In the afternoon a share jeep that has left from Geyzing picks me up at Hotel Kabur in Pelling, along with two not particularly friendly Australian tourists, and takes us to Khecheopalri Lake. One of the Australian tourists had just finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy and is going to donate it to the hotel library (which consists of about five shelves of books), but I ask him if I can have it and he gives it to me. "It looks like a quick read," I say. "It's good. It's depressing," he says. When I later read the book on a train ride back to Delhi, I am endlessly grateful he gave it to me. I am awed by McCarthy's writing as I absorb his post-apocalyptic story of a father and son venturing across a desolate America.
The hike up to Pala's Guest House is up an incredibly steep hill. A boy, maybe 11 or 12 years old, wearing a T-shirt that reads, "Sid Vicious--Drugs Kill," is at the bottom of the hill to ensure we make the ascent. I am surprised that I stay ahead of the Australian couple, who seem to be struggling. I walk with the boy most of the time, but when he asks me questions, it is difficult for me to catch my breath and respond. I am just hoping the guest house is nice, because I don't want to leave the hill and find another after the climb. The rooms are perhaps the most basic I stay in throughout my entire trip. The walls and floors are thin wood, my bed is a slab of hard wood, and I have to ask several times for another blanket, as nights are cold. My light switch is in the room of another traveler, so I turn my light on and off by screwing and unscrewing the light bulb.
Despite the rustic conditions of the guest house, the legacy and personality of its owner makes the stay worthwhile. Pala, born in the same village that is now home to his guest house, lived in Tibet to attend monastery when he was younger. He eventually became the personal chef of the Dalai Lama. He had two previous wives, but they were killed by the Chinese during the Communist Revolution. He then moved back to his village near Khecheopalri Lake in Sikkim, where he now runs the guest house and teaches meditation. He is a lama in the Nigma tradition, which is a part of Tibetan Buddhism. (The Dalai Lama is a lama in the Galupa tradition. The third form of Tibetan Buddhism is Karmakachi. This is information I gleaned from the Czech Buddhists I befriended.) Pala is ethnically Lepcha, which is a tribe from Tibet. He is 82 years old and has fathered 11 children with his third wife. The youngest child is six years old. A lama is a teacher who, unlike a monk, is allowed to have a family.
Almost immediately when we arrive, dinner is served. With the former chef for the Dalai Lama overseeing the preparation of food, all our meals are excellent. They usually consist of bhat (rice), dhal (lentils) and two choices of subji (vegetables). On this particular night, one of the subji is beans and potatoes and the other is greens. There is always hot water in a thermos for making hot chai, and sometimes cardamom pods to add. When it gets dark, I move to the fire, around which other travelers sit for warmth. I chat with the Australians and also meet a guy from the UK who likes to talk. I go to bed early, as it gets quite cold at night.
I am very fortunate to meet a group of 10 friendly travelers from the Czech Republic, nine of whom are Buddhist, and one of whom is a friend and tagging along. With the fall of Communism and state regulations on religion, there is a surge of young people exploring their religious options in the former USSR. Consequently, there are quite a few Czech Buddhist tourists who are attracted to this part of India. The Czechs I befriend all belong to the same sangha back home and Pavel, who has already traveled in India and Nepal, has organized the itinerary for their pilgrimage. They are mainly sticking to the important Buddhist sights, found in Bihar, Sikkim, Nepal and Bodhgaya. They prefer the more natural, peaceful parts of India and didn't seem to have the best experience when they first entered the country in Delhi. Then again, most travelers don't have positive first impressions of the country. That comes after learning how to navigate the touts and traffic, and after making many mistakes.
Katka is Pavel's girlfriend, and she has brought her friend, also named Katka, and the only non-Buddhist in their group. Beda and Mira are two of the more boisterous members of the group, often cracking jokes and drinking alcohol. I didn't know Buddhists could drink so much alcohol, but I suppose culture overrules religion in this situation. Beda, Mira, Katka and I spend maybe two nights talking and laughing around the campfire as the other Czechs couple off to bed. Alena and Tomas (I think, but could have been Dan) are a couple, but I cannot speak to them much because they don't speak English. Dan (or could have been Tomas) is a nice guy who is very precise with the photographs he takes. There is one other couple, but I am sorry I didn't record their names. They are on a slower travel schedule and will spend more time in Sikkim and in South Asia.
The next day (November 13), the Czechs invite me to hike with them to important caves where famous Buddhists have meditated. Apparently they had tried to get to the first cave the previous day, but had become lost in "the jungle" in the dark, and so decide to attempt it again with a guide. The guide is the same young boy who led me up the hill, presumably Pala's son. Our first hike is to Guru Rimpoche cave, where Rimpoche, an important yogi/lama in the Nigma tradition had meditated. Pala has meditated in the same cave for three months at a time. The hike to the cave is quite a surprise for me. We go through jungle-like forests, with walking paths no wider than two feet and having a steep drop-off on the edge, and with ground that is often wet, slippery and not always dense or stable. I am impressed that the Czechs were able to navigate the jungle the previous night, and now understand why they kept calling it "the jungle" in their retelling of how they got lost. I find that going down is more difficult than going up for me because I am so afraid of slipping and falling. I am surprised I am able to keep up pretty well, however. We return to Pala's guest house for an excellent lunch, similar to the previous night's dinner. Our breakfast this day had consisted of a Tibetan pancake (my favorite of Pala's creations), fried egg and sliced potato with a light sauce.
After lunch, Pala leads us to the next cave, named after Mela Ripa, the most famous Tibetan yogi. As legend has it, when Mela Ripa's father died, people wanted to steal the belongings of him and his mother. At his mother's request, he began to practice black magic and was successful at killing his enemies. He then realized what he had done and began to practice meditation. He became a very good ascetic and had to practice very hard to make up for his tremendous sin. Because he ate only nettles, he is always depicted as having green skin. As with the Guru Rimpoche cave, there is a small opening through which to go further into the cave. We go in and out the same hole at Mela Ripa cave, but Pala comes out a different, more challenging hole.
