In the early morning, I take a share jeep from Yuksom to Pelling, where I pick up the bag in which I had left the majority of my stuff with the kind folks at Hotel Kabur. From Pelling, I take a short ride in a share jeep to Geyzing, a transit hub where I catch a third share jeep to Jorethang. Here, I have a quick lunch of vegetarian momos, a Tibetan dumpling with spicy red sauce which I know will be harder to come by in less Buddhist parts of India. I find the share taxi to Darjeeling, climb into the front seat and wait until the taxi fills to capacity and we are able to embark on the two-hour journey to Darjeeling, West Bengal.
After arriving in Darjeeling, I climb a huge hill, following a maze of crowded, narrow streets that weave between homes, restaurants and shops. The lower portion seems to mainly appeal to the locals, and as I climb, I see pockets of markets and streets geared to the tourists, likely climbing the hill for a panoramic view of the Himalayan backdrop, and especially Mount Khangchendzonga (8598 meters). I have also found that the higher, more strenuous the climb, the cheap the hotel.
I follow the advice of the Deepen and Deepesh at Hotel Kabur an find the hotel they recommend, near the top of the hill. After comparing this to a few other hotels, I decide on it because of the price and the functional hot water heater for the shower. Darjeeling, like Sikkim, is cold, and I want to be sure I will have access to hot water, even if it is only during certain times of the day. Other than this, there isn't much special about the hotel, except for a very helpful young man (perhaps the owner's son), who draws me detailed maps to facilitate sight-seeing in a city with very confusing paths and roads. There is also a nice restaurant near the top floor.
Even though we are not supposed to do laundry in our rooms due to water shortages--and are instead supposed to pay someone to do our laundry for us--I manage to continue washing my own clothes. It is something have done throughout my journey not only to save money, but because it is the little bit of work I have to do while traveling, and I grow to enjoy the daily routine of bucket washing my clothes, stringing a drying line between chairs or window frames, and hoping my clothes dry reasonably quickly.
According to my India Lonely Planet, "the Darjeeling area belonged to the Buddhist chogyals (kings) of Sikkim until 1780, when it was annexed by the invading Gurkhas from Nepal. The Gurkha's aggressive territorial expansion led to growing conflicts with the British and, after several battles, the East India Company gained control of the region in 1816. The company then returned most of the lands back to Sikkm in exchange for British control over any future border disputes.
"During one such dispute in 1828, two British officers stumbled across the Dorje Ling monastery, on a tranquil forested ridge, and passed word to Calcutta that it would be a perfect site for a sanatorium; they were sure to have also mentioned its strategic military importance in the region. The Chogyal of Sikkim (still grateful for the return of his kingdom) happily leased the uninhabited land to the East India Company in 1835 and a hill station was born. Forest gradually made way for colonial houses and tea plantations, and by 1857 the population of Darjeeling reached 10,000, mainly because of a massive influx of Gurkha laborers from Nepal.
"After Independence, the Gurkhas became the main political force in Darjeeling and friction with the state government led to calls for separate state of Gorkhaland in the1980s...A compromise was hammered out in late 1988, which granted the newly formed Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) a large measure of autonomy from the state government. Although this appeased some Gurkhas, the breakaway Gorkhaland Liberation Organisation (GLO) and its armed wing, the Gorkha Volunteers' Cell (GVC), have continued to call for full secession" (530).
Indeed, the Gorkhaland independence movement is still very alive today. I had heard from other travelers that during the month preceding my visit to Darjeeling, local people had organized a series of Gorkha cultural events. They used these as a peaceful protest demonstrating their unique culture compared to the rest of West Bengal, and as an argument for independence. When I was in Darjeeling, I came upon an ongoing hunger strike in Chowrasta, the town center near the top of the hill. At this time, a group of girls from a school were participating. I also saw numerous Gorkhaland flags flying high, Gorkha independence slogans painted in public places, and even Gorkhaland license plates.
Showing posts with label Himalayas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Himalayas. Show all posts
Monday, June 8, 2009
Monday, September 15, 2008
Hot to Cool (Delhi to Shimla, Himachal Pradesh, September 11-13, 2008)
It takes a few days for me to decide on my next destination. I have three options:
1) Rajasthan
2) Himachal Pradesh
3) traveling east through Varanasi, Bodhgaya, Kolkata and then into Bangladesh
Letting the weather guide me, I decide on Himachal Pradesh, which is cooler than the thick heat I have been experiencing in Delhi, and would experience in Rajasthan or traveling east to Bangladesh. On the advice of a train ticket salesman I meet at an Internet cafe, I devise my route: I will go from Delhi to Shimla to Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj to Amritsar to Delhi.
The next day, they ask if I would like to travel with them around Shimla as they have a car. I jump at the opportunity, as hiring a taxi would be too expensive, and it's nice to have company when traveling alone.
