform 3. Went to platform 3, 9.30pm, 1 hour early... At 11.30pm, I went to ask when it was expected and THE SAME MAN told me "2pm tomorrow." 15 hours late. Nevermind, I eventually found a hotel that was still open, and delayed my journey to the heartland of Buddhist and Hindu pilgrimage until the next day...

Stories from the City

Sorry for the silence, but i'm back now...

So, where were we?
I can't leave Puri without telling you about the Sun Temple at Konark - an hour's scoot from Puri. As disused temples go (and you may have gathered that I'm not automatically enraptured by the mere concept), this one is very special. Its from the 13th century, is a shadow of its former self, and is not on a grand scale but... the design (as the chariot of the sun god Surya), the detail and the symmetry make it rather nice. Check it:



After more than a week in Puri, I was ready to face the city formerly known as Calcutta. I'd been intrigued by Kolkata since I first thought about coming to India. It was the capital of the British Raj for over 150 years, and was one of the most adversely affected places after partition, and during the war with Pakistan. Both times supermassive immigration was the main problem, leading to bursting at the seams poverty, terrible pollution, and all the rest we hear about.

Having arrived on the night train (as per usual), my first task was to book my next train. I normally do this online, thereby avoiding what most independent travellers find is one of the more frustrating Indian experiences. But online quotas for my journey were full, so I gritted my teeth and made my way up the 3 stories on a staircase which doubles as the overflow for the blocked toilets. Mmm. Several queues (and the Indian interpretation of a queue is somewhat different to mine: you stand as close as possible to the person in front and, if you feel like it, you walk to the front and involve yourself with the person who's being served, shove your form to the clerk, start shouting, your mates join in, form a scrum, and everybody's happy), and several hours later, I collapsed out of the chaos, proudly clutching my ticket, feeling fresh as a daisy and ready to face standard taxi shenanigans and finally enter Kolakata...



...Albeit at about 2 mph, through traffic the like of which I've only ever seen in Delhi: 3 lanes become 1, 1 lane becomes 2, the road surface disappears, 2 motorways merge, beggars on all sides thrust hands through the windows, a rickshaw puller (who's one step away from giving a piggy back to the 3 people he's pulling) makes a kamikaze (barefooted) dash in front of an enormous truck which brakes, flashes its (blue and green) headlights, honks its horn which plays something like "eye of the tiger" at triple speed, the 20 or more people on the top and sides hang on for dear life, the pollution is so intense that cleaner air could be smoked through a cigar, across Howrah bridge (the busiest bridge in the world by a long way) where a sea of pedestrians with all manner of objects on their heads (luggage, fruit, filing cabinets etc) flow around the taxi, my driver sings with the latest bollywood songs (half of stereo, one speaker that blew years ago but is still cranked to 11), whilst chatting to his colleagues through the medium of the horn. you get the picture.



I spent most of my time in Kolkata walking round, gazing at buildings, taking in the atmosphere, getting lost, etc. Its not a place to relax. Here's the Victoria memorial:



Its now a museum/gallery displaying Raj portraits/memorabilia/the story of Independence etc. I had, out of curiosity rather than pride, hoped to find some information/pictures of my ancestors who were involved here (my great grandfather was accountant general of Bengal, Burma and the Punjab, and his uncle was Viceroy). But alas, as per usual the museum only focuses on the start and end of the Raj, and ignores the rest. Oh well... At least there's a healthy dose of propaganda about the fantastic state Kolkata is now - everyone smiling, just happy to be here.
Back at my hotel, I pondered this while looking out of my window at the rickshaw-pullers, the 6 year old children carrying heavy loads, and the luckless naked crippled beggars.



(I hope you can appreciate my irony even through the medium of photography...)
The disparity betwixt the British areas (huge buildings, many of which are now crumbling so much that trees grow from their bricks, on wide leafy streets) and the shanty towns where their Indian subjects lived, is sobering even today. Its no wonder that great resentment grew against the Raj and that Calcuttans were central to the struggle for independence.

