It has been a while since I have updated the ole blog, but I have been busy interacting with my friend, India. Since my last post, Missy and I have spent a week in and around Darjeeling, 30 quick hours in Calcutta, and of course, about 48 hours on trains, buses, or in sketchy looking vans. That’s just how we roll here in India. I was recently speaking with my wonderful mother on Skype and she asked, “Why in the hell would you voluntarily take a 33 hour train from Calcutta to Mumbai, if you could just take a domestic flight?” The lady has a point. However, where is the fun in that? Plus, some of the most beautiful sights in India can be seen through the train window. So, I am currently on a 33 hour train ride from the very Eastern part of India to the very Western part of India, listening to my “Christmas Time” playlist on my Ipod. Why is this you might ask? Well, the other day, I was speaking to my boyfriend on my Indian cell phone, which is really more like a walkie-talkie than anything, and he exclaimed, “Lys…they are already playing Christmas commercials on tv and Christmas music on the radio here!” That’s when it hit me that, where I come from, they are gearing up for the holidays. So, I thought it was only fair that I get to listen to John Williams’s version of White Christmas over and over until I feel the Christmas spirit. In case you were wondering; yes, that is the version of White Christmas that can be heard in one of the greatest American films of all time, Home Alone. The nice old Indian man sitting next to me is very intrigued by the picture of Kevin McCallister that keeps popping up on my Ipod screen each time I hit repeat. Anyways, I am sitting here on my way to Mumbai, as Missy sleeps next to me since she is currently suffering from the Delhi Belly (it happens), and I have just finished a wonderful and well balanced meal of popcorn, M&Ms, fried potatoes and a Pepsi. I’m on vacation! We are headed to Mumbai so that we can meet my dear friend, Michelle, who has come to India for a brief holiday from real life. We are going to whisk her away to the Southern beaches of Goa because she deserves a vacation and well, we just want to go. Below is a post I wrote a few days ago about our adventurous week in Darjeeling. Warning…this is a long one!
When and if you should ever have the urge to view a map of India, Darjeeling just looks awkwardly situated. In other words, the place is difficult to visit without a little hustle and bustle. In that case, it is a good thing that after traveling India for two months now, Missy and I are equipped for the old proverbial “bump in the road”. To get to Darjeeling, we endured an uninterrupted string of what I like to call “transportationomics”. It all started with the 12 hour train delay experienced by the “Varanasi train station crew” mentioned in the previous post; then a 16 hour train ride; followed by a three hour jeep ride up the mountain at 4:30am, in which four of us were shoved across one row of seats; a two mile walk to Alice Villa Hotel; and finally a three hour wait at a café for a room to open up for us. Just to make sure you fully understand the sitch-e-ation, Missy and I left on the evening of November 7 for the train station in Varanasi and were finally able to settle into our establishment in Darjeeling on the afternoon of November 9. I cannot explain to you in words how glorious my first shower in Darjeeling felt. I mean…it was almost emotional.
To be perfectly frank, my initial impression of Darjeeling was one of mild disappointment; but to be fair, I was crabby from extreme drowsiness, embarrassingly filthy from the “transportationomics” mentioned above, and running on very little food consumption. I was utterly shocked at the congestion, commercialization and noise in a city that I was expecting to be quiet, serene and peaceful. I would almost go so far to say that I was annoyed with the amount of Indians who inhabited their own country. Are Indians really populating their country at such a massive rate that even the most remote hill stations are turning into mosh pits of people? For the love of god, someone tell them to slow down the baby making. (To the credit of Darjeeling, one positive observation I made immediately upon arrival was the absolute absence of a single cow…praise Buddah!!!) However, after spending three precious days of my existence in the town of Darjeeling, it rapidly grew on me.
First of all, Missy and I have the “Varanasi train station crew" to thank for hours of entertainment. Well…we should really thank the ingenious human being who finally realized the lucrative potential of opening a pub for travelers somewhere in India. Joey’s Pub became our evening sanctuary and the only reason Missy and I stayed up past our usual bedtime of 9:00pm. Joey’s is seriously the first drinking establishment I have come across in over six weeks, and I was immediately buzzed just from the scent of beer. One evening we even stayed out until 11:00pm; only to be lightly scolded by the owner of our hotel, who was waiting up for us by the gate upon our return. Missy and I were buzzed AND getting in trouble for coming home late…it was like being a senior in high school all over again. REBELS!!! Anyways, the combination of drinking beer for the first time in months and having three sarcastic English traveling friends regale us with stories in their posh UK accents was truly special. (On another side note, it really is a mystery to me why my parents did not try harder to raise my brother and I with English accents…it is one of life’s greatest travesties and setbacks). Anyways, the five of us spent hours trying to “out funny” each other over a few brews, with tales from our Indian travel experiences. For those of you who faithfully read this blog, you can attest to the fact that Missy and I have accumulated enough ridiculous stories from the last two months of our lives to have really held our own in this group. However, Craig and Jennifer from Birmingham (England not Alabama people) take the cake for giving the group the biggest laughs. I especially appreciated one of Craig’s animated rants, after reading a story in his trusted Lonely Plant, about a city in India that experienced a recent outbreak of the plague in the late ‘90s. The plague as in…the disease that can be referred to in Shakespeare plays or fifth grade history text books. After Craig had consumed about five beers, he exclaimed in his best English accent: “I know it’s not supposed to be funny, but……..THE PLAGUE!.......IT’S A MEDIEVAL DISEASE FOR GODS SAKE!......WHAT PLACE ON EARTH COULD POSSIBLY STILL GET THE PLAGUE!?”. It was indescribably funny at the time and Missy and I laughed about it for the next 36 hours. I could honestly write a short novel recalling the conversations had amongst the “Varanasi train station crew”, but I will save that for a rainy day. I would just like to thank the powers that be for throwing the five of us together for a few days. Craig, Jennifer, and Jenny; if you are reading this, we love you.