Our first stop is a lookout point (possibly called Mashobra, though I can't recall) from which we can see the Himalayan mountains peeking through the thick fog that comes during this time of year. The path to the lookout point is steep and much of it is covered in mud generated from the heavy foot traffic of Indian tourists and ponies. I insist I can make it, but the boys haggle with some locals and about halfway up I am offered a pony and a bumpy ride. They say the locals are doing "social service" by offering me a free ride. We hop in the car again, and listen to Bollywood music. Ashu and I both love song from "Bachna Ae Hasino" and sing along (or, in my case, hum).
After the lookout point, we continue on to Naldehra, where the boys want to see a golf course-apparently one of the world's highest. I am less interested in this, but it turns out to be located near a beautiful cedar forest. We walk through this en route to two small Hindu temples, one located nearly on the golf course. The boys take a break for some entertaining pictures of acrobatic tricks on the green--a variation of the jumping pictures that Austin's group of friends performs as they travel. Some things, it seems, are universal. We have a nice lunch with a view of the mountains. All four boys are vegetarian, as am I. Though not all Indians are vegetarian, vegetarianism is completely acceptable here and nearly every restaurant has many vegetarian options. After experiencing the normalcy of vegetarianism in India, for the first time in my life I realize how abnormal it feels to be vegetarian back in the states.
After Naldehra, we drive back toward Shimla. The road is rough, narrow, and on the edge of a mountain. But Ashu is a skilled driver, as are all drivers here. The last stop before Shimla is Jakhu Temple, Shimla's most famous temple, dedicated to the monkey god, Hanuman. Appropriately, hundreds of rhesus macaques loiter around harassing devotees for prasad (food offerings). Two of the boys rent sticks at the temple entrance to scare away the monkeys. I had seen a few temples before coming to Shimla, but I had not expected to go through Hindu rituals upon coming here. I follow as the boys lead. There is a very young girl, maybe six years old, sitting on the floor and keeping rhythm on her drum. Another rhythm instrument is played by a man in the corner, and different men hammer on loud bells hanging from the ceiling. Inside a small, separate room is a shrine and a man administering incense around a deity. The boys are very serious, separating from each other to pray or bow onto the floor. I fold my hands but keep my eyes wide open, taking in all that is happening. At the end of the ceremony, we each approach the priest and he dabs the middle of our foreheads with thick orange paint. He also gives us a sweet, cereal-like substance to eat as we leave the temple. Though benign at all other Hindu temples, at this particular place the combination of food and monkeys proves risky--as soon as I exit, a monkey quickly grabs for my pants. I scream, realizing I should have stuffed the cereal in my mouth, and one of the boys bangs his stick on the ground. The monkey retreats, I fill my mouth with sweet substance, and we leave.
We drive back to the hotel in the dark, tired and happy after our day.
The next day is less memorable, as the boys head back to Delhi and I am alone. I walk around Shimla and find the bus stand to ensure I will get a bus that evening for Dharamsala. En route, I drop into Shimla's Gurudwara (a gurudwara is a Sikh temple) and am led around by the temple's very inviting religious leader. I walk around to occupy my time. Then I make the tiring climb up to my hotel (the cheapest places, I have learned, are the most out-of-the-way), grab my bag, have a bite to eat, walk to the bus stand once more, and find my bus.
1) Rajasthan
2) Himachal Pradesh
3) traveling east through Varanasi, Bodhgaya, Kolkata and then into Bangladesh
Letting the weather guide me, I decide on Himachal Pradesh, which is cooler than the thick heat I have been experiencing in Delhi, and would experience in Rajasthan or traveling east to Bangladesh. On the advice of a train ticket salesman I meet at an Internet cafe, I devise my route: I will go from Delhi to Shimla to Dharamsala/McLeod Ganj to Amritsar to Delhi.
The first destination on this leg of my journey, Shimla, was the official summer capitol of the British Raj in India. Until the British arrived, there was nothing at Shimla but a sleepy forest glade known as Shyamala (a local name for Kali). Every summer until 1939, the entire government of India fled here from the sweltering heat of the plains. When the Kalka-Shimla railway line was constructed in 1903, Shimla's status as India's premier hill station was assured. British influence is seen in the Anglican church (Christ Church), Viceregal Lodge, nearby golf course, and buildings such as Town Hall, post office, Offices of the Accountant General an Rothney Castle.
