Good View Karma in Darjeeling

There comes a point for every traveller in India when you’ve just had enough of the dirt, the beggars, the crowds and the tuk tuks. With the knowledge that this feeling wont last for long most travellers either head South to the beaches, or North to the mountains. This point came for us after our sickness in Bodhgaya and we decided to escape into the North-East region of West Bengal; our destination the former British hill station of Darjeeling. If I’m being honest here, all we really needed was a good cup of tea.

As the landscape changed from flat rice paddies to snow capped Himalayas we both breathed a sigh of relief. The air became crisp and as the sun set we watched from the train door the magical colours being painted in the sky.

We’d decided to treat ourselves to a £10 luxury room with a hot water bathroom in Darjeeling. We were greeted by the friendly Tibetan landlady who ran the Dekeling Hotel and promptly given steaming cups of Darjeeling tea and treated to some momos (Tibetan dumplings) in the communal sitting room around a hot fire with a fluffy dog at our feet. The wooden decor, green leather sofas and general Tibetan / British colonial style of the place delighted Carl who consequently sought after a pipe to puff.

We woke to clear blue skies surrounding the towering Kangchenjunga, the world’s third highest mountain that towers over the small town of Darjeeling. Walking around the clean, green streets wrapped up in our jackets and Nepali hats admiring the tremendous views from different angles and frequenting various tea outlets, felt a million miles from India and it was evident that the resident Nepali-Indian-Tibetan inhabitants felt likewise. Violence is prevalent in the region as locals are fighting for the separate state of Gorkhaland. Currently the area is part of West Bengal and the same government administers both Calcutta and Darjeeling, two places locals claim that couldn’t be more different in their climate and concerns.

We decided to do the Singalila Ridge trek, which takes you up along the border of Nepal for spectacular views of the Kangchenjunga and Everest Himalaya regions, and set off on our own getting a taxi to the start point of the trek. Here we hired a local guide, paid our National Park fees and met up with two other trekkers. Our partners for the three days were Amanda a lovely American girl from California who had been working in Korea and travelling for the last year, and Linus from Finland who over a warm fire that night revealed that he used to be a pyromaniac. They also had a guide who, like ours, spoke little English so it was nice for all of us to do the trek together.

The first day trek was up a pretty steep incline before the land flattened out and we were walking along the top of the green mountains. Our guide Sanghe, who spoke a little English, took pleasure in telling us when we laid foot in Nepal and when we were back in India. We stayed that night in a lovely little guesthouse in the village of Tumling, which in fact was the entire village. We were joined by a woman in her forties and a couple in their sixties (all English). Upon talking about the trek they all said it was quite easy to which Linus commented that by right the sixty year olds should have died on that steep incline. His lack of sunlight hours in Finland was starting to show. To our surprise our hosts at Tumling treated us all to a three course dinner, a cosy indoor fire and a hot water bottle to take to bed. We had a nice time chatting around the fire, carefully watching Linus who took pride in getting the flames going again when it weakened. We were about 2,000 metres above sea level and it was bloody freezing. We retired to bed fully clothed layered in blankets and clutching at our hot water bottles.

We left the next day after a breakfast of Tibetan bread and porridge (I hate porridge) and were warned by our laughing guides that our next lodgings would not be so luxurious. We would walk 22k that day and were comforted by the fact that our fellow guests were only doing half that. A nice walk though the green terrain and complementing rocky mountains was supplemented by a crisp blue sky that only appears at altitude. Carl would trail behind stuffing his mouth with biscuits and raisins. Then, feeling the food effects, he would burst into life and over take all of us, leading up the hill. Again he’d wane and slow down before eating again and the process was repeated. We passed small villages and stopped for some hot chocolate to warm us up – we could tell we were approaching 3,000 metres. The trek is a popular one and the Nepali-Tibetan villagers are used to seeing foreigners and cater well for trekkers like us. After our hot chocolate and some noodles our guides were again laughing as they pointed upwards. We were to ascend to Sanakpur at 3,636 metres. It was an extremely steep incline and what looked like a one hour walk actually took three. We all started fully clothed but soon the hats, gloves, coats and jumpers came off. Even our guides disrobed and appreciated the mandatory stops.