On our walk home, Pala leads us to the home of one of his village friends. We are invited into an attached room where there is a fire pit and cobs of corn hanging densely from the ceiling. Two men are performing a Nepalese healing ceremony, dancing ecstatically throughout the house and outdoors. Apparently a sick person died recently and they need to purify the area by doing this. We are given chhang, a local alcohol made out of fermented millet. I take a sip and decide to stop, trying to pawn my cup off to one of the Czechs who is willing to drink it. We hike back to Pala's Guest House and chat over dinner and around the fire.
The next morning (November 14), we gather for a breakfast of fried noodles with vegetables, tossed with spongy chunks that are either yak cheese or eggs. The Czechs invite me on yet another cave excursion, and once again I tag along, completely oblivious to the challenging hike that is to come. Today we are headed to Green Tara cave, the most famous in Khecheopalri Lake. According to my Czech Buddhist friends, Green Tara is an emanation of the Buddha's energy field. She gives people a kind of wealth--that is, she gives them what they need so that they are satisfied. Doma is the Tibetan name for Tara and means "to liberate." The color green symbolizes a strong connection with animals. Since it is the most well-known cave, Pavel (the unofficial group leader) erroneously reasons the route leading to it will be the easiest. In actuality, it requires a 500 meter ascension at a pretty steep grade, and a 500 meter descent to return. Our guides are Deepen, the twin brother of Deepesh, who owns Hotel Kabur in Pelling, and Deepen's girlfriend Chudy, one of Pala's daughters. Near the cave, Pala has a small building that is a meditation center. We return to Pala's Guest House in the afternoon for a great meal of dhal, bhat and subji.
At night, we sit around a fire and Pala tells stories. I have a difficult time understanding because his English is so broken. The Czechs seem to be able to understand better because they have a background in Buddhism. Deepen sometimes translates. One lesson I do understand is that being clean inside, as opposed to outside, allows one to rise up. At one point Pala picks up a red coal from the fire, juggles it between his hands, and then places it in his mouth for maybe one minute, maintaining a placid expression on his face. The Czech Buddhists tell me this is a technique used to warm the body, especially during long meditations in the cold mountains. The coal meditation unites the internal fire with the fire from the coal. Since this is our last night, Pala gives us a farewell gift of a locally-brewed alcohol made of vegetables and rice. As with the chhang, I don't drink more than a few sips.
The next day (November 15), we plan our departure. I am torn between hiking to Yuksom or sharing a jeep. Seven of the Czechs do the hike from Khecheopalri to Yuksom, but three of them and I share the cost of a jeep. We also take many of the hiker's bags with us. The ride is only about two hours long, but on very rough roads, so the driver needs to backtrack to Geyzing to get more oil before picking us up, and this makes the ride expensive (Rs. 1400 total; I pay Rs. 225). I do regret not having done the hike, but I chose not to for good reason. I was afraid I would have slowed everyone down. Also, I was sore from the previous two days of hiking and didn't want to get sick or hurt.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Picturesque Pelling (Sikkim, November 9-12, 2008)
I arrive the evening of November 9 in Pelling, which is closer (though not as close as I thought it would be) to Mount Khangchendzonga and therefore has more spectacular views. I go directly to Hotel Kabur, which had been highly recommended to me by the American couple, and it is one of the best places I stay my entire trip. I pay only Rs. 250 for a single, and even get a towel, soap and toilet paper. The best part is the hotel's cozy upstairs restaurant, complete with wooden walls and candles on the tables. The owner, Deepesh, is in the process of purchasing a fireplace for it. Attached is an outside deck with gorgeous views of Khangchendzonga.
The owner Deepesh is a very kind Newari man who turns out to have a twin brother, Deepen, who formerly owned the hotel. Deepen now has his own construction company and is building a monastery school for local Buddhist children. The Newa people, according to Wikipedia, are the indigenous people of Nepal's Kathmandu Valley, descendants of citizens of Medieval Nepal. "They are a linguistic community with Tibeto-Burman and Indo ethnicity/race, bound together by a common language, Nepal Bhasa." The two brothers are always coming in and out of the hotel and I can never discern who I've just seen in another part of town, and who I'm now talking to. Their extended family is always coming in and out of the hotel, as is their friend, a local tour guide. All are friendly and Deepesh, Deepen and the guide are particularly helpful in my trip planning.
The first night I hang out in the restaurant. I meet some Americans (who think I am British!). The have just come from Nepal and highly recommend it. I am tempted, but decide ultimately that I'll need to save it for another trip. I order some banana porridge. Around a coffee table are 2 British men (who thought I was French!) with a local who is playing guitar and obviously drunk. One of the British men later confesses that he is their tour guide and he drinks all day long, and insists they drink with him. He's obviously a very happy drunk, if his rendition of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" is any indication. After conversation with one of the British guys and a honey pancake, which I had been craving, I tuck myself into bed under two thick blankets and one thin one. It is significantly cooler here at nights than Siliguri was.
For my second day, I plan to see most of the sights so that I can finish them the next day and move on. However, I run into trouble when I need to cancel a train ticket I had scheduled for November 11th and no longer want to use so that I can stay in Sikkim longer. The ticket was purchased on the Internet, but all the Internet in Pelling is not working. The hotel owner drives me to nearby Geyzing (he drives over a rock halfway there and needs to stop, while I continue on alone). The train ticket office is not able to help me because I have an e-ticket. I find a share jeep to Tikjuk, where they allegedly have working Internet, but then the Indian men waiting in the jeep with me (they are in Sikkim for an engineering conference) suggest I contact a friend who can cancel it for me. I can't believe I hadn't thought of this earlier! I text Austin and also ask for the number of Phool Chatti Ashram so that I can cancel my reservation with the yoga program for the third time, as I will be staying in Sikkim longer.
Instead of Tikjuk, I ask the share jeep driver to drop me off at Rabdentse, en route to Pelling. Rabdentse was Sikkim's capital from 1670-1814 and is now the site of well-marked ruins. I arrive via a scenic stone trail. The tourist department has kept this site very nice (especially compared to some of the attractions in India). There are great views of Khangchendzonga framed by the ruins.