Now, beer and funny English people were obviously not the only reasons for my heightened enthusiasm about Darjeeling. The real credit goes to the incredibly harmonious and painfully friendly community created by the Indian, Tibetan, and Nepali citizens of this great town. I have never seen so many people of varying descents and religions coexist so beautifully. It really made for a warm and fuzzy experience. I especially have a soft spot in my heart for the dozens of chubby Tibetan children and old Nepali grandpas that populate this hill station. I can’t decide which ones I like to stare at more. All the children in this town look like the little Boy Scout from the animated phenomenon and Pixar movie, UP. It took all my strength not to pinch their pink cheeks or kidnap one of them as a souvenir. Could you imagine that conversation at customs upon my return to the United States? “Uhhh yes sir…I am carrying a couple of wool blankets, some Indian spices, and one 150 pound Tibetan child”. Amazing.
Lastly, I credit Darjeeling’s massive appeal to the mountainous terrain that creates its outer layers. One morning, all the members of the “Varanasi train station crew” jumped in a jeep at 4:30am and were shuttled to the top of Tiger Hill to catch the sun rising over Khangchendzonga. This is the third highest peak in the entire world and its name literally means something like “big snowy peak”…creativity at its finest. From the top of Tiger Hill, besides battling 5,000 Indian citizens to be in the front of the line, we could see the peaks of Everest, Lhotse, Makalu, Kabru, and Janu. It was truly spectacular. It was one of the times on this trip that the hair on my arms actually stood up; one of those moments where the appreciation of taking in such a sight was overwhelming. The pictures do not even come close to doing this image justice, but you can’t blame us for trying…
The rest of our time in the commercial section of Darjeeling was spent eating at Sonam’s kitchen, the only place downtown to get coffee instead of tea and a breakfast sandwich that will change your life; listening to local citizens sing into a microphone in the middle of town square, known as Chowrasta; and doing massive amounts of souvenir shopping. I mean MASSIVE amounts of shopping. All I can say is that our families and friends are extremely lucky to know us at this time in our lives. Missy and I had to buy an enormous (and eco-friendly) bag to hold all of the trinkets we picked up in Darjeeling. We are the only backpackers I know who have a backpack AND a carry on. Don’t worry people; we plan on shoving said bag into a locker in Mumbai for three weeks before we head south to beach country. We will be backpacking in style again soon enough.
Now…onto the good stuff…like drinking true Darjeeling tea, experiencing the remote beauty offered by the tea farms on the far outskirts of the informal state of Gorkhaland, and living under the roof of a Nepali family at Makaibari Tea Estates.
What is Gorkhaland, you might be asking yourself? I will tell you. It is the name of the state people in this part of India have appointed for themselves. The inhabitants of this section of the country, who admittedly have an extremely different culture and lifestyle from the rest of the state of Bengal, would like the Indian government to recognize this by giving them their own state; which they have decided to call, Gorkhaland. I mean, if I was a map maker in charge of giving territories their labels and titles, I could not possibly think of a better name than Gorkhaland. It sounds like somewhere Darth Vader would set up shop. Anyways, to make their point known, the citizens of Gorkhaland have painted the word on every single shop and stall from one border to another; just in case you forgot that they no longer associate themselves with the state of Bengal. One quiet afternoon in the town of Kursheong, Missy and I stumbled upon a very peaceful and organized line of picketers yelling over and over again; “We want Gorkhaland. Gorkhaland. Gorkhaland!” I say why not just give it to them India?
