A Disfunctional Diary of India - Darjeeling to Siliguri: Day 20

The morning moved fast. I had quite a lot of errands to run before meeting Jon at the post office, where we would then catch a jeep ride to N.J.P. train station for our 26 hour run on the tracks of the North East Express train to Delhi. From the post office I sent two hefty boxes of thoughtful gifts. One to my family in Canada and one to my adopted family in Thailand. (* In case those boxes never make it to where they should, I want it to be known here that I spent a lot of time n' money during those last remaining days in Darjeeling, with hopeful imaginings of returning home for my first Christmas in 2 years and handing out those rare, unobtainable gifts like the second coming of Clause).

As usual, our departure was down to the last minute and we bull rushed our way through the zig-zag streets of the Darj, seeking out a jeep heading for N.J.P while making quick-stop purchases of bread, vegetables and chips to eat on the long haul to Delhi.
Our desperation for a ride must have been easily written on our faces, as a loaded jeep pulled over and almost ran us down. He had two seats left, in the back, with a Russian and German husband and wife we had met a few times on the streets before. In three short hours the jeep descended from the foggy mountain city of scarves, long-johns and soothing tea to the fickle heat of Siliguri; shorts, sandals, sweat rags, and three litres of water a day for yours truly. The arrivals n' departures board at N.J.P station read that our train was 2 hours late, but we soon found out that the "2" actually meant that the train wouldn't pull into the station until 2:00AM, which meant it was 9 hours late. We had a pant load of time to kill in a rowdy, fly-ridden train station inhabited by many homeless children. Their cuteness shined through their dirt-caked exterior and my sympathy for them shined through my gruff appearance as well (but Jon n' I  very seldom gave them money because we knew it was very seldom for them. They would be forced to give it up to their parents or some grease ball who controlled the begging in that area. In India, there is a market for everything). Over the course of our journey Jon had been carrying a package of pencil cases filled with small school supplies- pens, pencils, markers etc. They were given to him by a dear friend of his with the aim of giving them to orphanages. Instead of money we'd been handing them out to homeless kids as an alternative. Either that or food. When I was approached at NJP station there was only one pencil case left and, at that moment, there was only one little girl with her hand out so I gave her the last gift and watched her eyes brighten in surprise. She sat down beside me and began to rummage through it. The colors inside shot out like a light in contrast to her tarnished clothes and within seconds I was swarmed by a pack of runny-nosed kids out of nowhere. Jon was not far behind me, in the background getting his backpack repaired by a cobbler. He threw the suggestion at me to get them to share the contents of the pencil case, but the little on I had given it to thought that was a terrible idea. She bared her teeth like a stray dog and she shrieked like a banshee at anyone who reached for her new prize. Before I knew it, a mini riot had broken out amongst the homeless kids and I was forced to get up n ' go before they turned on me. As we walked further into the the station Jon handed out crackers to the ones that followed me and the situation was neutralized. Then we got ourselves a resting room to hang out in until 2 in the morning. We invited  the Russion/German couple to kick back with us until their train arrived. They turned out to be most helpful in providing us with places to stay and things to check out on our short stint in Delhi. Around 1:00AM I took a walk to see the arrival board and saw that our train's time had been changed to 4:25AM. It was the beginning of a very long day.

Read Day 21

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Back in the Darj. : Day 18 & 19

Two solid days of relaxation and very advanced Christmas shopping, in which we prepared for our next leg of the journey- onward to Delhi to rent two mean n' shiney Royal Enfield motorcycles and ride out a dream I've been wanting to do since my cousins first put me on the back of their motorbikes, since the first time I saw Easy Rider...
I also met  Mary Ann Davis, a kooky old travel writer who works for transitionsabroad.com
She taught me two important lessons:
1) I now know I don't want to be a travel writer. Too many rules and too many travel writers already writing the same useful, but redundant shit.
2) Travel now, while you can, while you're young and strong and patiently open to anything that comes at you. Don't travel when you're old and set in your ways. The world will put you over it's knee and spank your ass 'till you find yourself in Margarita-ville.

Read Day 20

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Singalila National Park: Day 17

Last day on the trail. We got up early and enjoyed the morning, exploring around the river. Had a light breakfast and then began our walk back into town. On the way we discussed the strange kind of solitude that trekking the wilderness offers. How we could be so out of touch and unscathed by the modern world. A new world war could be exploding on the forefront and we would have no idea until we came out of the clouds and back to civilization. And such was the case today, after a 4 hour jeep ride back to Darjeeling, we walked into a store to hear on the T.V. that Osama Bin Laden had been found and taken out by an elite Navy SEAL unit. It was an interesting yet unsettling place to be, there in the North of India, not too far away from where the evil bastard was finally killed. There was no celebration like the one I'm sure was going on in America. In fact there wasn't much more than untranslatable small talk amongst silence as the news repeatedly reported over the many T.V's and radios within the many shops of the Darj. What struck me was the lack of difference between when a worldly, respected individual dies and when a feared and hated individual dies. Our reaction, as a society is the same for both; we pause, we listen, we speculate, and then we wonder what will happen next.