Anyway, I couldn't have stayed in Kolkata longer than the 2 days I spent there. The smell, the noise, the lack of space etc are exhausting. But I really like the place! I shall fill you in on my interim antics very soon.....

situation net: limbo

Having written the most devastatingly witty and insightful post the world has ever seen, (on the slowest computers in the world), the whole town of Darjeeling lost power. This happened twice. So, I can't share my trials, tribulations, jubilations, inhalations or the story of the over-friendly elephant just yet.
Suffice to say, I'm in Kalimpong (of The Inheritance of Loss fame), trying to get to Bhutan but coming up against political strikes. I'll be able to write properly within a week. Sorry to everyone to whom I owe emails, but would you rather I shout at a computer, or look at the Himalayas?
Byefernow

We Float

As most people seem to find, I had more of a culture shock returning to England than when I first arrived in India. How is it so organised, so clean, so goddam quiet?! Oxford St for post-xmas shopping was almost serene: no cows, no horns, people walking on pavements, giving each other space. And instead of that sweet sweet smell of sewers/diesel/rotting mountains of rubbish (all heated to perfection by the scorching sun), it was just unadulterated exhaust fumes. Where's the fun in that?

It took a week or so to feel like I was in England, and after that it was really nice to have a mid-trip break. Time to process/assimilate/get fired up for the next trip/enjoy the best of the english winter: wine, goose, washing machines, baths etc. Here's some frost for those of you who haven't left the heat:



Christmas was obviously quite sad, but the presence of Flynne - one of the world's coolest toddlers - made a big difference.



Anyway, 2 weeks was long enough. India is addictive... Hope I'm managing to convey some of the reasons in this blog, so I won't put it into a soundbyte now. I didn't give myself the best chance of a smooth return though: having put on my best drunk for a long long time on new year's, the 1st and 2nd were a washout. I managed to extract myself from the haze on the evening of the 2nd to have a quiet goodbye drink with some village people, followed by a bath, some packing and an early night. However, when Joe asked Rory and I to be best men at his wedding(s), things changed somewhat. A valiant attempt to re-enact 2 nights previous ensued & I woke up drunk & confused with a few hours to find/buy/pack all everything for India. Incapable of reading the packing list that Nye & I had complied, I had to remember everything I needed... Probably shouldn't have brought more jumpers than boxers, but apart from that all seems present.

After an uncomfortable night in the air, as we descended through cloudless sky into Mumbai, my MP3 player kindly played me Polly-Jean's "we float," which I haven't listened to in ages and made me very happy.

So, India then.



Less than 24 hours after arriving at my hotel in Mumbai (same room as when I left, adding to my confusion as to whether England had just been a dream), having helped out Stefano - an Italian guy who sat next to me on the plane, whose luggage BA had failed to bring (a great introduction to his first extra-european experience, & a bureaucratic/linguistic challenge too far), I was on a train to Orissa. yes, that was a long sentence.

It would've made more sense for me to fly into Kolkatta, but I booked my ticket in September (when I didn't know where I'd want to be), & it wasn't changeable. Besides, Mumbai-Orissa doesn't look so far on the map, so I was a bit surprised when, as we departed at 3pm on friday, the conductor told me we'd arrive some time on sunday morning! Maybe I should've looked at the railway map and realised its a convoluted route... Still, it was OK: nice people to talk to, some great scenery,



lots to read and listen to, so the daytimes went quickly. It was unfortunate, however, that Indian Railways had scheduled both the snoring world cup AND the mobile ringtone conference in my section...



So, 40 hours, 2000km and 2 hours of sleep later, I arrived in Bubaneswar - capital of Orissa. A 2 hour bus ride later (which was fun - literally bursting as always & an accident-enforced-diversion through some really interesting villages where people very rarely see buses, let alone a white arm hanging out), I arrived in Puri. Hoooooray!!!

Permit me the indulgence of a re-cap: I arrive in Puri having spent 3 of the last 4 nights in transit, the other jetlagged, having been drunk for the 3 previous days. Needless to say, I've been ill!

Puri is great. It's on the bay of Bengal, at one end is a fishing village, at the other one of the biggest temples in India which has the largest kitchen in the world: 400 cooks! In between these ends is a great backpacking area. My hotel is my favourite in India so far. The beach in Puri itself isn't great (mainly because the fishing village use it as their toilet), but a 20 min scooter ride along the coast the beaches are beautiful:



I'll be staying here a few more days - the temple at nearby Konark is reportedly incredible, and there's more fish to be eaten before I head to Kolkatta and then the cold cold mountains. For this leg of my trip, I plan not to set myself too challenging-a-list of "must see" places. I feel I travelled too quickly at times before Xmas. So, if I really like a place, as with Puri, I'll stay longer. Rocket science, huh? Also, I'm equipped with a travel geetar this time, as well as 2 french language methods and a better camera, so I have more to keep me occupied.

OK, that's enough. Byebye