After Rabdentse, I walk to Pemayangtse Gompa (monastery), which translates to, "Perfect Sublime Lotus." Built in 1705, it is one of Sikkim's oldest and most significant Nyingmapa gompas. Unfortunately, it is getting dark and I cannot go upstairs the main prayer hall to visit Zandog Palri. According to my Lonely Planet, it is "an astounding seven-tiered model of [Guru] Padmasambhava's heavenly abode, hand made over five laborious years by a single dedicated lama" (584). I walk back to Hotel Kabur in the dark.
On my third day in Pelling I hike uphill to Sangachoeling Gompa, the second-oldest gompa (monastery) in Sikkim. I stay here for a while, into the afternoon, talking to other tourists, enjoying the views from a lookout, taking photographs of the monastery and prayer flags, and reading my latest book, "Interpreter of Maladies" by Bengali-American writer Jhumpa Lahiri.
I return to Pelling in the late afternoon. Again I try to use the Internet, but there is a line of people who also want to use it, and only dial-up is working...I go to the hotel and read a bit...then back down the street to see if Internet is working. I sit with some tourists and have a masala dosa (seasoned potatoes wrapped in a thin pancake, with a spicy, tomato-based soup called sambaar for dipping). Then I go back to the hotel. People are having dinner, but I am not hungry after the dosa. The alcoholic tour guide is playing guitar and trying to get people to sing. I leave to use the Internet long enough to learn that a month-long yoga course is, indeed, offered in December at Swami Vivekenanda Anusandhana Samsthana (SVYASA), a yoga university based in Bangalore, Karnataka. When the Internet stops working, I return to the hotel. The tour guide is still singing and wants someone to sing a Sikkimese song with him. For some reason my inhibitions disappear and I sing with him and it is a very fun time.
The next morning I wake up, only planning to go to Yuksom, but Deepen convinces me to instead spend the night at "Pala's place" in Khecheopalri Lake. He mentions Pala will teach meditation, show me some pictures...he says I'll love it...it all seems appealing, so I decide to do so...
The owner Deepesh is a very kind Newari man who turns out to have a twin brother, Deepen, who formerly owned the hotel. Deepen now has his own construction company and is building a monastery school for local Buddhist children. The Newa people, according to Wikipedia, are the indigenous people of Nepal's Kathmandu Valley, descendants of citizens of Medieval Nepal. "They are a linguistic community with Tibeto-Burman and Indo ethnicity/race, bound together by a common language, Nepal Bhasa." The two brothers are always coming in and out of the hotel and I can never discern who I've just seen in another part of town, and who I'm now talking to. Their extended family is always coming in and out of the hotel, as is their friend, a local tour guide. All are friendly and Deepesh, Deepen and the guide are particularly helpful in my trip planning.
The first night I hang out in the restaurant. I meet some Americans (who think I am British!). The have just come from Nepal and highly recommend it. I am tempted, but decide ultimately that I'll need to save it for another trip. I order some banana porridge. Around a coffee table are 2 British men (who thought I was French!) with a local who is playing guitar and obviously drunk. One of the British men later confesses that he is their tour guide and he drinks all day long, and insists they drink with him. He's obviously a very happy drunk, if his rendition of "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" is any indication. After conversation with one of the British guys and a honey pancake, which I had been craving, I tuck myself into bed under two thick blankets and one thin one. It is significantly cooler here at nights than Siliguri was.
For my second day, I plan to see most of the sights so that I can finish them the next day and move on. However, I run into trouble when I need to cancel a train ticket I had scheduled for November 11th and no longer want to use so that I can stay in Sikkim longer. The ticket was purchased on the Internet, but all the Internet in Pelling is not working. The hotel owner drives me to nearby Geyzing (he drives over a rock halfway there and needs to stop, while I continue on alone). The train ticket office is not able to help me because I have an e-ticket. I find a share jeep to Tikjuk, where they allegedly have working Internet, but then the Indian men waiting in the jeep with me (they are in Sikkim for an engineering conference) suggest I contact a friend who can cancel it for me. I can't believe I hadn't thought of this earlier! I text Austin and also ask for the number of Phool Chatti Ashram so that I can cancel my reservation with the yoga program for the third time, as I will be staying in Sikkim longer.
Instead of Tikjuk, I ask the share jeep driver to drop me off at Rabdentse, en route to Pelling. Rabdentse was Sikkim's capital from 1670-1814 and is now the site of well-marked ruins. I arrive via a scenic stone trail. The tourist department has kept this site very nice (especially compared to some of the attractions in India). There are great views of Khangchendzonga framed by the ruins.
After Rabdentse, I walk to Pemayangtse Gompa (monastery), which translates to, "Perfect Sublime Lotus." Built in 1705, it is one of Sikkim's oldest and most significant Nyingmapa gompas. Unfortunately, it is getting dark and I cannot go upstairs the main prayer hall to visit Zandog Palri. According to my Lonely Planet, it is "an astounding seven-tiered model of [Guru] Padmasambhava's heavenly abode, hand made over five laborious years by a single dedicated lama" (584). I walk back to Hotel Kabur in the dark.
On my third day in Pelling I hike uphill to Sangachoeling Gompa, the second-oldest gompa (monastery) in Sikkim. I stay here for a while, into the afternoon, talking to other tourists, enjoying the views from a lookout, taking photographs of the monastery and prayer flags, and reading my latest book, "Interpreter of Maladies" by Bengali-American writer Jhumpa Lahiri.
