Just some Darjeeling
CHECK BACK FOR MORE! IT TAKES FOREVER TO UPLOAD SO THEY WILL COME IN SMALL AMMOUNTS!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Photos from Darjeeling
When I arrived they had a Festival of Arrival for Jeremiah - I didn't mind that they spelled my name wrong, Gorkhaland is close enough.
Just some Darjeeling
CHECK BACK FOR MORE! IT TAKES FOREVER TO UPLOAD SO THEY WILL COME IN SMALL AMMOUNTS!
Just some Darjeeling
CHECK BACK FOR MORE! IT TAKES FOREVER TO UPLOAD SO THEY WILL COME IN SMALL AMMOUNTS!
Monday, October 20, 2008
Tea Land
Not much got better - or should I say it all did? All the hotels I looked into were pricy and not in the part of town I wanted to be. The cricket match had brought with it many many people to Chandigarh and the city is expensive without the help of overcrowded hotels.
Then came a bit of a turning point. I was not going to let my arm be twisted into paying too much for a hotel. Besides, why did I want to be in Chandigarh anyways? The cricket match of course, and the doorway to Himachal Pradesh, but why did I want to be in Chandigarh? The fact of the matter is that up until this point I had been an American in India. There was almost no "I" in it.
I guess this is the problem and the glory of planning a trip as you go. I had gone to the Taj Mahal because of course, when in India, I must. I had come to Chandigarh to see cricket because...I am interested in cricket? Because cricket is something Indian's like, I thought it was something I should do. And the North West was a place that I had decided to go to because I had been told it was a good place. None of these places actually called my name.
The North East had.
It was always (or at least since I landed in Delhi) an idea of mine that I would make my way to Darjeeling. Then maybe Sikkim. Then maybe the North East states. I even had the idea that the trek through India, into Burma, and back to Rangoon was for me. The North East was actually the part of India I was most looking forward to.
I decided to disregard the things I ought to do. I cancelled my trip to Himachal Pradesh. I got on a bus to Delhi at 4pm, 9 hours after arriving in Chandigarh.
In Delhi I had a stroke of good luck. There was a train headed to New Jalpaiguri in about 2 hours, at 11:30. I went to buy my ticket. I was planning on air conditioning. There were no tickets left. No problem.
I walked into the railway station cafe to figure things out, and I knew I had enough time to do so. I asked the man who sold me a Coca Cola if he thought it a good idea for me to just hop on the train and see what happens. He didn't speak much English but another cafe goer did. He asked me what train I was on. I told him. He happened to be on the same train. He and a dozen and a half of his classmates were going home to Mizoram, an Indian state bordering Burma. They had been taking some classes near Delhi (I am not actually sure if it were near Delhi, but it must have been close enough as he was in the same station). Ravi told me that his group had booked too many seats, and theoretically I could an extra. He said to go and buy a general ticket just in case. That would be an experience in itself so I did that and then found Ravi on platform 9 (as he had told me). I smiled at his classmates but it was clear his English was better than theirs. We called over the ti-ti (conductor) and explained the situation. I am not sure if I bribed him or paid for the upgraded ticket, but presently I handed him 440 rupes and he scribbled some stuff on a paper and all looked clear, and was. We boarded the train and were off. I couldn't believe my luck. The train went along (What do trains do anyways? Drive? Ride? Jolt?) through the night, into the day, and back into night again. I finished reading Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge at about 2am this morning. I wanted to finish it and give it to Ravi, as I had nothing else to offer in gratitude. New Jalpaiguri, which is the closes train station to Darjeeling (excluding the Toy Train) rolled into sight just before daybreak at 5am. It was an hour late and I had only gotten an hour or two of sleep but I was in high spirits for having found such good luck. I bade Ravi and his teacher (who were the only one's up out of the group) farewell and handed over The Razor's Edge. I don't think he'll read it, but at least I was able to make the gesture.
In the railway station I had chai because a cycle rickshaw driver kept bugging me while I was looking through my Lonely Planet. I wanted him to think I was staying a while and give up and look for a new client. He ended up waiting it out and driving me to the jeep that would take me to Darjeeling.