We were rewarded for our efforts with views that got better with every step. Kangchenjunga appeared so close and as we crossed the last hurdle our guides pointed out Everest, Makalu, Lhotse, Three Sisters and other Himalayan peaks. A hazy mist hung over the greenery below us but the amazing peaks above it appeared crisp and clear in the thrashing blue sky. We stayed outside watching the sunlight dance over the mountains turning them silver and blue in the orange sky. Even Linus showed some enthusiasm for the moment. As the sun dipped our teeth began chattering and numbness took over our feet and hands. The wind was bitter and chipped away at our cheeks until one by one we couldn’t take it any more and we retired to our host’s kitchen to regain feeling in our joints around the kitchen stove.

We had been told that this hostel would be less luxurious that the last. We were allocated a bleak dorm room which reminded us of an orphanage. Amanda wondered whether we’d be adopted in the morning. The beds were basically benches and the wooden walls struggled against the aggressive wind. There was no electricity here. There were about eight beds in our dorm so we took blankets from the spare beds to wrap around ourselves. I felt a lot of admiration for the couple who lived and ran the lodge. The woman had skin made of leather and the old man wore just a shirt and jacket as he plodded around collecting fire wood for us. The old man and our guides attempted to light a fire in an old metallic stove, the smoke from which nearly killed us but the warmth was more important.

Carl and I stepped outside to get some fresh air. Looking up into the darkness we were greeted by a plethora of stars which created an almost chemical light glowing over our surroundings. We could clearly make out the Milky-Way and longed for another hot chocolate. Once again the icy winds got the better of us and we retired into the smoke filled room. We were soon scoffing down curry and rice around a flimsy table. We decided to call it a day and went back to our orphanage stealing whatever blankets we could from other unoccupied dorms on the way.

We awoke at 5:45 the next morning just in time for sunrise. The wind hadn’t let up and again we hugged ourselves and each other as we watched the mountains emerge around us. Clouds had dropped into the valley below but blue sky swathed the peaks. We were above the clouds staring once again in awe when we were interrupted by Amanda and Linus’s guide telling them they had to leave. They had to get back today while we were spending another night at another mountain lodge further on. We swapped details and said our goodbyes. Down they went and we were invited into the kitchen for some porridge (yuk!). I forced some down my throat to warm myself up before feeding some to the cat and some to Carl.

We could take our time today as we were only going 15k downhill. As the rocky peaks faded from view we made our way through pine trees, bamboo, palm trees and beautiful yellow flowers. We stopped for lunch in another ‘village’ comprised of a few houses and soaked up the silence and surrounding greenery. The village was sheltered from the wind and the sun was strong. We sat outside with the young Tibetan children and got a bit of sunbathing in. After our three hour lunch break we continued down, (with a little up thrown in for luck), through a small forest to the riverside village of Sri Kola where we would spend the night. It was warm enough to sit outside next to the river but the warmth soon faded and we were looking forward to being back at our ‘expensive’ hotel in Darjeeling where there was hot water. That night we had dinner by candle light. Carl commented what an amazing thing electricity is and how we take it for granted. For us electricity is usually a given, but for those living in harsh mountain conditions it was something foreign, a bonus rather than a necessity. Even in Darjeeling central heating was practically unheard of. Carl and I often comment that we’d like to live in the Himalayas… but I’m pretty sure an electric heater and a few lights would have to be in order first.

The next day was an easy 10k trek to Rimbik where we’d get a shared jeep back to Darjeeling. We dropped Sangay off at his home Manebhanjan and gave him a tip as he’d been very lovely to us. Back in Darjeeling we spent another few days sipping tea, enjoying the mountains, hot showers and various fire places that warmed the town. Upon leaving, the Dekeling landlady presented us with white Tibetan scarves for good luck. We got a shared jeep down to NJP train station and arrived early so decided to check our bags into the cloakroom and go for some dinner. I’d like to end with the conversation between the cloakroom attendant and Carl.

Carl: Hello can we leave our bags here please?

Cloakroom attendant (CA): Got any food in there?

Carl: No.

CA: Any dirty socks?

Carl: Er, no.

CA: You better not be lying. Do you have any dirty socks in those bags?

Carl: Er no, no food, no dirty socks.

CA: Because if there are dirty socks then the rats here will nor through your bag easily. They’ll smell those dirty socks.

Carl: I haven’t got any dirty socks!

CA: Ok, put them in. But be careful of the rats. They’ll get those socks.

We’d arrived back in India.