I return to Pelling in the late afternoon. Again I try to use the Internet, but there is a line of people who also want to use it, and only dial-up is working...I go to the hotel and read a bit...then back down the street to see if Internet is working. I sit with some tourists and have a masala dosa (seasoned potatoes wrapped in a thin pancake, with a spicy, tomato-based soup called sambaar for dipping). Then I go back to the hotel. People are having dinner, but I am not hungry after the dosa. The alcoholic tour guide is playing guitar and trying to get people to sing. I leave to use the Internet long enough to learn that a month-long yoga course is, indeed, offered in December at Swami Vivekenanda Anusandhana Samsthana (SVYASA), a yoga university based in Bangalore, Karnataka. When the Internet stops working, I return to the hotel. The tour guide is still singing and wants someone to sing a Sikkimese song with him. For some reason my inhibitions disappear and I sing with him and it is a very fun time.
The next morning I wake up, only planning to go to Yuksom, but Deepen convinces me to instead spend the night at "Pala's place" in Khecheopalri Lake. He mentions Pala will teach meditation, show me some pictures...he says I'll love it...it all seems appealing, so I decide to do so...
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Gangtok, Sikkim (November 7-9, 2008)
I cram into a share jeep with a bunch of Indians for the four hour journey from Siliguri to Gangtok, Sikkim's capitol city. The jeeps don't leave until they are completely full. Next to the driver there are two women in the front seat. The middle and back seats all have four people. I am in the back seat, but luckily I get a window.
I arrive in Gangtok at night. I take a taxi to New Modern Central Lodge, supposedly the cheap hotel where backpackers stay. But the room I am shown is freezing cold and the bathrooms are shared so I am skeptical there will be enough hot water to go around. I search the street it is on, Tibet Rd., for another option. After trying to bargain a decent price at a few places, I settle on Hotel Silver Line for Rs. 250 for a double. (It seems most hotel owners take pity on me, a single traveler, and give me a better price on a double if they don't have any singles.) After Hotel Maria in Kolkata and other Indian and Bangladeshi hotels, I am surprised at how immaculate this place is. They even give me a towel and soap!
The next day, I head to MG Marg (Mohatmas Ghandi Road) and try to find a good price for a tour of the area. It seems it is inefficient to try and visit most of the attractions on my own, as public transportation is not readily available to reach them. Finding a tour isn't an easy task, as I am traveling alone and it would be much more affordable to join a group and share the price. Luckily I find a travel agency that is willing to give me a driver without taking any cut of the money because his work has fallen through for the day. When I return to this agency to confirm the tour, two Americans from Hawaii show up and I invite them to join me, which they decide to do.
Walking around, I am impressed at how clean and quiet the streets in Gangtok are compared to those in other parts of India. The buildings are colorfully painted, mainly in pastels. We can see the peak of Mount Khangchendzonga in the distance.
Our tour includes, in this order: Chorten Stupa, Namgyal Institute of Tibetology, Shanti Viewpoint, Rumtek Gompa (a gompa is a monestary), Lingdom Gompa and Jankri Waterfalls.
A stupa (also called a chorten) is a mound-like structure composed of a solid hemisphere topped by a spire and containing Buddhist relics, typically the remains of a Buddha or a saint. They exist wherever there are Buddhists. As such, I saw many in Leh and Sikkim.
The Namgyal Institute of Tibetology, housed in traditionally styled Tibetan architecture, was established in 1958 to promote research into Mahayana Buddhism and Tibetan culture. It contains one of the world's largest collections of Buddhist books and manuscripts, plus statuettes, thangkas (Tibetan cloth paintings) and sacred objects, such as kapali (sacred bowl made from a human skull).
Rumtek monastery, a short distance from Gangtok, is the contemporary home of Buddhism's Kagyu (Black Hat) sect. The sect gets its name from the ruby-topped headgear used to crown the Karmapa (spiritual leader) during key ceremonies. According to legend, the hat is woven from the hair of angels and, as such, must be kept locked in a box to prevent it from flying back to heaven. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, "Nobody has seen it since 1993 when the 16th Karmapa died. Only when the 17th Karmapa is finally crowned, will anyone dare to unlock the box and check" (578). Within the Rumtek Gompa Complex, the main monastery building, according to my Lonely Planet, "was constructed between 1961 and 196 to replace the Tsurphu Monastery in Tibet which had been destroyed during China's Cultural Revolution" (577).
Lingdom Gompa was completed in 1998, but it is just as visually attractive as older monasteries I have seen. My Lonely Planet has a nice description: "Its structure grows out of the forest in grand layers with photogenic side towers, though the exterior paintings are not especially accomplished. Th extensively muralled main prayer hall enshrines a large Sakyamuni Buddha wreathed in an expansive gilded aura. Frenetic chanting adds to the magical atmosphere" (578). Indeed, we are able to observe monks chanting and playing cacophonous wind instruments inside the prayer hall. On the day we visit, the monks are also cleaning the entire complex, an intricate task that will presumably fill many days, despite all the monks who are available to work. We watch as they pour soapy water over a ledge to watch some stairs--a photogenic moment.
Jankri waterfalls are not especially impressive, but the park that has been built near them is. The park is a testament to the environmental agenda Sikkim is pushing. There is a wall edged with solar panels to generate energy. The playground consists of a giant wheel which, when propelled by human walking or running, generates energy which is used to play music and light small LEDs. The slide has a belt that moves when someone slides down which also generates music.
I have dinner with the two Americas after our tour and stay one more night in Gangtok before heading off to Pelling.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sikkim: Finding Shangri-La (November 7-17, 2008)
Sikkim is in northeastern India, nestled between the Nepal and Tibet borders. The main language spoken here is Nepali and most of the population originates from either Tibet or Nepal. The state has a unique identity when compared to other parts of India that might be considered more quintessentially "Indian." One Sikkimese man I spoke to who worked in the government tourism office had an eye-opening experience when he studied tourism at a university in south India. When his classmates asked him where he was from and he replied "Sikkim," they accused him of being non-Indian. Many had not even heard of the state.
Indeed, I found Sikkim to be a Shangri-La compared to "India." The air was cool, crisp and clean, the mountain views awe-inspiring. Khangchendzonga (kanchenjunga; 8598 m), the world's third-highest mountain, straddles the Sikkim-Nepal border. The Sikkim Tourism Department markets the state as an eco-tourism destination with good reason. Plastic bags are banned (though this was true in several other Indian cities, and paper bags made of reused newspapers were common throughout the country), and I even saw anti-smoking signs. Best of all, the people were among the most welcoming and helpful I met during my entire trip.
