Darjeeling - day one

Apologies in advance, first of all, for any typos in this entry and previous- this machine appears to be playing up!!

This morning I walked to the Bhuttia Busty (no smirking at the back there!) Gompa (Monastary). It took about twenty minutes from the centre of town, down a steep little lane that switched backwards and forwards. According to the book, in high season, when the weather is clear, you can get great views from the Gompa to Khangchendzonga. This morning it was very misty, and I wasn't always able to see to the end of the stretch of path that I was walking down.

The Gompa was quite small, and I was shown round by one of the monks there. According to my LP book, they've got a copy of the Tibetan Book of the Dead on site, which they will show you if you ask them nicely. I did ask about it, but either my guidebook was wrong, I didn't ask nicely enough, or the monk just didn't understand me. Whatever, I left none the wiser as to what the Tibetan Book of the Dead actually is.

This afternoon, after lunch, I decided to walk to Ghoom, where there are supposed to be quite a few interesting monastaries. It's supposed to be about five kilometers from Darjeeling. No probs!! After about half an hour, I reached the Druk Sangak Choling Gompa, which is roughly the half way point. This was reached by climbing large marble steps, carved into the hill side. The first room I went into was quite dark. There were six very large- about nine or ten feet high- prayer wheels stood against one wall. In front of each of these prayer wheels was a sort of cross between a wooden cot and a chair. Two little old men and a little old woman were sat in front of three of the prayer wheels, and were operating them, with varying degrees of effort, by the use of a pulley. The woman was by far the most fervent, rotating her wheel and chanting at the same time. However, this didn't last long, as one of the little monks came in and jumped on her, which was the prelude to an arm wrestling match.

I had a look round the main hall. There was three huge, golden statues, with the Bhudda one the largest, at about twenty feet high.

After that, I continued on the road to Ghoom. What with all the walking I'd been doing today, I was getting a bit tired, and was trying unsuccessfully to flag a taxi down. Eventually, when I was about a kilometer and a half from Ghoom, a people carrier full of young lads pulled up and offered me a lift. I was a tad concerned, as there were five of them and only one of me, but they were very sweet, and were just after someone to practice their English on, and very kindly dropped me right outside Ghoom station.

There's a bridge a couple of hundred meters or so from the station. Up another flight of large marble stairs- longer and more impressive than the previous one- and I was at another Gompa. There was a curtain strung over the opening, and from inside I could hear music. There were wind instruments, cymbals...all very discordant; like the first rehearsal of an enthusiastic but not particularly talented school orchestra.

I managed to peep behind the curtain. The monks were all sat on the floor in full regalia, with their robes and large coxcomb hats. One of the little boys was obviously having problems with a hand me down outfit, as his hat was too big for him, and he had to keep taking it off and trying to reorganise it. Lots of them had instruments, including these long horn type affairs- not sure what they're called- and were chanting.

There was a young monk sat on a throne in the middle of the room, not saying anything or playing any instrument. It was all a bit dramatic, mu\ysterious and eerie, like being in a Ryder Haggard novel, or one of those 1960s films with Doug McLure- Escape to the Land that Time Forgot or whatever.

After a while, the lads playing horns left the hall with their instruments through the door that I was stood at, and as he left, one of them gestured me to go it, so I stood at the edge for a few minutes, just watching. I didn't like to interrupt any of them, to ask what was going on, so never managed to get to the bottom of it.

As I left, the horn players were stood at the wall of the monastary, high above the town, and blowing their horns.

I was now completely knackered after all my exercise, and luckily managed to flag down a share jeep back to Darjeeling without too much hassle.

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