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The end is nigh. My flight back to London from Mumbai is less than a week away. I returned to India on a long bus ride from Pokhara to Kakarbhitta which is the far Eastern border of Nepal leading to the West Bengal Hills, Darjeeling and Sikkim further north. I thought I was leaving Nepal but it seems this part of India is Nepal in disguise. Everyone speaks Nepali, everyone is Nepali (except all the Indian tourists) and the only thing missing is the Dal Bhat.
I arrived in Kakarbhitta close to 6pm. It had been a long day as my alarm had rung at 3am and I was on the bus at 4. I had a front row seat which in theory would be the most comfortable in terms of leg room and the bouncing of the bus, and there was a very kindly old man sitting next to me who took it upon himself to interfere with everyone on board, telling them where to sit and goodness knows what else as I couldn't understand what he was saying. And he just kept talking and talking - shouting in fact, to make himself heard over the roar of the engine, whilst most of the passengers tried to rest a little as it was still before dawn. I braced myself for a long day as I thought he was going all the way to Kakarbhitta but he alighted after a few hours somewhere near Mugling much to my relief.
The journey passed without incident, which is what you want on a Nepali bus. I enjoyed watching the changing landscape as we left the hills and entered the flat plains of the Eastern Terai, which I had not seen before. Much more lush and green than the West and although hot, not searing like Nepalganj. The journey would have been even more pleasant if my mood had recovered from the early awakening and there was slightly more flesh on my bottom, but as it was, the time passed easily enough (good thing I am a master at staring into space for hours on end).
I was concerned about actually getting across the border into India as there is this ridiculous issue with the tourist visa and reentering the country within two months of leaving. It has caused problems galore for many a tourist this year (it only came into effect this January) with people getting stranded in Kathmandu. But as it turned out, the friendly border official examined my letter from FRRO (Foreign Regional Registration Office) and my onward travel documents and stamped me in. No problem.
I was dismayed to find I could not get a share jeep (the most common mode of transport in the West Bengal Hills) directly to Mirik as it was too late, so I reluctantly boarded a minibus bound for Siliguri which is the uninspiring town that all transport in the area seems to go through. I had fantasies of getting off and using my persuasive powers to hitch a ride to Mirik, (it was only an hour away due North but now I was going 45 minutes further East and would have to then take a jeep the next day to Mirik which was another hour and a half back) but I couldn't quite muster the energy to jump up and gather my bags, stepping out into the unknown of the small border town, Panitanki. So I let the bus take me to Siliguri and spent an unremarkable night in a mediocre hotel, ordering a beer and chow mein and watching a predictable rom-com on the telly. Sometimes, in moments like that, I stop and look around and wonder what I am doing in this funny hotel, with these strange noises from the street outside, dogs barking, horns beeping.
The next morning I was sipping a chai at the jeep stand waiting for my 8.30 jeep to Mirik. The journey is an hour and a half. Or at least it can be. The shared jeeps are the norm as once you hit the hills the roads are winding and steep, so there aren't too many buses. We were loaded up, four in the front, four in the second row (me in the middle), another four in the row behind and then four more in the back sitting sideways. This is in addition to the 'conductor', usually a young-ish boy, who comes along, loading and unloading the goods on the roof and generally helping the driver - instructing him to start and stop with bangs to the side of the vehicle (two for go and one for stop) as people get in and out. Often, if the jeep is full, this boy will just hang off the back with additional passengers sitting on top with the luggage and in our case, the enormous basket of live chickens, all looking a little shell-shocked, necks straining through the wicker.
The usual random stops, loading more goods and people into and onto the straining vehicle. We were off, out of Siliguri and going through a pleasant conservation
forest/army base area when we got a flat tire. Everyone piled out of the vehicle bar the guy
on top with the chickens. I couldn't figure out where the crowd of onlookers had appeared from until I realised that we had all been squeezed into the jeep - about 18 people!
