Darjeeling

Three forty-five in the morning and my alarm goes off. I’ve gotten maybe four hours of sleep, could have gone to bed earlier but so it goes. Today I came to Darjeeling, which is the most different part of India I’ve thus far encountered.

I proved what a good American I was even as I was boarding my 6:30 flight. Not by any outrageous act of ignorance, nor by creating an ingeniously effective solution, but by walking through the Delhi airport in jeans, a college sweatshirt and vans while balancing a breakfast pastry and an uncovered café Americano in one hand while fishing for my boarding pass on a moving sidewalk (travelator). I didn’t spill a drop, and by so doing, did my culture proud.

The flight traced the contour of the southern border of Nepal from Delhi to Bagdogra, and I had the good fortune of being able to see the Himalayas from the window on my side. They jutted out of the clouds high enough you would have though the clouds were the earth. From the Bagdogra airport I found my cab without any effort involved. Originally, getting in so early, my plan had been to find a shared jeep from Siliguri, but turns out it's a good thing I did order a cab, as the road from Siliguri to Darjeeling is closed due to a landslide, and I missed the taxi strike by one day. We took a little longer route, passing through the hill station of Mirik, with my driver pointing out to me orange trees and the India-Nepal border crossing.

The route started in a valley, but when it reached the hills turned immediately upwards. These foothills of the Himalayas are like their greater neighbors in style, being sharp and steep. The road went up so quickly I could feel the change in the temperature of the air, and did my darndest to keep off my sweatshirt for as long as possible, savoring the sensation of actually feeling cold. We passed by loads of tea plantations, and from where they were being dried you could smell the tangy flavor in the air. We passed through forests of tall upright pine trees with little more than a foot of undergrowth.

When we got to Darjeeling, it was cloudy, which it is this time of year, so I’m not sure how good of Himalayan views I’ll get. I went up about three flights of stairs with my bag to check in (everything is built on a steep hillside), only to find my heart racing and breath coming hard. I had forgotten all that climbing meant a change in altitude as well.

I’m planning on exploring tomorrow, something Buddhist related I think, and hopefully with a friend I just made downstairs at lunch. Functioning on four hours sleep and eight hours of traveling, I’m about ready to crash. But I’ve already decided I’m going to enjoy Darjeeling, having so many of the things I love: cold, momos, and tea. Actually, there was even a puppy I got to pet in the lobby, so that kind of seals the deal.