Gorkaland & Sikkim

Gorkaland cannot be found on an official map of India because the Indian Government refuses to recognise it as a separate state. Well, I recognise it because I’m in it. Everywhere I go, signs say, “We Want Gorkaland.” I witnessed a march of thousands through the streets of Darjeeling calling for a separatist state. The only evidence that I’m back in West Bengal is on the number plates of vehicles. I arrived here by jeep. Normally, I avoid those polluting harbingers of destruction but I didn’t have much of an alternative. I had to admire the effectiveness of this form of transport. I’ve seen four people in the front including the driver. Five in the middle, four in the back row and maybe a few people hanging off the tailgate or sitting happily on the roof. One might say it’s a miracle I arrived safely. Well, I don’t believe in miracles. I rely on them. However, it was a minor miracle that I didn’t throw up on the road to Darjeeling. It was going grand until the jeep reached Kurseong, another hill station below Darjeeling. After that, the road turned into a dirt track and there were frequent groans from the passengers. I would’ve have gotten the toy train up to Darjeeling but at eight hours, it was just too damn slow. Initially, Darjeeling didn’t have much going for it. The jeep dropped me off in the center of town. I was tired, hungry and going deaf from all the horns beeping around me. But once I trudged up the hill to the guesthouse I was staying, Darjeeling started to grow on me. That night, I went exploring through the blacked-out streets. When I asked a shopkeeper if blackouts were regular, he sighed and said, “Every day.” The following day, I went to see the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. It was nestled within the grounds of Darjeeling Zoo. I didn’t have much interest in visiting the zoo but when I turned up at the gate, I discovered I had no choice. The zoo turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I saw an Asiatic Black Bear, separated from the masses by a moat about five foot wide and seven foot deep. He looked cuddly. My favourite animal was the snow leopard, an animal so elusive in the wild; locals refer to it as the phantom leopard. I was disappointed that I couldn’t see any tigers in their ages. The museum was fascinating and it was incredible to see the equipment that Tenzing Norgay used on his successful summit of Mt. Everest with Edmund Hillary in 1953. On my way out, I decided to give the tiger enclosure one last visit and was rewarded by the sight of a Siberian tiger, yowling and prowling within his cage. It wasn’t the Sunderbans but it was good enough.

After spending so much time in the warm south, moving up north gave me a head cold and confined me to bed for an afternoon. It was a good time to get the sniffles as it rained most of Monday afternoon. I was secretly delighted as it cleared the skies somewhat and I got a glimpse of the distant, snow-capped Himalaya. The following morning, I got up around 5.30am to watch the sunrise on Khangchendzonga, the highest mountain in India and the third highest in the world. It would’ve been even better if it wasn’t for the semi-permanent haze. That afternoon, I decided to do something about the view and went and got a permit for Sikkim, the state above Gorkaland. Because Sikkim borders Nepal, Tibet and Bhutan, the Indian Government has always been sensitive about foreigners visiting this tiny state. But it didn’t cost anything and gave me a decent walk through Darjeeling so I can’t complain. The following day, I got into a crowded jeep that took me to the border town of Jorethang. It was a steep descent from Darjeeling but I had faith in my driver. I changed jeeps and after an interminable wait, I was on my way to Pelling. Pelling is a little like Las Vegas in the Himalayas. It is nothing but a 2km strip of hotels. They are there for one reason only: to capitalise on the view of Khangchendzonga. But it is surrounded by Buddhist monasteries and forested mountains. I went for a walk up to one of the monasteries. It was hot and hazy and I was woefully underprepared. I had less than a litre of water and no food. So I decided to wander into the forest and go in search of Rani Dhunga or the Queen’s Rock. It was supposedly the site of an epic battle between Rama and the ten-headed demon Ravana. I don’t make this stuff up; it’s just what The Book told me. The Book also told me to hire a guide, which I didn’t do. As a result, I didn’t find what I was looking for but I did get a good hike in that left me crippled for the evening. No matter, it’ll give me a good incentive to come back at some point in the future and do it again. After the first few days, the weather became overcast and traveller's fatigue set in. So I sat in my room, devouring the books from the hotel's collection. There was little else to do. Before I left, I walked the 3km to the Rabdentse Ruins. It was surprisingly ordered for a site passing itself off as a ruin. It would’ve been even better if I could see the Himalayas in the background but it wasn’t to be.