Since Sikkim has such a unique history, I have herein transcribed the summary of its origins from my Lonely Planet guidebook: "Lepchas, the 'original' Sikkimese, migrated here from Assam or Myanmar (Burma) in the 13th century, followed by Bhutias (Khambas) who fled from religious strife in Tibet during the 15th century. The Nyingmapa form of Mahayana Buddhism arrived with three refugee Tibetan lamas who bumped into each other at the site of modern-day Yuksome. Here in 1641 they crowned Phuntsog Namgyal as first chogyal (king) of Sikkim. The capital later moved to Rabdentse (near Pelling), then to Tumlong (now hidden ruins behind Phodong) before finally settling in Gangtok. At their most powerful the chogyals' rule encompassed eastern Nepal, upper Bengal and Darjeeling. However, much territory was later lost during wars with Bhutan and Nepal, and throughout the 19th century large numbers of Hindu Nepali migrants arrived, eventually coming to form a majority of Sikkim's population. In 1835 the British bribed Sikkim's chogyal to cede Darjeeling to the East India Company. Tibet, which regarded Sikkim as a vassal state, raised strong objections. In 1849, amid rising tensions, the British annexed the entire area between the present Sikkim border and the Ganges plains, repulsing a counterinvasion by Tibet in 1886...Sikkim's last chogyal ruled from 1963 to 1975, when he was deposed by the Indian government after a revolt by Sikkim's Nepali population. China has never officially recognised India's claim to Sikkim, so to bolster pro-Delhi sentiment the Indian government has made Sikkim a tax-free zone, pouring crores of rupees into road building, electricity, water supplies and local industry--including liquor production. As a result Sikkim is surprisingly affluent by Himalayan standards--and rates of alcoholism are the highest in the country. Meanwhile the Sikkim Democratic Front (SDF) state government has earned a reputation as the most environmentally aware in India, banning plastic bag and fining people who pollute streams" (569-570).
Indeed, I found Sikkim to be a Shangri-La compared to "India." The air was cool, crisp and clean, the mountain views awe-inspiring. Khangchendzonga (kanchenjunga; 8598 m), the world's third-highest mountain, straddles the Sikkim-Nepal border. The Sikkim Tourism Department markets the state as an eco-tourism destination with good reason. Plastic bags are banned (though this was true in several other Indian cities, and paper bags made of reused newspapers were common throughout the country), and I even saw anti-smoking signs. Best of all, the people were among the most welcoming and helpful I met during my entire trip.
Since Sikkim has such a unique history, I have herein transcribed the summary of its origins from my Lonely Planet guidebook: "Lepchas, the 'original' Sikkimese, migrated here from Assam or Myanmar (Burma) in the 13th century, followed by Bhutias (Khambas) who fled from religious strife in Tibet during the 15th century. The Nyingmapa form of Mahayana Buddhism arrived with three refugee Tibetan lamas who bumped into each other at the site of modern-day Yuksome. Here in 1641 they crowned Phuntsog Namgyal as first chogyal (king) of Sikkim. The capital later moved to Rabdentse (near Pelling), then to Tumlong (now hidden ruins behind Phodong) before finally settling in Gangtok. At their most powerful the chogyals' rule encompassed eastern Nepal, upper Bengal and Darjeeling. However, much territory was later lost during wars with Bhutan and Nepal, and throughout the 19th century large numbers of Hindu Nepali migrants arrived, eventually coming to form a majority of Sikkim's population. In 1835 the British bribed Sikkim's chogyal to cede Darjeeling to the East India Company. Tibet, which regarded Sikkim as a vassal state, raised strong objections. In 1849, amid rising tensions, the British annexed the entire area between the present Sikkim border and the Ganges plains, repulsing a counterinvasion by Tibet in 1886...Sikkim's last chogyal ruled from 1963 to 1975, when he was deposed by the Indian government after a revolt by Sikkim's Nepali population. China has never officially recognised India's claim to Sikkim, so to bolster pro-Delhi sentiment the Indian government has made Sikkim a tax-free zone, pouring crores of rupees into road building, electricity, water supplies and local industry--including liquor production. As a result Sikkim is surprisingly affluent by Himalayan standards--and rates of alcoholism are the highest in the country. Meanwhile the Sikkim Democratic Front (SDF) state government has earned a reputation as the most environmentally aware in India, banning plastic bag and fining people who pollute streams" (569-570).
Friday, February 13, 2009
North from Kolkata (November 1-7, 2008)
I take the bus, about a 10 hour ride, from Dhaka to Kolkata on November 1. I decide to rest for a few days in Kolkata and take advantage of the cheap accommodation, food and cheap, reliable Internet. Kolkata is probably the cheapest city I visit in India.
I again stay at Hotel Maria and I am elated to run into Christiaan and Magda and catch up. Raphaella has already moved on to Delhi to meet her boyfriend. It turns out Magda got an amoeba and had to wait in Dhaka for her test results and to get antibiotics. Luckily, she doesn't feel sick. Unfortunately, she was unable to get access into the ship breaking yards. Christiaan is taking a break in Kolkata before he purchases a bike and starts riding south to Sri Lanka.
In Kolkata I meet a French traveler, Pierrique. His English is only slightly better than my high school French, and so I try to revive my French for the next few days. As we are both heading North, we plan to take the train together.
After he has seen Kolkata, we take a day train from Kolkata to New Jalpaiguri on November 5. I have the lower side bunk, which is closest to the busy aisle. This train is the busiest train I have been on--the aisle is just like an Indian street, with sellers and beggars coming through all day. I hope I never forget the way the sellers yell out their product, repeating it as they walk down the aisle, so that the words blend ("samosa-samosas-samosas-amosas"). Their voices were projected from the depths of their chest, producing a solid advertisement that could be sustained all day, not unlike the projection of stage actors. The train is their theatre. And I a tired audience member, just wanting to sleep, but interrupted by the performance so close to my face and body. The chai wallahs' vocal projection is especially impressive. Something about the word "chai" seems to work better than "puri" or "samosa" or "veg biryani," though the projection of these words was also applaudable.