Leaving Delhi, I take a 4 hour train to Kalka and then a 5 hour toy train to Shimla. The toy train takes us through green mountain ranges, a foretaste of the approaching landscape in Shimla and Dharamsala. Though a welcome change from the chaos of the city, the highlight of the train ride is not the landscape but the people I meet. I am fortunate to sit next to a very kind Sikh family from Punjab with two cute children, one girl and one boy. The father is constantly pointing out the window to show them the train engine or one of the 103 tunnels we go through. They graciously offer to share their chips and aloo paratha (potato-stuffed bread) with me and buy me chai (black tea, milk and lots of sugar). The father communicates with me the best that he can, and I drop a few of the Hindi phrases I have learned, asking his daughter what her name is, and sharing mine. Immediately, I feel more at ease about my first independent journey in India.
At the Shimla train station, I meet two men from England and ask if they would like to share a taxi into town so that I don't have to pay for one myself. Instead, we decide to walk and are led by one of many workers who probably get commission for recommending hotels to us. This situation is nearly unavoidable. I bargain hard and settle on the Woodland Hotel, which turns out to be far from everything and up a steep hill, a bit dirty and musty. It is far from ideal, but I convince myself it is "rustic."
Where there is bad, there is also good. Although the hotel is not so great, I have the fortune of meeting four young men from Delhi--Ashu, Sandeep, Ravi and Ajay. They are best friends, traveling together for about a week in the north. Shimla is their last stop before heading back to Delhi. They try to teach me some Hindi, and I absorb a little. They say a Hindi phrase I have seen used by Indian tourist agencies. It translates to mean roughly, "In India, a foreigner is a God." Though I have heard it used, I have yet to see how it plays out in practice...The next day, they ask if I would like to travel with them around Shimla as they have a car. I jump at the opportunity, as hiring a taxi would be too expensive, and it's nice to have company when traveling alone.
Our first stop is a lookout point (possibly called Mashobra, though I can't recall) from which we can see the Himalayan mountains peeking through the thick fog that comes during this time of year. The path to the lookout point is steep and much of it is covered in mud generated from the heavy foot traffic of Indian tourists and ponies. I insist I can make it, but the boys haggle with some locals and about halfway up I am offered a pony and a bumpy ride. They say the locals are doing "social service" by offering me a free ride. We hop in the car again, and listen to Bollywood music. Ashu and I both love song from "Bachna Ae Hasino" and sing along (or, in my case, hum).
After the lookout point, we continue on to Naldehra, where the boys want to see a golf course-apparently one of the world's highest. I am less interested in this, but it turns out to be located near a beautiful cedar forest. We walk through this en route to two small Hindu temples, one located nearly on the golf course. The boys take a break for some entertaining pictures of acrobatic tricks on the green--a variation of the jumping pictures that Austin's group of friends performs as they travel. Some things, it seems, are universal. We have a nice lunch with a view of the mountains. All four boys are vegetarian, as am I. Though not all Indians are vegetarian, vegetarianism is completely acceptable here and nearly every restaurant has many vegetarian options. After experiencing the normalcy of vegetarianism in India, for the first time in my life I realize how abnormal it feels to be vegetarian back in the states.
After Naldehra, we drive back toward Shimla. The road is rough, narrow, and on the edge of a mountain. But Ashu is a skilled driver, as are all drivers here. The last stop before Shimla is Jakhu Temple, Shimla's most famous temple, dedicated to the monkey god, Hanuman. Appropriately, hundreds of rhesus macaques loiter around harassing devotees for prasad (food offerings). Two of the boys rent sticks at the temple entrance to scare away the monkeys. I had seen a few temples before coming to Shimla, but I had not expected to go through Hindu rituals upon coming here. I follow as the boys lead. There is a very young girl, maybe six years old, sitting on the floor and keeping rhythm on her drum. Another rhythm instrument is played by a man in the corner, and different men hammer on loud bells hanging from the ceiling. Inside a small, separate room is a shrine and a man administering incense around a deity. The boys are very serious, separating from each other to pray or bow onto the floor. I fold my hands but keep my eyes wide open, taking in all that is happening. At the end of the ceremony, we each approach the priest and he dabs the middle of our foreheads with thick orange paint. He also gives us a sweet, cereal-like substance to eat as we leave the temple. Though benign at all other Hindu temples, at this particular place the combination of food and monkeys proves risky--as soon as I exit, a monkey quickly grabs for my pants. I scream, realizing I should have stuffed the cereal in my mouth, and one of the boys bangs his stick on the ground. The monkey retreats, I fill my mouth with sweet substance, and we leave.
We drive back to the hotel in the dark, tired and happy after our day.
The next day is less memorable, as the boys head back to Delhi and I am alone. I walk around Shimla and find the bus stand to ensure I will get a bus that evening for Dharamsala. En route, I drop into Shimla's Gurudwara (a gurudwara is a Sikh temple) and am led around by the temple's very inviting religious leader. I walk around to occupy my time. Then I make the tiring climb up to my hotel (the cheapest places, I have learned, are the most out-of-the-way), grab my bag, have a bite to eat, walk to the bus stand once more, and find my bus.
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