After a week in Sikkim, I returned to Darjeeling. On Sunday, I took a bicycle through the winding mountain roads around Darjeeling. It had full suspension but the badly-shaped saddle gave me a very sore backside. I made it to a town called Sukhia, about 15km from Darjeeling. The mostly uphill ride nearly killed me as I haven’t ridden a bike since January. The cycle downhill was made all the more thrilling by the fog, which reduced visibility to around fifteen metres. I fly home in a week’s time. My journey is almost over. I have mixed feelings about going home. I’ll be sorry to leave India behind but I am looking forward to eating some food that doesn’t consist of rice. Like potatoes, for instance. Or thick bacon. The list is endless but I'm sure I won't be home long before I go looking for an Indian restaurant. I'll be the snob complaining about how the food is overpriced and couldn't possibly compare to what I've been eating for nearly six months. Oh, the joys of travelling.

Mumbai & Agra

I arrived in Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai (try saying that quickly) and promptly got lost. It's an impressive train station built by the British and renamed by the Indians. Locals still refer to it as V.T. which is short for Victoria Terminus. I got into a taxi along with a landscape gardener from Brighton that I met on the train. It was his twelfth time in India. I stuck with him as he seemed to know where he was going. The taxi driver didn't or maybe I just couldn't read a map. Eventually, I found my hotel. It wasn't much to look at but I slept in it so that's all that matters. I did have an issue with the bed as it seemed to have been designed for hobbits.

I got up the next morning and took a walk to the harbour where I got on a ferry to Elephanta Island. It's a place with a series of caves in which there are carvings of Hindu gods. It was strangely dull but I enjoyed the walk to the top of Cannon Hill. I couldn't see much of Mumbai because of the haze but I did see a big cannon. What it was protecting, I don't know. Once I had enough of the heat, I got back on the ferry to the mainland. I spent the afternoon walking through the south part of the city. The breeze off the ocean made the heat bearable. The highlight of my day was walking along Marine Drive as the sun set. It seemed to stretch on forever as it curved from one end of the bay to the other. I ended the day with a delicious pizza.

From Mumbai, I went to Agra to see the Taj Mahal and other attractions. The train was late but I didn't mind. What I did mind were the rickshaw-wallahs hassling me to take their auto and not the one beside him. It was the start of a very aggravating two days. There's a pun in there if you're willing to make the effort. I got up the next morning before 7am to see the mausoleum of Mumtaz Mahal. I had barely walked out of my hotel when I was approached by a guy on a cycle-rickshaw who followed me all the way to the ticket office about 1km down the road. Another one followed me all the way back. It was a beautiful morning and I was going to walk whether they liked it or not. I arrived at the gate and was turned back at security for having in my possession: one minature gold Buddha (a birthday present) and one sachet of tomato ketchup from the train. I returned to my hotel, deposited the sacred items in my hotel room and walked back. This time, I got through. I won't waste words with the Taj Mahal. It's amazing. Shame the city that surrounds it couldn't hope to match up. As the weather wasn't too hot, I walked the 2km along the river to Agra Fort. It was complex and engrossing with a great view of the Taj across the river. Shah Jahan, who built the Taj for his wife after she died, was imprisoned by his own son for eight years in Agra Fort. From his cell, he had a great view of his wife's mausoleum but still, to be imprisoned by your power-hungry son is cruel.

I continued my walking tour of Agra by heading into the city center to get a bus to Fatehpur Sikri, an old city about 40km from Agra. I thought the bus ride would take an hour. What I didn't know was that about a million Hindu pilgrims were walking there as well. The bus arrived two and a half hours later. Once I got out of the bustling bazaar and into the old section of the city, things quietened down a little. The evening sun lit up the red sandstone buildings and I forgot about how long it took to get there. The pilgrimage was still going on after the sun set. Where they were going, I don't know. I was going back to Agra as I had another night to spend there. I loved the sights but I hated the city itself. It's smelly, dirty and annoying. Even the food is awful. I came, I saw and vowed never again to set foot in the massively overpopulated state of Uttar Pradesh.