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Published: March 7th 2010
“Am I still in India?” I thought as my jeep pushed us up near an elevation of six thousand feet. Everything around me made it seem like we’d entered a foreign land: the topography, vegetation, architecture, and even the people all looked like they belonged in a different country. As we continued up the winding roads we passed various small towns, each of which had buildings that spilled down steep hillsides and disappeared into the fog. We continued climbing ever higher and swerving around sharp, unprotected corners that nearly all boasted sheer cliffs waiting to swallow vehicles whose drivers didn’t exercise extreme caution.
Three hours after starting up the mountain we finally arrived at our destination: Darjeeling, West Bengal. As we drove into town I noticed an increasing number of vendors selling different colors of what I can only describe as powder-fine sidewalk chalk. Everyone was preparing for the Holi festival the next day, which is also known as the Festival of Colors and is meant to celebrate the arrival of spring. Rows of vendors sat on the streets selling various bags of brightly colored powder, all of which would be sold in varying quantities and would ultimately be
rubbed on the hands, faces, and clothes of fellow celebrators beginning the next morning.
I had my driver drop me at the hotel Lonely Planet described as being their favorite in town which, in addition to having a “perfect combination of a professional but homey environment,” also apparently boasted the best views in town. I had no reservations and only high hopes, as I knew that if Lonely Planet recommends something as being great, it probably is, but it’s also probably packed. After conversing with the front desk agent I was happy to learn that there was one room left. It was in the attic and didn’t have its own bathroom, but this also meant that it was the cheapest spot in the house. The room was wonderful; it was small, had wood-paneled walls, sloped ceilings, and a cushioned bench in front of windows that overlooked the entire city. It was cold and cloudy in Darjeeling, and downstairs a coal fire burned in the middle of a group of soft couches that housed fellow guests drinking tea a reading books. At night the Tibetan owner and staff also ensured that every guest had a bag of hot water to
keep under their blankets, which was an exceptionally nice touch. I felt like I’d walked into a cozy cabin on Mt. Hood, and I was completely at home.
The day after my arrival I hired a jeep to take me around the sites of Darjeeling. During this time I wandered through the grounds of the Happy Valley Tea Estate (which is possibly the most famous tea plantation in the world) and took tea with a groundskeeper that kindly arranged a lovely photo of my steaming cup. I also went to the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, which, in addition to being the current home of many mountaineering students, also houses fascinating museums on Mt. Everest and mountaineering in general. The Mt. Everest museum chronicled all of the major ascents, and had gear worn by the climbers, laminated letters written during some of the expeditions, and tons of worldwide newspaper articles that told the tales of successful aspirants. After word we went to the nearby Himalayan zoo, and in addition to seeing all kids of cool animals that I’ve seen in no zoo elsewhere, I also stood, in total awe, five feet from a snow leopard. Here he was, one of
the most elusive animals on the planet, just barely out of my arm’s reach and only separated by a chain link fence. It was as sad as it was miraculous, and me and another visitor (who actually turned out to be really cool and hilarious) sat and watched him for a really long time.
The last stop on my tour was the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Center, which was founded in 1959 after the Chinese invasion. From what I understand Darjeeling is one of two major hubs for Tibetan refugees; the other is on the opposite side of Nepal in Dharamsala (where the Dalai Lama lives). The large compound, which started in 1959 as just cleared land, now houses a school, apartment complexes, a nursery, a medical office and a whole assortment of work areas. In the work areas the refugees cart wool, hand-make carpets, carve wood, and knit goods that are all sold exclusively in the small shop on the premises. While visitors are welcome and the residents see tourists on a regular basis, I still felt like I was invading when I walked into their work areas; I was the only tourist on the premises, and each
time I walked into one of the musty old rooms the workers all stopped, examined me for a second, smiled and then continued on working and talking to one another as though I wasn’t there. It was a little awkward, but somehow my extensive purchases in their shop made me feel a little less weird.