A Shy Giant

My mind was awash with thoughts in anticipation of viewing the Earth’s highest peak. We were soon to be met by a spectacle of enormous stature in both reputation and physicality. I felt like a child about to meet my boyhood hero; shy and unsure of how to act in the presence of a superior. The group were all excited and a restless sense of ‘are we there yet?’ pervaded. I wondered if repeated ‘business’ visits to the mountain reduced its impact upon the tour guides; either way, it certainly beats a desk job. As we progressed the Chinese checkpoints began to increase, and every few miles Tenzin had to jump out and present our passports and the relevent permits. Not even Tibetans are allowed to move freely, and in areas such as this and at Mount Kailash in the West, they too are required to present paperwork to the stern Chinese guards. Elsewhere in the country, the traditionally free roaming Nomads are given designated areas to set up camp, their movement restricted by beaurocracy.

The mountain has long been named Qomolangma in Tibetan, and was only named ‘Everest’, more recently in 1856. It was prescribed by Andrew Waugh, surveyor general of India, in honour of his predecessor Sir George Everest. Everest himself would have preferred the use of the native name, but at the time it was questionably claimed that no such name existed. Whatever label is used, the peak standing at 8850 metres above sea level has for many years attracted huge crowds. As we pulled into the Nomad settlement just below Base Camp, it became clear we would have to wait a little longer to catch a glimpse of the summit. Cloud filled the valley and Tenzin pointed into the distance and told us we would climb this last section later in the day. Rows of Nomad tents set up in the valley during tourist season, and ours was boldly named ‘The English Hotel’. Though slightly less ‘authentic’ than our previous nomad experience, the large tent was homely and well run. As we slurped tea, the nomad in charge sprinkled water from a watering can onto the carpeted floor, and then stooped to inspect the results. ‘What’s he doing?’, we asked. ‘He’s cleaning the floor’, Tenzin replied. ‘Oh…right. Of course.’ Two bowls of noodles and one rock fall later, the cloud dispersed slightly and we began the final ascent to base camp.

It is possible to get a bus for the last stretch, but we decided to walk and within an hour we arrived at a very understated gathering of military huts. The Base Camp marker proclaimed we stood at an altitude of 5200 metres above sea level, and the huge Chinese flag proclaimed, ‘No Fucking About’. Tenzin gave us firm guidelines; we were only to stand on the mound and no national flags were to be planted. I asked what would happen if I raised a Tibetan flag, to which he laughed and said, ‘I’d end up in jail’. Point taken. I was however permitted to don the colours of the greatest football team in existence, and slip snuggly into the perennial stereotype of an English male abroad.

At the top of the mound, one is still a considerable distance away from the mountain itself, but the human sense of scale gets a little warped in front of the Himalayas. A vast, moon like plain stretches out in front, and a few brave souls ventured out, only to be quickly reprimanded by the Chinese authorities. At this point there is little else to do apart from sit and stare in awe. Light bounces off the snow covered mountain side, and the view is dazzling to the eye. I made an attempt to erect a pile of prayer stones, as is the tradition in Tibet, while everyone sat patiently and hoped the cloud at the summit would clear. Hope it transpired, held insufficient force to change the climate. We tried to convince ourselves that more of the mountain was coming into view, but today was not our day. A friend we met at a later date explained she encountered similar conditions with her tour group. However, her tour guide had instructed them to perform weather chants in order to encourage the clouds to clear. Even though the climate had remained poor for many days, within minutes of performing the ritual, the summit of Everest revealed itself. Alas, our lack of chanting left us with an obscured view, and as we went to sleep that night under layers of Tibetan blankets, we kept everything crossed in hope of a clear morning.

I woke early to see the sun rise, eager to be greeted by the wonderfully lucid Mount Qomolangma. I raced outside the tent, and to my surprise I was met by a vista of thick snow. My initial reaction to snow is ‘Yay, snow’, but then I looked up the valley and realised the main attraction was again hidden from view. I strolled around the campsite enjoying the crisp air and witnessed the condition of those who had clearly had a rough night. Most were Chinese who had ascended too quickly; the altitude induced vomit was flowing freely. Hazell and I wanted to send post cards from the highest post office in the world, but unfortunately it was closed. Tenzin told us the post man had been up all night drinking, singing and playing cards, so presumably was now in bed nursing a hangover. The winds of Karma had spoken, and it was not our time to see the summit of the mountain or send a postcard, so soon after breakfast we left. Everest is going nowhere, and we vowed we would return one day and trek to the first camp on the mountain.

