Silence Broken, Darjeeling

DARJEELING- Glennary's Cafe

Internet + Sikkim = maybe yes/perhaps not sort of thing. Yesterday was a no - not anywhere in town, not in the offices - reason? No idea - no one else did either.

Got a brief call into R in the eve from Princess Hope's cell on her driveway. R with coffee, briefcase and in elevator, and my end of the connection vague but still, nice to make contact.

But, returned to the mostly on-line world of Darjeeling a few hours back. For a treat, checked into the Windamere. Which will be nicely balanced by a second class, non AC seat (not sleeper) to Calcutta tomorrow night. One night of Brit Raj hangover - fire lit in the room at 5:30, high tea.

madame, your goodname?
You are bachelor?
What country you are coming from?

Will revel in the Victorian room, air the socks by the fire, recharge laptop and cameras, take a BATH in a clawfoot tub and prepare for a night on the Uttar Banga. From Calcutta station to airport - then Nepal! Nina's planning a trek Jomson-Kagbeni-Muktinath-Jomson (new to me). Have been so focused on Sikkim will need to read up on Nepal pronto.

Pooped from arrival but energy returning via emails from R (fantastic ones), coffee and thrill of reaching out to the world again, newspapers...

Last night, three Bengali couples also at the Potala Hotel, invited me - via management - to a party they were throwing in a windowless room on the ground floor. Tore myself from bed and Nat Geo Mummies show thinking I might be in for some fun, food, good times.

Three sober couples, jiggle dancing to Bollywood toons dj-ed by a hotel staff member. And me. 20 mins in - neither food, beer, nor talk of a larger group - I bowed and thank you'd my way back to my bed.

Little Hope came round the hotel at 5:30 this morning to walk me around the hill top Palace and royal Temple.
Little Hope is a bit of a rockstar for Gangtok's old-timers taking their own constitionals. They remember her father the king, she's named for her mother the queen. She carries her lineage with real grace, greets her well-wishers even as she remembers her childhood to me.

We encountered Mr. Dong en route, advisor to Sikkim's Tourism Minister. LH did a gracious intro but I was bleary and not at all sure what one asks a sub-tourism minister. Whether to take the attack - why so many permits!? why such crappy roads! why do you let horrendous pink cement buildings be built on top of century-old cottages!!? Or take the gentle route and praise this little land, his precarious dominion, this India-ruled slip of a state where his power could only be dwindling. Did neither well and I think Mr Dong left a little baffled, but promising to personally look into permits for the northwest when I return though cautioning, "Indian bureaucracy nothing like the British version".

Little H and I parted ways at the head of the toe path down to Tibet Road. Inauspiciously (it seemed to me), we stopped at the gaping back of open meat truck, a fellow making a delivery of 5 cow carcases.

My Jeep companions to Darjeeling an annoying foursome of Bengali tourists. Nattering on cell phones in tattling voices, they took half an hour for our ten min breakfast stop. Soon enough swept up in the views so faded them out. My very first front seat perspective on the route have entirely different impressions of the journey. Must report front vs. way-back-seat versions of the trip.

Love to all reading this, special big hug to R.

C