Now in the capital of the state, Gantok. Another city built up a steep hillside. The one thing you do need in Sikkim is good calf muscles. Sikkim is almost like a different country. Very clean if basic. Of course it was a different country until 1975 when India annexed it.
The monastery over the valley is the home of the Black hat Buddhist sect. Their spiritual leader is the other side of the country though as he resides in Dharamsala with the Dali Lama. A rival lives nearby and there have been raids by militant Buddhists, so the place is tightly armed. We arrived on the last day of a holy festival, so the monastery hall was full of monks chanting and blowing horns and praying. An incredible spectacle.
What a difference a day makes. Went to bed with ferocious thunderstorms raging overhead and torrential rain pounding on the tin roof. And woke to clear sky's with the worlds third tallest mountain bathed in sunlight visible in all its glory from the comfort of my warm bed.
Another long drive took us to Khecheopalri, a lake holy to both Buddhists and Hindus. Climbed up to the view point to see the lake in all its glory. It was a long climb up but hopefully improved our Khama.
The afternoon the guide decided we would visit the Rhododendron Festival taking place this week in a tiny village high up in the hills. Getting there involved a 8 km ride up a dirt ridden track, all ten of us crammed into. 4 wheel drive jeep. Quite an experience. They were pleased to see us when we did arrive and gave us VIP seats in the First Minister of Sikkim's hut.
The journey into Sikkim is a long one on winding, twisting narrow roads edged by sheer drops. Not easy in good weather, but in fog it made and interesting journey from Darjeeling. By the crow flies we have traveled just 18 miles from the hill station. By road it was over 80 miles and took seven hours.
Once we got below cloud level there were some wonderful views. Sikkim was an independent kingdom until 1975 when it was annexed by India, and you still need a special permit to enter. It's a fascinating place, soaring hills tower over deep valleys, with narrow roads twisting and turning as they zig zag their way up the sides of the valleys, passing some stomach churning sheer drops to the river far far below.
Pelling is up in the clouds and so we arrived at the hotel in thick fog with thunder crashing in the hidden mountains.
With Kolkata hitting the 40's have escaped into the cool refreshing breeze of the Himalayan foothills and the tow of Darjeeling.
The trip involved another overnight train up forum the city and then a 3 hour drive up into the hills around rather sharp bends overlooking some rather scary drops. Not for the faint hearted, especially the way Indians drive.
Darjeeling is a quaint little town built literally on the side of a hill. Whatever made anyone want to build here is a mystery given some near vertical climbs to get to places.
The whole place is shrouded in mist at present so no chance of seeing img the glorious views that the place is renowned for, apart from the odd tanterlising glimpse through the clouds.
Certainly seen lots of tea bushes. And some glorious flower displays. Something the locals got from the British as a love of pot plants.
Writing this floating thorough the Mangrove swamps of Suderband National park looking for tigers.
Not seen any yet, although there are around 300 in the park. Not often spotted though. Plenty of bird life and even the odd crocodile to keep us amused.
The jungle camp was charming, with little cottages nestled around a small pond. The heat is stifling though, must be awful in the summer when it gets up to 45 around here.
Took a walk around some of the small villages on the island. Fascinating to see how the people live. So basic in many way, with not electricity or running water. But every house has a pond where they wash and clean and fish. Every house now has a toilet thanks to an initiative from the current government.
Spent a few day exploring the sights of Kolkata. It's a city of extremes and incredibly hot and humid.
The British set up their first capital here, but not until after a considerable amount of trouble from the natives, including the deaths of 123 British soldiers in the infamous black hole of Calcutta.
There is a memorial to the tragedy which stands in the grounds of St John's cathedral. The cathedral is built in the grounds of the old cemetery, filled with the bones of those who died in the early years of the settlement
In contrast I Visited the markets where a seething crown haggled and bartered over every kind of commodity, from flowers to chickens.
Took the train down from Varanasi into West Bengal and its capital Kolkata. As train journeys go it was long, about 14 hours, but largely uneventful. Quite soothing being rocked to sleep as the train chugged through the countryside.
Arrived in Kolkata at the huge Howrah station on the west side of the river, so had to get the ferry into the city itself, a bargain at 5 Rupees, around 8p.
It's like being in a different country her. The people look darker are much more reserved. Sill get the requests to join people for a selfie though. It must be "have your picture taken with a weird looking foreigner" week. In Varanasi I even had a three year only plonked on my lap so the proud dad could take a picture.
Very very hot here so taking time to get used to the heat. Visited the Victoria memorial, a great palace plonked in the park to honour the dead Empress.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
It's quite weird watching the bodies burn on the Ghats at Varanasi. Of course it's no different to what happens around the world when death occurs, but to see the act in the raw brings home the mortality of life.
In India the funeral usually takes place on the same day as death, vital in a country where temperatures reach 46 degrees. So while you may have been tending granny in the morning, but evening she may be just a pile of ash floating down the Ganges.
Watching the ceremony is quite moving. The pyre is built by untouchables. Each piece of wood weighed to ensure the right amount is used to consume the body.
The body is then brought to the river, borne by relatives. Prayers are said and final goodbyes made. Then the body is washed in the Ganges, which can't be conducive to combustion.
More prayers are said and flowers and powders decorate the body. And then it is laid on the pyre.
The oldest male relative has the duty to light the pyre, first walking three times around the body with the burning torch. Things can get a bit frantic here as the torch sometimes burns little to quickly meaning what was meant to be a dignified stroll becomes a frantic gallop.
And then it burns. Three hours later the departed has left the planet in body as well as in spirit, and all that remains is a smouldering pile of ash. It's basic, fundamental and part of the circle of life.
Took an early morning trip out onto the river to see the sunrise. It was already bustling with people bathing and washing in the river, The laundry service was going full pelt with sheets being bludgeoned into cleanliness.
Hundreds were taking the early oppotunity to purify themselves in the holy waters. Nothing like bathing in a sea of Ecoli to set you up for breakfast.
Took a walk out to the fort on the other side of the river, which involved crossing what was described in the Lonely Planet as a sturdy pontoon bridge. What the guidebook didn't say is that I would be sharing it with hundreds of walkers, cyclists, motorbikes and auto-rickshaws? Going both ways on both sides of the bridge. Add to the fact it had a few decidedly ropey planks in spots it was an adventurous walk.
The fort had seen better days but the museum was interesting, containing a few relics of the Raj, such as an Ivory Howdah, bit insensitive, to a set of dueling pistols. It was packed with Indian tourists, and me. A father plonked his 2 year old daughter
