Sept. 27th, 2012
My train from Kolkata to New Jalpaiguri was supposed to take about 10 or 11 hours, so when I woke up at 7 AM, I realized we were running a couple hours late. Of course, this was no cause for alarm, as Indian trains are known for anything but their punctuality. I continued to hang out and read on my top bunk until we finally arrived at the final stop some time between nine and ten. Everyone pushed and shoved as they forced their over-sized suitcases through the aisles and doors. I yawned and slowly gathered my belongings, and shoved everything into my small backpack.
I had been to this station once at night in my first trip to India, but when I got out, the scene before me was not familiar. The station seemed a lot smaller and rural than I had remembered. I ignored those thoughts, and put them in the back of my mind. The most pressing issue was to figure out how to get to Siliguri, a transport hub town about 5 km away. I didn’t know of any bus that went directly, but I didn’t want to take a taxi either. I asked around about which bus to take. Someone pointed to the back of the lot to a local bus with a big crowd around it. It was already full, but people were still forcing their way on. I tossed myself into the melee and wedged myself into the doorway. Somehow I made it on, bag and all. I was squeezed tightly among a dozen sullen men standing up, hanging on tightly to whatever was available to avoid getting tossed around as the bus lurched along the road. When I asked if this bus went to Siliguri, someone said it would take me to a bus that was going there. It seemed odd that I would have to take two buses to get to a town so close.
After about fifteen minutes, we arrived to what seemed like the center of a small town. People hustled along the side of the road as they got their day started. Someone pointed to another bus and told me it was going to Siliguri. I let the crowd on the bus slowly squeeze me out of the door. For such a small town, it was still loud, crowded and fast-paced. Someone shouting from the bus summoned me with rapid calls of “Siliguri! Siliguri! Siliguri!”
After fifteen minutes on the bus I was wondering what was taking so long. Finally, the attendant came by to collect the fares. I asked how much it was and he said 70 rupees. This was a shock, as a short-distance bus should have cost no more than 10 or 20 rupees. I asked how long the bus would take, and he said 3 or 4 hours. It started to sink in. Somehow I had missed my stop, and taken the train to the end of the line in who knows where. I was confused how New Jalpaiguri was not the last stop, since it was called the New Jalpaiguri Express, and nothing on the ticket indicated that the train went beyond my stop. I looked at a map, and figured I was in some small town just north of Bangladesh. It was a shock to suddenly be in a completely different place than I had thought. At the same time, I knew there was nothing I could do, so I calmly laid my head against the window, thankful I had scored a seat, and had a nap.
When we arrived in Siliguri in the late afternoon, I realized that the mistake I had made would be a serious delay in my mission to get to Sikkim. On a map, Sikkim and Siliguri are very close, but due to the mountainous terrain and bad roads, the journey takes a lot longer than one would expect. I was hoping to make it in a day, but at this point, that was an impossible desire. Before leaving Siliguri, I would have to go to an office to get my permit to enter Sikkim. I had heard that you could get it at some border crossings, but not all of them, so I was getting it here to be safe.
Siliguri is not my favorite place. Nor is it anyone’s favorite place, I am sure. It is a disorganized, transit hub. It is loud, obnoxious and the kind of place I do not want to linger in. It was a breath of fresh air, though, when I entered the Sikkim permit office and found the Sikkimese staff to be warm and genial. Unfortunately, though, I needed to get a copy of my passport to get my permit, and they had no copy machine. It took me about thirty minutes of wandering the back streets of the town before I finally found a copy shop. After that, though, the process to pick up the permit was easy, and I got it done just before they closed. I was relieved, as I never had any desire to spend a night in Siliguri. Once was enough.
I went to the area of town where jeeps were departing for Darjeeling. There is no bus, just jeeps. At one point in time, you could actually take a train all the way to Darjeeling, but it seems that due to either earthquakes or landslides this is no longer possible. Because it was so late in the day, my options for a jeep were limited, and I took the only one that I could find. I waited around the dusty lot for other passengers to fill it. I bought some samosas from a small restaurant, but regretted it since they were overpriced and under-spiced. Soon enough, though, we were ready to go, and I was crammed into the middle seat in the back. Yes, it would be bumpy and I wouldn’t be able to see much, but I was used to getting the worst spot in most Indian transportation. It’s hard to fight for your space when you have to do it through a language barrier, not to mention the fact that you never really know what is going on around you.
The ride to Darjeeling, which was halfway to Sikkim would take a few hours. For the first twenty minutes, we rolled through sparse forest filled with an orange, dusky haze. Soon, though, we were heaved upward at a steep angle, rising quickly into Himalayan foothills. It became dark, and I could barely make out our surroundings. All I could tell was that the road was steep, narrow and had plenty of holes and hazards. At times it seemed that we were hanging over the edge of the road, preparing to disappear into the abyss below. I could faintly tell that it would be a long way down if the driver made a careless mistake. We were pushed even closer to the edge when another jeep would come creeping down from above as and we had to share the road for a brief, but nerve-wracking moment.