Our driver then proved he was worth his fee as we took a short cut towards the Nepalese border. We bounced and clattered our heads against the roof of the four wheel drive; I was hugely impressed he was able to navigate within a terrain containing little that could be classed as a ‘road’. It was fantastic to be in the snow coated Himalayas, only us and the highest peaks nature has ever produced, at least that is what we thought. Appearing on the horizon two black specks came running towards us, and before long these specks were banging on our windows eager for us to give them goodies. This is obviously a regular occurence and the driver was prepared with a full bag of sweets. He offered me the bag to share with the children, but out of sheer instinct I ate one first. We then filled the hats of the two boys while they looked bemused as we took photos. As I knelt next to them I felt embarrassed at the complaints I make about comparatively small discomforts. I returned to the warmth of a four wheel drive car, and they returned to a freezing cold tent.

The remainder of the drive down the Friendship Highway was a beautiful transition from white snow to lush greenery. We stayed overnight in the border town, an interesting blend of Chinese, Tibetan and Nepalese; I was struck first by the wonderfully colourful Nepalese trucks which seem to be a source of pride for their drivers. That night the food poisoning which eventually turned me veggie reared its ugly head. While squatting in pain I pleaded, ‘A Western toilet, a Western toilet, my kingdom for a Western toilet.’ Shakespeare must have turned in his grave. The following morning my condition was variable and certainly not helped by the crowds at the border crossing; hundreds of over eager sperm in transit, desperate to be the one lucky entrant into the ovum of Nepal. Every conceivable position was employed to encourage conception; the scene was a veritable Karma Sutra of queue jumping. I took a break in the toilet while back in the ‘queue’, Hazell was shoved over onto her front and shouted at by a Chinese official. A long power cut later and we eventually broke free onto the Nepalese side, where we said goodbye to our guide Tenzin and headed for the immigration office.

I was feeling mixed emotions on crossing the border. I was reluctant to leave one of the most incredible countries in the world, but at the same time filled with gratitude for having been given the opportunity to experience its wonders. Make no mistake, Tibet is an occupied country and should be treated as such by the rest of the world. For Hazell and I, it has captured our hearts and minds and we are now fully aware of the importance of helping Tibet and its people keep their culture alive. I just had to get over this food poisoning first. This show of gratitude began by tipping our tour guide generously; as it turns out a little too generously. We miscalculated and left ourselves without enough money to purchase our Nepalese visas. Some shrewd negotiations ensued, and eventually we supplemented our Chinese Yen with some of Joe’s ’emergency Dollars’ and offered it to the official behind the desk. ‘Oh go on then….’, he replied. We had definitely arrived in Nepal.

Fancy A Kora?

While at Samye we awoke at sunrise and headed for the top of Hepo Rei hill. It is from this point that Padmasambhava, the bringer of Buddhism to Tibet, is said to have overcome the demons of the land and converted them into protectors of the Dharma. As the light slowly illuminated our surroundings, we could see all manner of terrain in every direction. Nestled between the prayer flags, the full compound of Samye monastery came into view; directly behind us snow topped mountains began to stir and peek out from under the cover of soft cloud. The planes below formed a sandy desert, punctuated by mani stones and sporadic stupas. It was evident from this view point that the entire hill was at the centre of a kora; not only were pilgrims circumambulating the entire monastery, others were moving in a clockwise direction through the desert below us. Never underestimate a Tibetan’s ability to find a Kora. The general rule of thumb is, if in doubt or at a loss of what to do, start walking in a clockwise circle; you’ll probably find you encounter some form of holy object, and others will most likely follow you. This action is played out across the whole of Tibet, from a brief circuit of the smallest stupa, to the full grandeur of a trip around Mount Kailash in the west.

We made our way back for breakfast and the onward journey to Gyantse. Our first encounter of the day was with a herd of goats on the road. Our driver accidentally ran over the leg of a straggler which didn’t hold up too well under the weight of a fully loaded 4WD. The young herder was understandably unimpressed as he carried his injured patient away up the hill. Our driver meanwhile, had some heavy Karma to address. With no further harm done, we stopped at a sprawling sea of sand dunes. I’d never encountered anything of this sort before and my inclination was to wade over the virgin dunes as far as I could. Then Hazell reminded me I had no suncream on. Erik our travel companion kindly wrote out the date in the sand and took a photo of the pair of us, the only mishap being the beautifully crafted script suggested we had been there yesterday. The landscape of Tibet is a lesson in stark contrasts; on show in front of us were perfectly formed sand dunes which peaked like the crest of a wave, while mirroring this movement on the horizon were mountains soaring to freezing altitudes. It is a wonder that any living being can prosper in such harsh yet beautiful surroundings; perhaps in times of hardship, it is only the sheer beauty of their environment and their faith in Dharma that nourishes the Tibetans.