It was not a comfortable ride. I could feel the frame of the chair and the potholes on the way up made the jeep sway so that I kept hitting my head on the side. I managed to close my eyes and actually envisioned the rapids I had rafted through in seventh grade. That was not comforting because the raft nearly flipped once and if that happened to the car there was not a lot of railing or even trees to break the fall from the winding mountain path to Darjeeling.
But the sights were awesome.
Lush and green mountains gave off that aroma only they can. I could the insects buzzing about the trees and could see the holes they left in the leaves. Palm trees and pine trees. Falling water and the air was cool. There were morning glories blooming the same purple that hangs over the fence at home.
The population of Darjeeling is almost exact that of Ventura. I had a nice sense about it.
The jeep stopped and I didn't quite know where I was. One or two men asked if I needed a hotel but only asked once - that was nice. Darjeeling's streets are comparably better marked than other places in India. There aren't any street signs that I can read but many of the shops have their address under their name so I found my way about. I walked to a hotel I read was a good one but it was full. There was the Sunrise Hotel nearby so I checked it out.
My room would have two windows through which I could look down at the rooftops of houses below (Sunrise Hotel is at the top of a ridge so it's view is unhampered). I could look up and see he sky. I could look straight out and see the green voluptuous mountains. I told the hotel manager it would do. 200 Rupes a night. That's US$4.40.
I think I may stay here a bit.
Then came a bit of a turning point. I was not going to let my arm be twisted into paying too much for a hotel. Besides, why did I want to be in Chandigarh anyways? The cricket match of course, and the doorway to Himachal Pradesh, but why did I want to be in Chandigarh? The fact of the matter is that up until this point I had been an American in India. There was almost no "I" in it.
I guess this is the problem and the glory of planning a trip as you go. I had gone to the Taj Mahal because of course, when in India, I must. I had come to Chandigarh to see cricket because...I am interested in cricket? Because cricket is something Indian's like, I thought it was something I should do. And the North West was a place that I had decided to go to because I had been told it was a good place. None of these places actually called my name.
The North East had.
It was always (or at least since I landed in Delhi) an idea of mine that I would make my way to Darjeeling. Then maybe Sikkim. Then maybe the North East states. I even had the idea that the trek through India, into Burma, and back to Rangoon was for me. The North East was actually the part of India I was most looking forward to.
I decided to disregard the things I ought to do. I cancelled my trip to Himachal Pradesh. I got on a bus to Delhi at 4pm, 9 hours after arriving in Chandigarh.
In Delhi I had a stroke of good luck. There was a train headed to New Jalpaiguri in about 2 hours, at 11:30. I went to buy my ticket. I was planning on air conditioning. There were no tickets left. No problem.
I walked into the railway station cafe to figure things out, and I knew I had enough time to do so. I asked the man who sold me a Coca Cola if he thought it a good idea for me to just hop on the train and see what happens. He didn't speak much English but another cafe goer did. He asked me what train I was on. I told him. He happened to be on the same train. He and a dozen and a half of his classmates were going home to Mizoram, an Indian state bordering Burma. They had been taking some classes near Delhi (I am not actually sure if it were near Delhi, but it must have been close enough as he was in the same station). Ravi told me that his group had booked too many seats, and theoretically I could an extra. He said to go and buy a general ticket just in case. That would be an experience in itself so I did that and then found Ravi on platform 9 (as he had told me). I smiled at his classmates but it was clear his English was better than theirs. We called over the ti-ti (conductor) and explained the situation. I am not sure if I bribed him or paid for the upgraded ticket, but presently I handed him 440 rupes and he scribbled some stuff on a paper and all looked clear, and was. We boarded the train and were off. I couldn't believe my luck. The train went along (What do trains do anyways? Drive? Ride? Jolt?) through the night, into the day, and back into night again. I finished reading Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge at about 2am this morning. I wanted to finish it and give it to Ravi, as I had nothing else to offer in gratitude. New Jalpaiguri, which is the closes train station to Darjeeling (excluding the Toy Train) rolled into sight just before daybreak at 5am. It was an hour late and I had only gotten an hour or two of sleep but I was in high spirits for having found such good luck. I bade Ravi and his teacher (who were the only one's up out of the group) farewell and handed over The Razor's Edge. I don't think he'll read it, but at least I was able to make the gesture.