We arrive at the train station in New Jaipalguri and two of Pierrique's friends are waiting for us. We take a short auto-rickshaw ride to Siliguri where they already have reserved hotel rooms. We wander around town in the evening, and it seems there is nothing special here for travelers, except for the fact that it is the end of the train line and the starting point for traveling to Darjeeling and Sikkim, both of which we are heading to.
I feel I am getting sick and it worsens the next day. I am convinced I have strep throat and decide I will go to the doctor, telling Pierrique and his friends to go ahead without me so I can rest if need be. My doctor's visit costs around US$5.00 and the antibiotics he recommends are under US$5.00. For the first two or three minutes, he asked me to describe my symptoms. Then he asked me about Obama. "Did you vote for Obama? Why not McCain? Why did you vote for him? Do you really think he'll bring about change?" This conversation ensued for about 10 minutes. I thought maybe he was seeing if any of my symptoms changed, or revealed themselves. But really he was just interested in what was happening on the other side of the world. He was a good doctor, and not afraid to tell me this when I asked too many questions, making him think I was doubting his ability. But really I was just doing the same research I would have done with a US doctor.
I go to the Sikkim tourism office and get my free, 15-day permit to enter Sikkim. Permits are required because Sikkim borders Tibet and both India and China need to regulate illegal border-crossing.
I decide to stay one more night to recover from my fever and feel a bit better before heading to Gangtok, Sikkim, where it will be somewhat cooler.
I again stay at Hotel Maria and I am elated to run into Christiaan and Magda and catch up. Raphaella has already moved on to Delhi to meet her boyfriend. It turns out Magda got an amoeba and had to wait in Dhaka for her test results and to get antibiotics. Luckily, she doesn't feel sick. Unfortunately, she was unable to get access into the ship breaking yards. Christiaan is taking a break in Kolkata before he purchases a bike and starts riding south to Sri Lanka.
In Kolkata I meet a French traveler, Pierrique. His English is only slightly better than my high school French, and so I try to revive my French for the next few days. As we are both heading North, we plan to take the train together.
After he has seen Kolkata, we take a day train from Kolkata to New Jalpaiguri on November 5. I have the lower side bunk, which is closest to the busy aisle. This train is the busiest train I have been on--the aisle is just like an Indian street, with sellers and beggars coming through all day. I hope I never forget the way the sellers yell out their product, repeating it as they walk down the aisle, so that the words blend ("samosa-samosas-samosas-amosas"). Their voices were projected from the depths of their chest, producing a solid advertisement that could be sustained all day, not unlike the projection of stage actors. The train is their theatre. And I a tired audience member, just wanting to sleep, but interrupted by the performance so close to my face and body. The chai wallahs' vocal projection is especially impressive. Something about the word "chai" seems to work better than "puri" or "samosa" or "veg biryani," though the projection of these words was also applaudable.
We arrive at the train station in New Jaipalguri and two of Pierrique's friends are waiting for us. We take a short auto-rickshaw ride to Siliguri where they already have reserved hotel rooms. We wander around town in the evening, and it seems there is nothing special here for travelers, except for the fact that it is the end of the train line and the starting point for traveling to Darjeeling and Sikkim, both of which we are heading to.
I feel I am getting sick and it worsens the next day. I am convinced I have strep throat and decide I will go to the doctor, telling Pierrique and his friends to go ahead without me so I can rest if need be. My doctor's visit costs around US$5.00 and the antibiotics he recommends are under US$5.00. For the first two or three minutes, he asked me to describe my symptoms. Then he asked me about Obama. "Did you vote for Obama? Why not McCain? Why did you vote for him? Do you really think he'll bring about change?" This conversation ensued for about 10 minutes. I thought maybe he was seeing if any of my symptoms changed, or revealed themselves. But really he was just interested in what was happening on the other side of the world. He was a good doctor, and not afraid to tell me this when I asked too many questions, making him think I was doubting his ability. But really I was just doing the same research I would have done with a US doctor.
I go to the Sikkim tourism office and get my free, 15-day permit to enter Sikkim. Permits are required because Sikkim borders Tibet and both India and China need to regulate illegal border-crossing.
I decide to stay one more night to recover from my fever and feel a bit better before heading to Gangtok, Sikkim, where it will be somewhat cooler.
Dhaka, one last time (October 27-31, 2008)
Mizan takes me to his parents' house in Khulna to spend the night. The next day we take a bus to Jhalakathi to pick up Shobnam and catch the launch back to Dhaka. It is nice to see Shobnam again, and she seems happy that she was able to spend so much time with her family. We catch the launch that night and arrive early morning.
I spend the next week resting at Mizan and Shobnam's apartment. Mizan is at work all day and Shobnam tends to cooking and cleaning for about half the day, so I entertain myself.
I am sick once again. I finish reading my book, The Three Mistakes of My Life by Chetan Bhagat, which was at the time a best-selling novel in India. It is about three young Gujarati men--one who is passionate about cricket, one who is passionate about religion, and one who is passionate about business--who open a cricket supply store together. The cricket aficionado starts coaching a young Muslim boy who shows much potential. When there is a train bombing and Hindus die, a conflict develops between the religious boy, who shows loyalty to his uncle's Hindu nationalist political organization, and the other boys. The business-oriented boy's devotion to business rather than people only increases the schism. What ensues is a showdown between the uncle and the boys as he tries to kill the young Muslim cricket prodigy...
I also indulge in lots of television viewing. I catch up on the election by watching the BBC or CNN. I also watch English movies and TV shows. Sometimes I switch to Hindi or Bangla music videos or programs. At these times, Shobnam takes a break from cooking and cleaning and sits by me, translating and explaining. I gather that Bangladeshis are extremely romantic people, for their singers' songs are always gushing with expressions of love. There is a show in which Tagore's rabindrasangit (Tagore song) are performed. I watch the Bangladesh national television channel and see commercials urging people to vote the Sundarbans and Cox's Bazaar as the new seven wonders of the world.