Read Day 18 & 19

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Singalila National Park: Day 16

It was a real struggle to leave this morning. The wind it was a-howlin' and the snow was outrageous. The sky made no indication of letting up and we were already cold. But our guide, Ajoy reassured us, with as many convincing English words as he could muster, that it would only take about 30 minutes to get off the mountain plaines and down into the jungle where the wind would cease and the rain would be caught by the canopy of trees. Turns out, the man was right, and before long we were enjoying the lush warmth of the Gorkhey jungle. Today's trek was the longest - 31km, mainly downhill, along the border of West Bengal and Sikkim. We cut it in half, walking 15km in the morning and then eatting lunch in a beautiful farmland nestled between the mountain. In the afternoon we reached Saman Den, the lost valley, where it is said that mankind had his first altercation with the Yeti. It was there that we were greeted by two dogs who then walked with us for over 7km through rough terrain. When we stopped for tea in Rammam I gave them cookies and a belly rub for their companionship. Two hours and a 500m drop later we arrived in Srikhola, at the Goparma Lodge. We had been told that the last destination of the trek was the worst, but at first sight of it, we knew we'd been put on. The Goparma Lodge was situated on a rocky river that came down from the mountains. The view was spectacular and best of all, there was a big bucket of hot water waiting for us to take a much needed shower.
Once again, I was howling inside for Charlie as I ate a warm meal by candlelight, surrounded by the rustic comfort of a wooden lodge with the roaring river sound outside.

Read Day 17

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Singalila National Park: Day 15

Dynamite breakfast this morning! Hot yak's milk with cereal and roti with potato curry. I needed it. I woke up with a strange headache in my frontal lobe and there was cold water dripping out of my nose. Altitude sickness.
I was eager to get on the trail and head down to a lower height for some relief, but first I had to play doctor and clean n' wrap a sliced finger of one of the villagers. It baffled me that no one up there had a first aid kit. I had more condoms than bandaids in mine.
Today's trek was 21km, descending down to 3,600m, with only one stop for lunch. The sun was out in the morning and the scenery was the best yet. We even saw the two minute magic of wild horses having sex. It was an easy journey compared to yesterday, but the sky began to spit again as we rounded the home stretch to Phalut, the village of the flying stone. The fog became so thick I couldn't see 10 feet infront of me, so it was an eerie surprise when the big stone house suddenly appeared like a grey ghost. We settled into a small cabin and did some writing until around 5:00 when we joined a small collection of villagers in the cooking house to play cards and drink some home made wine. After dinner we played "jack thief" with the eldest of the village and had some good laughs before calling it a night.

Read Day 16

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Singalila National Park: Day 14

Our guide, Ajoy woke us up at 5:00AM to see the sun peek over the mountains. We walked up to a cliff that looked out over the Khangchendzonga Mountain range. I could've stayed up there all morning but I got hungry. After breakfast we thanked the family and began the day's 19km trek. It was to be the most challenging of the five days as it was mainly up hill. About 2km before we were to stop and eat lunch the sky went dark and the rain began to fall. We sought shelter in a small army camp on the border of India. Huddled into a creeky shack with soldiers, farmers and a calf, we watched as the storm picked up and turned into viscious pellets of hail blowing at a 45 degree angle. With only 1km left until food and warmth we made a run for it. It was a futile attempt to stay dry and we ended up eating momos and chow mein over a bucket of hot coals while the storm raged on outside. We still had 7km left to go. Jon n' I carried on some heavy life talks to keep our minds off the distance, the height, and the bitter cold that came with it. The day's destination, where we would sleep that night, was 3,636 meters above sea level; the highest point in West Bengal. When we arrived there we were close to hypothermia with no dry clothes. There was no electricity and a scarecity of firewood, so we buried ourselves in as many blankets as we could find until dinner was served. We ate in the only shack of the village that had a fire. The food was hot and really fuckin' good. Before we went back to our room we left our wet clothes to be dried over the fire. I had so many blankets on top of me when I went to bed, they felt like sandbags. Between that and the air being so thin at that height, I was unsure if I'd wake up breathing in the morning. But at least I was warm.

Read Day 15

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Singalila National Park: Day 13

We moved out of the Sunrise Guest House early this morning and left our packs in trust with the owner of the trekking company we booked with, then returned to the Tower View for tea before we caught our ride to the National Park entry point. Our guide's name was Ajoy, a young Nepalize dude with an ominous laugh. By 11:00AM we were on the trail, going mainly up today. It was a good hike. We made a few stops in different regions, each one proudly offering it's own locally grown tea. We reached a high point of 3,070 meters in which we were walking through small clouds. The trail hugged the border of India and Nepal and it was liberating to roam freely through the mountains without the hassle of boundries and checkpoints.