The following morning I woke with the intention of spending the day shopping, as Darjeeling has extensive stalls and outlets that focus primarily on Tibetan, Nepali, and other Himalayan goods. I walked out of my hotel and within two minutes was greeted by three men - each covered in colored powder - that said “Happy Holi!!” and then made a gesture of a putting a hand to their faces as if to ask, “Care to join us?” I wasn’t prepared for this, but oh well. “Of course!” I said to them. All three made noises of jubilation as they smeared pink and purple powder all over my face. The powder proceeded to fly everywhere and settle on my sweater and cloth purse. "Ehh, I'm sure it comes off," I thought with a smile. “Happy Holi!” we said to each other, and I departed
down the street.
As I wandered through the city lanes I was stared at by everyone. But instead of the blank stare that I’m normally met with, everyone was actually smiling at me! Men and women alike stopped talking on their cell phones to give the blonde Holi participant a large, toothy grin and nod their heads as if to say “I support and appreciate your decision to participate.” Many others just said “Happy Holi!” or made other comments that affirmed their approval. Each time I passed celebrators with more powder, I was doused again. Plenty of people took pictures and at one point a boy ran up to me, rubbed both sides of his face directly on mine, and then kissed my powdery cheek and ran off while yelling “Happy Holi!” Later, I walked toward a woman that saw me and, after giving me an approving nod, ushered her two small children out of her work station to come and see me. When we saw each other, all three of us lit up; they were possibly the cutest kids on earth and were covered from head to toe in Holi colors. They were equally excited to see that
I was adorned in powder, and ended up posing for what has turned out to be one of my favorite pictures taken in India.
After scoring a warm cup of Darjeeling tea while thawing from the hours just spent outside, I wandered back to my hotel and took a shower. In an effort to avoid getting doused again and subsequently kicked out of numerous stores for shedding colored powder on all of their belongings, I changed my clothes before heading out. When my shopping spree was complete a few hours later, I had a porter strap all my stuff to his head and walk it down to the post office. Just as in Rishikesh, it turns out that mailing something aside from a postcard or letter is a grossly time consuming ordeal. After waiting in line for an hour and a half, it was my turn to have my belongings packaged. There’s a person that expertly compresses all of your things into the smallest package possible using twine, cellophane, bags, or any combination therein. Then he measures out a piece of what looks like a white bed sheet and cuts off the appropriate size. After wrapping the cloth tightly
around the compressed belongings, he proceeds to hand-stitch the entire thing together with an old needle and thread. At the end, he lights a candle, melts red wax, and presses it in various places along the seam with a metal rod that has a flat circular component at the end. Then you take a magic marker and hand-address where it needs to go, and one to one and a half months later, I was told, it will arrive at the intended destination. Seriously, it was like walking into a post office a hundred years ago.
On another note, during the trip up to Darjeeling I’d had bittersweet feelings about arriving. I'd had a choice to make between Darjeeling and flying to Kathmandu, Nepal, and I’d chosen the cheaper option of Darjeeling. I was aware that this place is known worldwide for tea, has an extensive Tibetan refugee population and thus a strongly Tibetan-influenced culture, has a great zoo, and boasts marvelous views of the nearby Himalayas. These things were all very enticing to me, but I’d also looked forward to seeing a different country in the area of the Himalayas, too. As it turns out, there was no
harm in my decision: over the years, Darjeeling has simply become a mini Nepal! As mentioned before, everything is different here. It’s cold (and actually had the same forecast as Portland this week), has vegetation very similar to Portland, and is at an elevation where there are no cows, monkeys, or the poopy streets that come along with them! The people and culture here are different, too. Almost everyone is noticeably of Nepalese or Tibetan descent, and the stares, touts, and pressuring vendors that I’ve become so used to elsewhere are non-existent. And there are no rickshaws. People either ride in 4WD jeeps or walk up the steep roads and endless stairwells to get to their destinations. If something needs to be carried that would normally be taken by rickshaw, a porter like the one that carried my stuff to the post office shows up and walks it to where it needs to go. Additionally, many of the residents were educated in Christian missionary boarding schools that are spread over the area. As a result, the English spoken here is different, too, and sounds like the closest thing to an American accent I’ve heard yet. I spoke to a few
