Greeting from the foothills of the Himalayas! Unfortunately the legendary view of some of the highest points of the Himalayas is only visible as a sooty white ridge hanging high in the sky, since in winter the weather tends to be a bit misty. However, it's impressive even like this!
The mountains remain, yet in other ways visually it's obvious I have moved to a different place. In India, as in many poor countries, the buildings are a scruffy and mixed bunch at best. The permanently unfinished, moss growing concrete skeletons of future blocks of flats (to be finished as soon as the ever optimistic owners get a bit of extra cash in), concrete houses painted, when painted at all, a neon green, neon blue or a most unfortunate shade of hospital mint green that I don't believe exists in colour palettes outside of Asia.
In stark contrast, the reason towns, villages, airports and even football stadiums (below) in Bhutan were so pretty, is that you are only allowed to build buildings in traditional Bhutanese style.
This means pretty houses with elaborate wood carvings around the windows and roof, beautifully painted in earthy warm tones - with possibly a deity and penis or two (or three) for good measures.
Since certain colours also represent certain things in Buddhism (as I've told, the monastry is consulted before painting a house for this very reason), an avantgarde Indian house painter could inadvertantly be sending very baffling messages to the neighbourhood. I wonder what astrology would make of mauve and blue with red trimmings?
So here I am in the glorious land of cacophony and free colour chemes. I headed for the hills from Siliguru (a town hardly worth the digital bits it's name is written in).
Currently I'm residing in Darjeeling. In truth I couldn't resist, since it's possibly the most iconic hill station, it was so near and, well, how often do you get to visit a town named after a nice cup of tea?
The remains of polite society from the British era are still visible. Colonial buildings have mostly been converted to the abodes of high ranking government officials or luxury hotels, such as the Windemere Hotel, where I had this autrociously priced pot of tea and a pair of scones on the patio outside Miss Daisy's Music Room (with Rule Britannia playing in the background in my imagination).
Those old buildings that haven't been put to such use, are sadly pushing daisies - or at least miscellaneous vegetation through the roof and up the walls.
This is very different from Bhutan, where buildings and monuments tend to be well kept. The former, and much loved, king of Bhutan laid much value on keeping the country clean. It seems to have paid off big-time. They even celebrate the former king's birthday by having a national trash gathering day, when everyone - office workers, school children and villagers alike - takes a day off work to go sweeping. I just wonder where they find enough trash to keep everyone employed, since the country seems relatively trash free on any given day.
In sharp contrast in India every place is ... well, grubby for lack of a better word - whatever the slogans on benches say. The flotsam and jetsam of the fast food culture float around on the borders of roads and paths, broken fences don't get mended, upturned bins remain unrighted... everywhere there floats a gentle air of disrepair. The place is just going to the dogs.
To be fair, this is partly because India has a more tropical climate. It's hard work trying to fight nature in a place, where even overhanging electicity wires provide sufficient nourishment for the flora and fauna and moss creeps up every wall - enabling the more creative to indulge in a bit of moss graffiti.
Though actually Darjeeling may be more in the sub-Alpine region at somewhat over 2000 km over sea level, so there goes that excuse.
The British used to escape here and to other hill stations in the heat of summer. I am here at the heart of winter and I can honestly say I have never in my life spent a colder night than last night! My large room had ample window surface (single pane of course, none of your double or triple glazing) and no heater. No. Heating. What. So. Ever. Outside it was a crisp -1C and inside an equally crisp -1C. The body heat of one Finn was not up to warming the big space and the windows provided constant new gusts of cold. My breath was steaming as I woke up at 4 a.m. to the uncomfortable sensation of having a totally frozen nose (every other bit of me was covered in multiple layers of woolly things and double duvets). I spent the rest of the night watching re-runs of Ugly Betty and blowing my nose. Today I am not the only tourist in town, who is sneezing and has a runny nose. I have just switched hotels and hope to spend a warmer night.
Currently I am defrosting in one of Darjeelings many tea tasting cafes and tea shops, Nathmulls, established in 1931 by Mr Nathmull Sarda (this fact being the main educational content of this posting). The tea gets served in wine or even champagne glasses and tasted divine.
Tomorrow I will return to sea level soon and my awaiting flight to Kolkata, the city formerly known as Calcutta. But I'll have time for a few nice cups of tea first.
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