In the railway station I had chai because a cycle rickshaw driver kept bugging me while I was looking through my Lonely Planet. I wanted him to think I was staying a while and give up and look for a new client. He ended up waiting it out and driving me to the jeep that would take me to Darjeeling.
It was not a comfortable ride. I could feel the frame of the chair and the potholes on the way up made the jeep sway so that I kept hitting my head on the side. I managed to close my eyes and actually envisioned the rapids I had rafted through in seventh grade. That was not comforting because the raft nearly flipped once and if that happened to the car there was not a lot of railing or even trees to break the fall from the winding mountain path to Darjeeling.
But the sights were awesome.
Lush and green mountains gave off that aroma only they can. I could the insects buzzing about the trees and could see the holes they left in the leaves. Palm trees and pine trees. Falling water and the air was cool. There were morning glories blooming the same purple that hangs over the fence at home.
The population of Darjeeling is almost exact that of Ventura. I had a nice sense about it.
The jeep stopped and I didn't quite know where I was. One or two men asked if I needed a hotel but only asked once - that was nice. Darjeeling's streets are comparably better marked than other places in India. There aren't any street signs that I can read but many of the shops have their address under their name so I found my way about. I walked to a hotel I read was a good one but it was full. There was the Sunrise Hotel nearby so I checked it out.
My room would have two windows through which I could look down at the rooftops of houses below (Sunrise Hotel is at the top of a ridge so it's view is unhampered). I could look up and see he sky. I could look straight out and see the green voluptuous mountains. I told the hotel manager it would do. 200 Rupes a night. That's US$4.40.
I think I may stay here a bit.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Waitlist Train Ticket + No Hotel = Adventure (of a small scale)
The man at the ticket counter wasn't very helpful. The key information was left out of our conversation. When he pointed to the number WL156 I asked, "This seat number?" He nodded and I left. There was a very helpful gentleman who had guided me to the correct line who now helped again.
"Ah, you are on waitlist. See? 1-5-6. That is your number."
"Oh?"
"Come one hour before train. Line 6."
"And I can see where I am on the waitlist?"
"Yes....I have taxi, going to hotel now?"
I arrived at the Agra Cantt station an hour and 15 minutes early. I'm not sure what happened but from my perspective I stood in line, had numbers written on my wait list ticket, was pointed out the door, went out the door, became confused, found the tourist info booth, practiced my Hindi (so far just one word: namaste), was walked around by a policeman to another office, then back to the tourist info booth, then pointed to platform "two or three." I went to platform three, read that my train would be at platform two, went there, and waited.
When the train came, I asked a couple of men where I should go and they suggested just hopping on the train and dealing with it when the conductor came. I did that. On the train though, I did not know where to go. I started walking in one direction but was blocked by the kitchen. The cooks spoke little English and my "namaste" wasn't getting the information I needed. After handing them my ticket and watching them pass it around and laugh, the nearest one handed my waitlist ticket back and pointed behind me.
"Six."
"Six?"
"Next compartment."
"So, this one?" I said indicating the one outside the kitchen. His finger spoke for him, it would be one more away. I went there.
Where does one sit when in a sleeper car with no designated seat? Handing people my ticket seemed to work so I tried it again on a woman who then told me to sit right across from her.
Soon a little crowd of a dozen or so Indians came 'round. I am not sure why there were no other non-Indians on the train (really, when we took a rest stop, only Indians got out, but maybe that is because the people in the air conditioned seats were content to stay put) but it made me somewhat the token white kid. The pointed to things hanging from my bag and asked me to explain. Hand sanitizer, lip balm, watch, compass. What country am I from? What is my job? Am I married? How much money do I make per month (they didn't seem impressed)? Am I traveling alone? Why did I choose India? Am I afraid? They wanted to see US money so I showed them the single dollar I had. One man bought it off me, I gave him a good deal.
Eyes grew the biggest when I told them I lived one hour by car North of Hollywood.
"How many kilometers?"
"Are you a superstar?"
"Do you know heroes? Brad Pitt..."