residents and they confirmed that there are almost no “Indians” in Darjeeling anymore and that it is in fact very similar to Nepal. I’m sure experiencing Nepal itself would have been great, but I'm perfectly happy with having seen the next best thing. =)
However, after three days of weather too cold to do the white water rafting I’d planned as well as being so cloudy as to offer no stellar mountain views that were supposedly just outside my window, I decided it was time to head back to lower ground. On my three hour jeep ride down the mountain I sat next to Subarna, a twenty-five year old from Darjeeling that I ended up talking to the whole time. She's a teacher and we discussed the whole educating girls issue, to which she said “every girl should have an education. There are so many social institutions for boys, but girls are always left out.” I liked her quickly. In addition to our feelings on this, we also had a number of other things in common. She and her husband have also been together for about two years and he, too, is eight years her senior. Unfortunately for
her, however, she’d had a love marriage instead of arranged and thus her mother-in-law hated her. “Did you have a love marriage?” she asked, to which I replied, “Of course! People in America - except maybe Hindus - don’t have arranged marriages.” “Oh,” she said. “Is your husband’s mother mean?” “No, she’s wonderful,” I replied, feeling a little bad for her.
At one point she got on her phone and called her husband. For the next few minutes all I could make out was “Kaci,” “Kaci-ho,” “Thailand,” “husband,” and “NJP,” which was the name of my train station. I’d forgotten about the “Kaci-ho” thing, despite people often saying this to me as soon as I tell them my name. In Hindi, “Kaci-ho” is a way to greet people enthusiastically. Instead of saying “Hey man! How’s it going?” they just say “Kaci-ho!” I’ve found it quite humorous, but it has been a little difficult to refrain from telling people what “Kaci-ho” would mean where I’m from. When she hung up she looked at me and said “Okay, it’s settled. My husband is picking us up from the jeep stand and we will take you out and then to the train
station later. And when you come back he has said that you and your husband can stay with us while we take you on a tour of Northeast India and Nepal.” Well alright then. When we got out of the jeep each of us paid the driver. As a foreigner I had, of course, been quoted more than she had. “Oh no, no no no,” she said to the man before giving him what sounded like a reprimand in Hindi. Like a kid caught in the cookie jar, he shamefully handed me back the difference.
While we waited she started asking me about pre-marriage relationship questions that were, as her demeanor implied, a pretty taboo conversation topic. Then she told me of her own very taboo pre-marriage forays, and she progressively got more comfortable and was soon laughing out loud and talking as though we'd been girlfriends for years that were telling eachother the latest dirty gossip. “Oh, shh, here he comes!” she said as her husband, Dev, approached. We jumped in their giant new SUV and went to a shockingly nice Starbucks-like coffee shop. It turned out that he was a partner in an oil business and that
they were, as a result, the first people I’d met that were financially set since the five star hotel owner in Jaipur I’d met a month earlier. After coffee we went to a glass enclosed, American-style shopping mall to check out the arcade and get an Indian version of a snow cone. They tried repeatedly to convince me to spend the night, and I was really, really close to foregoing my train to do so. Had I been with Dustin, we would have for sure. They told me of the apartments and houses they own throughout northeast India and confirmed repeatedly that me and Dustin would be staying with them throughout the tour of the Himalayas that they'd be taking us on if we returned. They also mentioned flying to Thailand to hang out with me and D for a while, but who knows..
At the end of the night I boarded my train to Calcutta. I’d had a wonderful trip to mini-Nepal and a great time with my new friends. I jumped into my upper berth bunk and felt a wave of giddiness come over me; I was headed to my last destination in India, which meant that
seeing Dustin was just around the corner.
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Tina
non-member comment
greetings
Kaci-read your entries with wonder. Andy's now hooked. THANKS for sharing your experiences and vision. GREAT job! XX, TF