After 11km we arrived in the village of Tumling (Population 25), where we set up in a family tea house with lots of beds. The first villagers we met were two young Nepali girls, Sustica and Bobbita. They were meticulously preparing a table of 108 candles for a ceremony of prayers to honor the life of Sai Baba, the revered spiritual leader/guru with the identifiable afro. Once again we were very lucky to be a part of something special, as we were asked to join in the ceremony, light some candles and say some prayers. Eventually, over half the village was huddled into the small room. There were at least 4 religions present, all singing and praying for the same holy man. When the ceremony ended we went downstairs for a  hot meal of soup and curried veg with custard and tamarind sauce for dessert. I felt spoiled. 

We ended the evening by playing cards with the girls. They taught us a new game called "jack thief" and the rest of the family gathered round to watch and laugh at our intensity. It's places like this that make me never want to return to a big city.

Read Day 14

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Darjeeling: Day 12

Slept in today. When I woke up everyone was gone. I loafed around town, eating snacks, drinking tea and meeting people. Found Jon for lunch and then joined him on his continuing mission to get money from the bank and mail his burden of a box home once n' for all. The damn thing was giving him grey hairs. After that, we signed ourselves up for a 5 day trek through Singalila National Park, on the outskirts of Darjeeling. It was another easy day, but we worked for it, I assure you.
Had ourselves an entertaining night at the Tower View, celebrating the birthday of a nice girl from Colorado we met earlier in the day. There was a solid turnout of people from all over the globe. Add two guitars into the mix and we had ourselves a show on the balcony. Tomorrow, we hit the dusty trail.

Read Day 13

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Darjeeling: Day 11

Last night we arrived at NJP station at 1:30AM, and slept outside under a big tree in the parking lot until 6 in the morning when we took a 2 hour jeep ride high into the mountains and came out through the fog into the chilled out land of Darjeeling. It was the sweetest relief to be there, away from the heat and the madness, and the shitty food. Darjeeling was quite the opposite. It was cold, but everyone was cozy. Every place to eat was delicious, even the street vendors had the goods. It was a happy melting pot of Hindus, Nepalize, and other beautiful Mongoloids, all talkative and respectful. With the surrounding view of the mountains it was impossible for anybody to be sour. I felt like Harry and Loyd when they first hit Aspen. We walked around and got our bearings while looking for a guest house that would take the three of us for 100 rupees a piece. The best and cheapest place in town was the Tower View, which had a bohemian style cafe with a breathtaking balcony view. But they were totally booked so we settled on the Sunrise Guest House, just down the street. The owner was the Indian version of Norman Bates. He gave us a room with one big bed and no running water. We were satisfied.
While Jon was on a mission for a bank and a post office, I kicked back with Justin at the famous local bakery and sipped on the tea that put Darjeeling on the map. We all took it real easy for the rest of the day, then capped it off with gut warming spirits in the evening. After only one day here, I know this place will be at the top of my list in India.

Read Day 12

A Disfunctional Diary of India: Day 10

The train left Varinasi Junction at 5:45 AM. We were on it. The time is now 6:35pm. We're still on it, with another 4 more hours to go. I feel like a convict on the Orange Blossom Special. But incarceration in motion does have it's moments. A man can do a lot of reading in that time. And in between chapters, some serious life planning can be achieved as well. I've never been a "5 year plan" person like my guidance councilor wanted me to be. But on this particular train ride I was able to perceive an agreeable life for myself past 2012, which suits me fine for now. So eat it,  Ms. Trujillo.

Read Day 11

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Varinasi: Day 9

Our train schedule was wrong! We're stuck in Varinasi for another 24 hours. The vultures are closing in.
What to do but take a shower, walk the streets and survive on cookies n' water. In the afternoon a trip to the theater to watch a low budget love story with blood and thievery. Finally mashed potatoes and a brief skype chat with the everlasting girl of my dreams. Goooood night.

Read Day 10

A Disfunctional Diary of India - Varinasi: Day 8

We've been here too long, and now it feels more like an escape than a departure. We've learned the hard way; always plan your exit strategy in advance in India ( and most other places in the world, and in life). Now we're stuck in Varinasi for another day and I'm standing at 60% health as my body fights off the strains of malnutrition (because I no longer trust the food here), exhaustion, a bhang lassi hangover, and the poorest air quality I've ever inhaled. The beggars and marketeers can see it in our eyes that we're on the edge, about to snap, and so they don't bug us anymore. Instead they send in the little kids with dirty faces and big eyes. They melt our hearts but they don't win the battle of sympathy. If they did we'd be broken down and living amongst them.
Our train is set to depart  early tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn so we've spent our last day seeking out the small things left undone. We hired a small boat to take us out on the Ganges river for photos of the rising sun. We ate and slept. We drank water n' electrolytes. We slept more. We walked down by the Ganges at night to see the ceremony of burning bodies before having the first (and last) nutritious meal of fruit and lemon ginger tea. Then it was Jon's turn to get sick so we stayed at the guest house until it was time to catch the train.

Read Day 9