I decided not to tell them Hollywood isn't much more than a relic now.
Now I am in Chandigarh. The two cheapest hotels that are recommended in Lonely Planet are full. I'm not worried about it. Tomorrow I am planning on seeing the Indians take on the Aussies in cricket. I do not know what I will do after that.
I am sure something will turn up.
"Ah, you are on waitlist. See? 1-5-6. That is your number."
"Oh?"
"Come one hour before train. Line 6."
"And I can see where I am on the waitlist?"
"Yes....I have taxi, going to hotel now?"
I arrived at the Agra Cantt station an hour and 15 minutes early. I'm not sure what happened but from my perspective I stood in line, had numbers written on my wait list ticket, was pointed out the door, went out the door, became confused, found the tourist info booth, practiced my Hindi (so far just one word: namaste), was walked around by a policeman to another office, then back to the tourist info booth, then pointed to platform "two or three." I went to platform three, read that my train would be at platform two, went there, and waited.
When the train came, I asked a couple of men where I should go and they suggested just hopping on the train and dealing with it when the conductor came. I did that. On the train though, I did not know where to go. I started walking in one direction but was blocked by the kitchen. The cooks spoke little English and my "namaste" wasn't getting the information I needed. After handing them my ticket and watching them pass it around and laugh, the nearest one handed my waitlist ticket back and pointed behind me.
"Six."
"Six?"
"Next compartment."
"So, this one?" I said indicating the one outside the kitchen. His finger spoke for him, it would be one more away. I went there.
Where does one sit when in a sleeper car with no designated seat? Handing people my ticket seemed to work so I tried it again on a woman who then told me to sit right across from her.
Soon a little crowd of a dozen or so Indians came 'round. I am not sure why there were no other non-Indians on the train (really, when we took a rest stop, only Indians got out, but maybe that is because the people in the air conditioned seats were content to stay put) but it made me somewhat the token white kid. The pointed to things hanging from my bag and asked me to explain. Hand sanitizer, lip balm, watch, compass. What country am I from? What is my job? Am I married? How much money do I make per month (they didn't seem impressed)? Am I traveling alone? Why did I choose India? Am I afraid? They wanted to see US money so I showed them the single dollar I had. One man bought it off me, I gave him a good deal.
Eyes grew the biggest when I told them I lived one hour by car North of Hollywood.
"How many kilometers?"
"Are you a superstar?"
"Do you know heroes? Brad Pitt..."
I decided not to tell them Hollywood isn't much more than a relic now.
Now I am in Chandigarh. The two cheapest hotels that are recommended in Lonely Planet are full. I'm not worried about it. Tomorrow I am planning on seeing the Indians take on the Aussies in cricket. I do not know what I will do after that.
I am sure something will turn up.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Delhi and Agra
Stepping out of the hotel, an auto-rickshaw plunges straight for me, turning just before impact (these things can change direction on a dime thanks to their single front wheel). The driver gives one hand to the wheel, one hand outstretched to me, beckoning, and no attention to the entangling web woven by the bus, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, cows, ox, horse drawn carriage, and cycle-rickshaws. I hold up a hand and turn my attention away but he follows for two or three blocks. A moment after he leaves a man calls out of his shop "Where you from?" The India I have thus far experienced is a genius in one-time sales. The initial question is engaging, but I have learned to ignore it (a trait I am less than proud of). I can still hear the shopkeepers voice when a young man runs up to me and asks the same question, although he can afford the time to place a "Hello" before it as he will follow me until he realizes he is wasting his time. I say California and he says "Ahh...What a lovely place, what a lovely place." Apparently he doesn't realize that I was the same one he approached last night, singing the same song in attempt to feign connection.
"I have friends in California" he says.
It's a better response than "Ah, California, that is a very small country."
I've heard that Delhi and Agra are the two worst places in terms of hassle. I hope this is true because it does wear me down. But I'm willing to bet I'll be able to find quieter places where I can mellow out and truly experience a culture at its essence. Or at least as close as a Westerner can get.
My stuff, in the Rangoon Airport
The Taj Mahal and Me
The Mosque at the Taj Mahal
Someone at the Agra Fort
From the roof of my first hotel in Agra
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