After spending a few days in town, Missy and I fled to the countryside. We had booked two nights at the infamous Makaibari Tea Estates. Darjeeling is responsible for supplying India with 25% of its tea…and Indians drink A LOT of tea. Makaibari is the only tea estate in the world that offers bioorganic tea, and many of you have probably tasted tea from these hills if you have ever had the brand Tazo. Anyhoooooo, our experience at Makaibari was extremely authentic and blissfully tranquil. The estate employs over 600 workers, and is home to many of them. In late October, a reporter for the Washington Post wrote an article about Indian homestays, and she claimed that Makaibari was the best money she has ever spent in India (and it was not much money at all); and I could not agree with her more. We were able to stay with a Nepali family in their home, drink as much tea as we wanted, eat three freshly prepared meals every day, participate in a formal tea tasting, and forever meander through the endless acres of beautiful tea plantations. All this for about $15 a day…RIDICULOUS! I do have to confess that after drinking tea for 48 hours, all I could think about was slamming an extra-large vanilla latte as soon as possible. I think I even dreamt one night at the homestay that I went tubing down a river of frappuccino. It is safe to declare that I am a coffee girl through and through. Nevertheless, I do enjoy a nice healthy cup of Indian tea.
The authenticity of the home stay experience at Makaibari was something that truly caught me off guard. The property is not at all geared towards tourists, and the family we stayed with did not alter their daily habits, lifestyle, or chores for us at all. We really got to experience what a day in the life of a tea farming family is like in India. Our host mother spoke very little English, but the enormous smile she wore at all hours of the day was enough for me. She made us feel so welcome in her home without having to carry on hours of conversation. Her husband is a mountain trekking guide in India and Nepal, and one of the most respected members of the Makaibari community. Their seven year old son, Sonam, goes to a Christian English school, and watches more TV than any American child I have ever known. I mean the kid lives at the bottom of a mountain, on acres and acres of tea farms, and he spent his entire Saturday afternoon watching Power Rangers. To each his own I guess. Also crammed into this single story home is their nephew, who studies at the local university; one set of Sonam’s grandparents; and who knows who else. Honestly, different people were coming in and out of that tiny house the entire time we were there, and I could not keep track of them all. My favorite family member by a landslide was Grandma. I did not hear her utter a real single word the entire time we were in her home, but she ran around the house like crazy cooking, cleaning, and scolding her grandson. She was about four feet tall, 90 pounds, and could put away more rice than any human being I have ever seen. Seriously, watching Grandma eat rice was an adventure of its own. I have no idea where she stored it all, but before every meal, Missy and I would place bets for how many trips to the rice cooker grandma would make. The one occasion I interacted directly with Grandma, was when I tried to roll my own Tibetan momo (dumpling), and it ended up looking instead, like a doughnut hole. She took one look at the thing, then at me, and then she burst into a giggle fit. The realization that I made grandma laugh that hard almost brought tears to my eyes out of pride. VICTORY!
As Missy and I spent three hours sitting at the kitchen table with our host family; I helping to make homemade Tibetan momos, and Missy singing Christian school hymns with Sonam from his school book; I could not help but feel extremely gratified about our decision to stay in India for our entire trip, rather than try and cram in Southeast Asia. It’s crazy to think that one month ago I was sleeping on a camel blanket in the Thar Desert and taking in the sight of the Taj Mahal; that currently, I was kneading dough with a Nepali family in the middle of the Darjeeling mountains; and in two weeks I would be lying on a beach and cruising the backwaters of Southern India on a house boat. I am so very grateful for this experience.
The actual beauty of the tea plantations is really hard to describe here. You can literally view rows and rows of tea bushes, up and down the hillsides, for miles on end. As we strolled through the tea gardens, we were able to stop and watch the female workers pick leaves and place them into baskets they wore on their backs. Their colorful outfits stood out so pleasantly against the greenery of the tea gardens. During one of our strolls, we were lucky enough to run into our host mom working in the tea fields with a large group of women. Naturally, Missy and I invited ourselves to join them on their morning break, and were able to carry two baskets of freshly picked tea up a steep hill in the traditional manner of carrying tea; by placing the straw handle across your head. Apparently foreign tourists do not usually partake in such an activity, because these fifteen to twenty women thought the sight of two white girls carrying tea baskets up a hill was the most hysterical thing they have ever witnessed. I thought our host mom, who happened to be five months pregnant, was actually going to pee her pants from laughing so hard. Needless to say, it was a fun 60 minutes.
If you should ever have the opportunity to travel extensively through India, I would say that Makaibari is a must do. Mr. Banjaree, the owner and chief operator of the estate is a well-educated, lively fellow; whose humanitarian goals and efforts are quite impressive. He conducted our formal tea tasting, and after spending just fifteen minutes in his presence, I deduced that he must dissolve caffeine pills into every cup of tea he drinks. He was like an Indian Willy Wonka shuttling us through his land of tea and happiness.
After spending about a week in Darjeeling, we were ready to head to our next stop; Calcutta. In true “Missy and Alysa” fashion, we waited until the last minute to catch the three hour van ride down the mountain to the train station, and had to nearly risk our lives to make our train. If my mother had seen the way we were barreling down the mountain, without seatbelts, on the edge of a cliff, in a scary white van that would never pass inspection in the United States, she would have surely disowned me. However, had our driver not driven like a bat out of hell, we would have been stuck at another train station for the night and I am not really sure if we would have survived it. After all, like so many Indians have preached to us, “The only driving rule in India is that there are no rules!” It’s true.
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