From the oppressive heat of the sand dunes, we rose high into the mountains again where we stopped at the infamous Yamdrok lake, 4441 metres above sea level. For Tibetans it is one of the four holy lakes and a kora is performed which takes roughly seven days. It is impossible to do this beautiful lake justice here, and I can only urge you to one day visit it yourselves! We watched with others as clouds formed and then passed across the valley, apparently embarrassed to be blocking the view. As they did so, sections of bright blue sky would break through, and the change in light was reflected in the water below. Silvers, blues and greens constantly shifted and shimmered on the surface; a mermaid’s tail flicking through the depths of the hillside. In this climate the water cycle comes to life in front of onlookers. The burning sun heats the lake below, the water evaporates up towards the cold air and then condenses into cloud before your eyes. The clouds then sweep across the valley and shed their load, which runs down the mountainside on its long journey towards the sea. If only our school science trips had been to Tibet…..

Further we rose, up to the Kharola Glacier which stands at 5560 metres above sea level. This was my first encounter at close quarters with a glacier, and I was spellbound. Glaciers became my new favourite thing. Water gushed downwards from jagged ice blocks; the brow of the Himalayas furrowed and perspiring, working hard to nourish the thirsty surroundings. Staring upwards with my jaw on the floor, it was with difficulty that I declined an offer from a Nomad to have my picture taken with a goat. Time was soon up, and we sped onwards, with the next few days consisting of a whirlwind tour of a number of important towns and monasteries.

Gyantse was the first; a settlement which in 1904 became the sight of a major battle involving the British. It was known as the ‘Younghusband Expedition’, named after the Major who was deployed on a diplomatic mission to curtail the rumoured advances of the Russians into Tibet. The Tibetans were reluctant to meet with the British, so a stronger line was taken and a battle commenced leading to the loss of many lives. The main monastery at this battle site is Pelkor Chode, containing the towering Kumbum, (which means 100,000 images), and days could be spent here alone. Unfortunately, we fell a few thousand short of seeing the whole entourage of chapels, and soon had to move onwards.

After a nights sleep in Shigatse, we visited the famous Tashilhunpo Monastery. This complex is of particular interest as it is traditionally the seat of the Panchen Lama, a powerful figure only outranked by the Dalai Lama. Intrigue and scandal surround both the monastery and it’s highest lama, and the ‘Great 10th’ had a history of difficult interaction with the Chinese before being jailed in 1964. In 1978 he was released, finally returning to Tashilhunpo in 1989, but his homecoming was short lived and he died soon after. Some claim he returned home to die, while others believe he was poisoned.

His reincarnate successor was chosen by a team including the present Dalai Lama, but the young boy was abducted by the Chinese and the monks at Tashilhunpo were ordered to choose a new ‘government approved’ candidate. A ‘new’ 11th Panchen Lama was then named by the Chinese Government; he is the son of Communist Party members and lives in Beijing, while his picture adorns the walls of most of Tibet’s monasteries. The majority of locals refuse to recognise this boy as a reincarnation of the Panchen Lama, and the search for the original, ‘Real 11th Panchen Lama’ continues. The complexity of the theological and political struggle is fascinating, but I fear that when the current Dalai Lama passes, the battle to name his successor will be hugely damaging to Tibet.

After chewing all this over with our tour guide, we raced onwards to our final monastery visit, Sakye. The trend in Tibet is to have an in-car DVD player with all manner of Karaoake hits for the passengers to enjoy. The Tibetan folk was a fitting auditory accompaniment, but as ‘Rod Stuart at The Royal Albert Hall’ began its second loop, the initial comedy value had most definitely worn off. I discovered ‘Maggie May’ can instantaneously remove the gloss from even the most magical of days in front of the Himalayas. The aural poison was soon dispelled as we jumped out at the monastery nestled in the valley at Sakye. The grey walls of the enormous compound are reminiscent of a castle fortress, and form the principle monastery of the ‘Red Hat’, Sakye sect of Tibetan Buddhism. We entered the main assembly hall with the monks in full flow; large drums and cymbals were struck as prayers were recited, while two large horns bellowed out a deep, atmospheric drone. We completed a Kora of the grounds and then returned to our car, where our driver was flirting with some female passers-by. He’d obviously put Rod Stewart back on. Alas, unable to reproduce the sexual allure of the gravel-throated rag doll blaring from the stereo, the driver sped off down the Friendship Highway towards Everest.