Things seemed to be coming along as they were taking the spare out until I noticed that they didn't have a jack. After a few unsuccessful attempts at getting the passengers to hold up the side of the vehicle, they managed to get some passing jeep to give them a jack. One of the things I love about the sense of community here is people's willingness to stop and help others as a matter of course. This was illustrated again not long after when the spare tire blew out a few kilometres up the road. This time there was no spare. A couple of the passengers got their money back and wandered up the hill. By now we had started ascending the hills and there was a discernible change in temperature as we wound our way through hillsides carpeted with tea gardens. The mist started rolling in around us providing relief from the heat of the plains. I had no real agenda and the day was still relatively young so I wasn't too fazed by the fact that we were stuck until they could get someone to bring a replacement tire. But other people had places to go.
A woman with her young son and mother was also travelling to Mirik for a family funeral. I had struck up passing conversation with them throughout our extended journey. When they flagged down a passing truck and all started piling in, I ran over to join them, picking up my bags from the dormant jeep. They had squeezed the family and another woman into the cabin of the truck and the boys who were with the truck and a male passenger from the jeep had climbed up on top of the pile of rice sacks at back. I tried to join them but the driver and the guy from the jeep were both initially adamant that I get inside, so I did. The cabin was pretty full with three other women, a small boy and the driver and I found that I could only sit with my legs on either side of the gear stick, which proved rather compromising when we went into 2nd gear. After a few awkward, albeit funny moments with me trying to put both legs on one side or changing gears myself, the driver relented to my assurances I actually
wanted to go up on the back and promises that I would hold on, and up I climbed, much to the amusement of all.
This was great; comfortably reclini
ng on a bag of rice, with views of the plains below, weaving slowly through the semi-tropical, lush surrounds. And back en route to Mirik which was still an hour away. Or so I thought.
We pulled over for a minute while the driver put some water in the engine. And off again, but not for long. Soon there was thick black smoke billowing up from below the cabin as the engine overheated from the strain. The boys were sent off to collect more water and eventually we set off again Our original jeep whizzed past us up the hill as we crawled, just before we broke down for the third time. The women in the cab hailed down yet another truck and I grudgingly climbed down from my perch with my stuff and jumped onto a bed of gravel in the flatbed of the truck, waving goodbye to our unfortunate rice truck crew. The remaining time was thankfully uneventful and suddenly I was in Mirik, admittedly a few hours later then expected, but having enjoyed the journey.
Darjeeling feels like Nepal, except for the architectural remnants of the colonial era - the people there are predominantly Nepali, speak Nepali and consider themselves as such over being Indian even if they were born there.
I did make it to a lovely temple that is both Buddhist and Hindu situated at the top of the hill from Chowrasta. The whole site is shrouded in prayer flags strung between the trees and the morning mist is illuminated by shards of sunlight. Quite magical except for the row of women begging with their children who line the path on the way. I guess their prayers are yet to be answered. Maybe by the time people are heading back down and have given a few rupees here and there to the many different people manning the various dieties and areas of prayer, the hope would be that another rupee or two would pass through hands easily. I certainly noticed in my time that locals although often disregarding beggars will also be very nonchalant about parting with small change whereas most travellers rail against the idea in principle following the advice from guide books.
views. That day was overcast and the brilliant white of the pagoda illuminated by the bright blanket of cloud was blinding. It was almost like being in heaven. The stupas, as they are also called, are part of a set of pagodas around the world built by a Japanese Buddhist organisation, Nipponzan-Myōhōji. The founder Nichidatsu Fujii, inspired by Gandhi's message of peace started building these pagodas as shrines to world peace in 1947 and now there are over 80 around the globe. Many of them are in Asia so imagine my excitement when I found out there is one in Milton Keynes! I didn't think it possible that I would actually find a reason to ever go there but the universe works in mysterious ways. I have a vague notion of trying to visit all of them through my lifetime... you know, just as I'm passing...