Shobnam cooks me wonderful food. In addition to the bhat (rice) and subji (vegetables), she often makes me a sweet--either Shemai or Payish. Shemai uses vermicelli, while Payish uses rice. Both involve boiled milk and sugar, sometimes infused with cardamom. Payish might have a few added raisins or cashews. It's my favorite, but both are great. It seems I have lost weight over the course of my month in Bangladesh, and Mizan and Shobnam have made it their goal to fatten me up again before I go. So Shobnam is always trying to get me to eat more.
At night when Mizan comes home, we have dinner and I watch Mizan and Shobnam feed each other with their hands, all the while arguing about how much Shobnam eats. They indulge in meat and fish, and don't understand why I only eat subji. After, we watch more television or talk about Bangladesh and America. Mizan is struggling to decide if he should work abroad again and support his parents, or stay in Bangladesh with Shobnam. Clearly, it's a hard decision between two different duties he has. It seems people criticized him the first time he came back to be with his wife. This is something most Americans don't have to think about because their family structure is different, as is their financial status.
On Mizan's day off, we venture across town to Gulshan and see his new office. He is working to establish a call center. His boss insists we celebrate the new office and takes us out to Pizza Hut. I am hesitant, but actually it turns out to be great. The ingredients and taste are just like in the US. The only difference is that in Bangladesh, Pizza Hut is marketed as a high-class restaurant rather than a dirty fast-food joint as in the states.
I finally feel better just as my visa is about to expire. It is time for me to go back to India. Mizan buys me a bus ticket across the border. Shobnam says, "If there is anything we did wrong, anything to upset you, please forgive us." This is Bangladeshi hospitality. I tell her, "no, everything was perfect. I did not get sick because of you. I am a farm chicken." She begs, "Please remember us." It's something I've heard Bangladeshis ask over and over again. I tell her, "of course. How could I forget?"
I spend the next week resting at Mizan and Shobnam's apartment. Mizan is at work all day and Shobnam tends to cooking and cleaning for about half the day, so I entertain myself.
I am sick once again. I finish reading my book, The Three Mistakes of My Life by Chetan Bhagat, which was at the time a best-selling novel in India. It is about three young Gujarati men--one who is passionate about cricket, one who is passionate about religion, and one who is passionate about business--who open a cricket supply store together. The cricket aficionado starts coaching a young Muslim boy who shows much potential. When there is a train bombing and Hindus die, a conflict develops between the religious boy, who shows loyalty to his uncle's Hindu nationalist political organization, and the other boys. The business-oriented boy's devotion to business rather than people only increases the schism. What ensues is a showdown between the uncle and the boys as he tries to kill the young Muslim cricket prodigy...
I also indulge in lots of television viewing. I catch up on the election by watching the BBC or CNN. I also watch English movies and TV shows. Sometimes I switch to Hindi or Bangla music videos or programs. At these times, Shobnam takes a break from cooking and cleaning and sits by me, translating and explaining. I gather that Bangladeshis are extremely romantic people, for their singers' songs are always gushing with expressions of love. There is a show in which Tagore's rabindrasangit (Tagore song) are performed. I watch the Bangladesh national television channel and see commercials urging people to vote the Sundarbans and Cox's Bazaar as the new seven wonders of the world.
Shobnam cooks me wonderful food. In addition to the bhat (rice) and subji (vegetables), she often makes me a sweet--either Shemai or Payish. Shemai uses vermicelli, while Payish uses rice. Both involve boiled milk and sugar, sometimes infused with cardamom. Payish might have a few added raisins or cashews. It's my favorite, but both are great. It seems I have lost weight over the course of my month in Bangladesh, and Mizan and Shobnam have made it their goal to fatten me up again before I go. So Shobnam is always trying to get me to eat more.
At night when Mizan comes home, we have dinner and I watch Mizan and Shobnam feed each other with their hands, all the while arguing about how much Shobnam eats. They indulge in meat and fish, and don't understand why I only eat subji. After, we watch more television or talk about Bangladesh and America. Mizan is struggling to decide if he should work abroad again and support his parents, or stay in Bangladesh with Shobnam. Clearly, it's a hard decision between two different duties he has. It seems people criticized him the first time he came back to be with his wife. This is something most Americans don't have to think about because their family structure is different, as is their financial status.
On Mizan's day off, we venture across town to Gulshan and see his new office. He is working to establish a call center. His boss insists we celebrate the new office and takes us out to Pizza Hut. I am hesitant, but actually it turns out to be great. The ingredients and taste are just like in the US. The only difference is that in Bangladesh, Pizza Hut is marketed as a high-class restaurant rather than a dirty fast-food joint as in the states.
I finally feel better just as my visa is about to expire. It is time for me to go back to India. Mizan buys me a bus ticket across the border. Shobnam says, "If there is anything we did wrong, anything to upset you, please forgive us." This is Bangladeshi hospitality. I tell her, "no, everything was perfect. I did not get sick because of you. I am a farm chicken." She begs, "Please remember us." It's something I've heard Bangladeshis ask over and over again. I tell her, "of course. How could I forget?"
Thursday, February 12, 2009
From Dhaka to Khulna by Rocket (October 22-26, 2008)
The next day, Christiaan, Magda, Raphaella and I meet at Christiaan's hotel in the Old City. We take a "van" (a bicycle pulling a flat wooden surface used for transporting goods or people) to Shadarghat port and find the Rocket that will take us to Khulna. We share two second-class cabins, I with Magda and Christiaan with Raphaella. It is a restful trip, and I go to sleep early. We are still on the boat for most of the next day and I simply sit, gazing out at the calm water, watching green leaves and twigs float by and photographing the occasional fishing boat. At one point, a man from deck class comes into the second-class area to talk with us. He is so excited to be talking with us. He is the man who presents us with the acronym for BANGLADESH I mentioned in my introduction. He shows us his wife and Raphaella plays with his baby. The staff try to tell him to go back to his class, but we insist that it is okay. At night, a little girl from a lower class seat comes and tries to teach me some Bangla words. "Brishty," she keeps saying. I later realize this means rain. At other times I wander around the boat aimlessly, seeing what I can find. I spend a short time at the front answering questions of Bangladeshis: "My name is Jenni. As in Jennifer. Yes, like Jennifer Lopez. I am from America. My job is in the NGO sector. Well, really non-profit. But that's like NGO." Magda can't handle all the questions, but I am more patient and show no signs of perturbation. But I can't take it for long and return to my cabin area.