After climbing about a mile and a quarter in elevation, we arrived in Darjeeling. Because it was dark, I couldn’t make out much of the scenery, but I knew that we were high. It was pouring rain, so I took shelter in front of a shop and tried to orient myself with a map. It took a bit of wandering, but I finally got my bearings. I found myself walking through a narrow street with three-story buildings towering over me on either side. I was almost certain I was on the right street to find the guesthouse I was in search of. I had walked a ways down the road, and started to question my navigation, when suddenly the power went out. I had thought I was dark already, but what little light was coming from nearby windows had been just enough to illuminate the streets for safe walking. Now it was completely black all around me. I just stopped. Going back from where I had come was not going to get me to a guesthouse sooner, but moving forward in the dark seemed unlikely to yield any results either. I just stood there for a couple minutes, knowing that I shouldn’t expect the lights to come on any time soon, and waited for my eyes to adjust. Then I remembered that I had packed a small flashlight. It was barely enough to get me by, but it helped me move along. Just as I arrived at the guesthouse, the lights came on. It had been over 24 hours since I left Kolkata, but I had arrived to a new, elevated land where things were much different.
Entering into the lit front room of the guesthouse made me truly feel like I had taken a big step suddenly. Kolkata, the train ride, Siliguri, and the jeep ride had all felt like the India that I think of when I think of India. But now I was suddenly having nostalgic feelings of Nepal. The gentle atmosphere, the décor, the face of the guesthouse manager and a rustic smell that I could not quite put my finger on. It all spun me around and made me feel I was suddenly in Nepal. It was cold and I was once again grateful for keeping my orange second hand jacket from Morocco. I was also grateful for the cool air. I hadn’t been anything remotely close to cold in months.
The manager showed me to my quarters. The dorm beds were only 100 rupees ($2) and I had the whole thing to myself. I would have to say that more than half of the dorms I have ever stayed in, I have been the only occupant. There was no heating, but there were heavy, mattress like comforters. They all felt slightly moist and the whole room had a mildewy feel to it. It was not a place to linger, so I returned to the restaurant upstairs and ordered a milk tea (dudh chia) which is a little different than the Bengali chai. I honestly don’t know what the difference between the two are, but this tasted exactly like what I remember from my time in Nepal. Although I had not reached my goal destination for the day, it felt good enough to make it to this elevation, have a cozy room, a book and a hot cup of tea. I can appreciate the simpler things.
I woke underneath two of the crushing, wet comforters. I was warm enough, but as I started to move the covers, the cold air seeped in and almost stopped me. I was motivated, though, by one of my most favorite moments in traveling. You’ve had this, hopefully we’ve all gotten to experience this magic at least once. When you arrive to a place for the first time at night, and have to wait through the night to really see where you are. And then in the morning you are rewarded with some sort of incredible view that is a world away from what you had last seen in the daylight. This was my motivation for braving the cold. I hopped out of bed, threw my jacket and shoes (shoes!? Yes, I was starting to wear actual shoes again!) and walked along the wraparound balcony. I didn’t know what I had done to deserve this sight, but it felt like an excessive reward for something I noble I must have done recently.
There It Is
After a cup of milk tea, I checked out and walked down to the lot of jeeps. It was a long walk down the big hill that Darjeeling sits on. Most of the roads traversed the landscape gently from side to side, but occasionally I would cut down steep stairs and alleyways. I made my way through the market and arrived at the jeeps.
Walking through the market, following a porter with a heavy load.
I found the jeep heading to Jorethang, just across the border of Sikkim. I managed to get a window seat this time. We descended down an incredibly steep road through acres and acres of green tea fields. We could see women with large baskets on their back, picking the leaves. It must have been hard work and I’m sure the intense slopes didn’t make it any easier.
Tea fields
The road was narrow and in worse shape than the one we had been in the night before. It was less essential and there for less maintained than the road between Darjeeling and Siliguri. I have to be honest and say that for much of it I was at least a little bit scared. Of all the sketchy rides I’ve had, this one seemed like the most dangerous. Adding to this, there had been a major earthquake in Sikkim about a week earlier. It had caused landslides and buildings to collapse. The evidence of this wasn’t too obvious, and I wasn’t sure what damages had been caused by the earthquake, and what was simply neglect.
After a couple hours of creeping lower and lower into the valley below (quite a sight, but quite a fright) we crossed a rickety bridge over a river and arrived at the border post for Sikkim. I felt bad for my fellow passengers as they normally would be waved on through. Instead, since there was a foreigner aboard, we had to stop and everyone waited while I handed over my passport and paperwork to the guards. They were thorough in their inspection, but friendly enough to make up for it. I got my passport stamp and was on my way.
Crossing the border.
The view of Jorethang, a town just across the border into Sikkim.
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