We arrive in Khulna the next night and find a hotel listed in our guidebook, Society Hotel. It is cheap: about 70 taka per night. Magda is impressed with the cleanliness and the mosquito nets. I'm a little bit harder to please. Magda points out a cockroach and I get scared. But she likes the little creatures. She tells me that as a kid, she had a pet cockroach ordered from Madagascar, and when it died she preserved it in picture frame like a biologist's specimen. From this point on, whenever I see a cockroach this is what I recall: the pleasure such a horrid creature was able to bring my friend Magda.
We realize quickly that a day trip to the Sundarbans is not possible. Raphaella's Bangladeshi visa is already expired so she needs to cross into India the next day, paying a bribe to get past immigration. The Sundarbans tour is, furthermore, not in our price range. Christiaan decides to go with Raphaella back to Kolkata. I am once again not feeling well, so I decide to take rest for the day. Magda heads out on a day trip to Bagerhat to see Shait Gumbad Mosque.
The next day, Magda leaves, determined to see other parts of Bangladesh, and heads east, back to Dhaka and then to Chittagong Division. As with most destinations in Bangladesh, it is necessary to first go through hectic Dhaka rather than directly to the destination, because of the obstacles of waterways and lack of transportation routes. She wants to go to Chittagong to see the ship-breaking yards along its north shore. A controversial industry, ship-breaking threatens public health, the environment and the rights and lives of workers. Earlier, I had met a Belgian photojournalist at the Indian Embassy in Dhaka documenting this human rights issue. His other assignment was acid-burning, in which women are usually the victims and men the perpetrators, attacking because of the woman's refusal of an affair or sexual advance.
The day Magda leaves, I am feeling a little better and decide to see the Shait Gumbad Mosque in nearby Bagerhat. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, the mosque was built in 1459, the same year Khan Jahan died. It is "the largest and most magnificent traditional mosque in the country. Shait Gumbad means 'the Temple with 60 Domes'-a misnomer given that there are actually 77." Based on the description, I am eager to visit. But upon arriving, I am disappointed, and my impression of Bangladesh as a country devoid of spectacular architecture and artifacts is again confirmed. The mosque is nice, but after having traveled in the Middle East and India, it simply doesn't compare to other sites. Still, I am glad I came. I take a picture of the photogenic old man who runs the toilets and washing area. He is overjoyed to see his photo on my digital camera.
Mizan calls my mobile and suggests I come back to Dhaka. This way I will be able to take rest and feel better before heading to India. Also, I will be able to see his wife Shobnam again and wish her a proper goodbye, as she has been at her parents' in Jhalakathi. Initially I do not want to take the boat all the way back to Dhaka when I am so close to crossing back into Kolkata. But he insists and picks me up the next night.
We arrive in Khulna the next night and find a hotel listed in our guidebook, Society Hotel. It is cheap: about 70 taka per night. Magda is impressed with the cleanliness and the mosquito nets. I'm a little bit harder to please. Magda points out a cockroach and I get scared. But she likes the little creatures. She tells me that as a kid, she had a pet cockroach ordered from Madagascar, and when it died she preserved it in picture frame like a biologist's specimen. From this point on, whenever I see a cockroach this is what I recall: the pleasure such a horrid creature was able to bring my friend Magda.
We realize quickly that a day trip to the Sundarbans is not possible. Raphaella's Bangladeshi visa is already expired so she needs to cross into India the next day, paying a bribe to get past immigration. The Sundarbans tour is, furthermore, not in our price range. Christiaan decides to go with Raphaella back to Kolkata. I am once again not feeling well, so I decide to take rest for the day. Magda heads out on a day trip to Bagerhat to see Shait Gumbad Mosque.
The next day, Magda leaves, determined to see other parts of Bangladesh, and heads east, back to Dhaka and then to Chittagong Division. As with most destinations in Bangladesh, it is necessary to first go through hectic Dhaka rather than directly to the destination, because of the obstacles of waterways and lack of transportation routes. She wants to go to Chittagong to see the ship-breaking yards along its north shore. A controversial industry, ship-breaking threatens public health, the environment and the rights and lives of workers. Earlier, I had met a Belgian photojournalist at the Indian Embassy in Dhaka documenting this human rights issue. His other assignment was acid-burning, in which women are usually the victims and men the perpetrators, attacking because of the woman's refusal of an affair or sexual advance.
The day Magda leaves, I am feeling a little better and decide to see the Shait Gumbad Mosque in nearby Bagerhat. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, the mosque was built in 1459, the same year Khan Jahan died. It is "the largest and most magnificent traditional mosque in the country. Shait Gumbad means 'the Temple with 60 Domes'-a misnomer given that there are actually 77." Based on the description, I am eager to visit. But upon arriving, I am disappointed, and my impression of Bangladesh as a country devoid of spectacular architecture and artifacts is again confirmed. The mosque is nice, but after having traveled in the Middle East and India, it simply doesn't compare to other sites. Still, I am glad I came. I take a picture of the photogenic old man who runs the toilets and washing area. He is overjoyed to see his photo on my digital camera.
Mizan calls my mobile and suggests I come back to Dhaka. This way I will be able to take rest and feel better before heading to India. Also, I will be able to see his wife Shobnam again and wish her a proper goodbye, as she has been at her parents' in Jhalakathi. Initially I do not want to take the boat all the way back to Dhaka when I am so close to crossing back into Kolkata. But he insists and picks me up the next night.
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