India including Kolkata and Darjeeling -2007

Feb 7, Dhaka, Bangladesh to Kolkata, India   Arrived in Kolkata late in the evening.  Bimen Air is not known for being on time and this trip was no exception -- four hours late.  By the time I had picked up luggage, the airport was fairly deserted.  I was looking for people outside who were touting a local hotel that I could use.  I had made no arrangements for one.  I asked a local guy about a hotel and he gave me the name of one.  I went to look for a taxi driver then we headed out.  One has two choices for taxi rides at Kolkata Airport.  One is the Prepaid Taxi and the other is the meter taxi.  I took the prepaid but was overcharged because the people did not know where the hotel was located.  It was an Indian hotel near the airport and most of us foreign guys do not use it.        In any case, I was delivered to the hotel and was overcharged there too. I did not fight this time.  Too late, the room was clean, and it was near the airport. I wanted to be near the airport as Kolkata traffic is not good at any time of the day or night.  I slept and that is the main thing.  Preplanning is an important part of travel but only sometimes.
Feb 8, Kolkata, India to Bogdogra Airport, south of Siliguri, India The next morning, I checked out and found a taxi to take me back to the airport. 50 rupees.  Last night’s fare was 200.  See why I knew that they overcharged. The guys at the fixed rate taxi ask where you are going and set the rate.  You go out and find the taxi that is assigned and away you go.  In the morning I bargained for the taxi and received a going rate for foreigners.  We are talking $2 compared to $10. Interesting.  Travel tests the bargaining skills unless you are willing to pay a bit extra.  I prefer the test of my travel skills but sometimes it is easier to just let things go.  Like I did last night with the hotel.  Tired overcomes frugality on some days/nights.
    At the airport, I loaded my luggage on a cart and headed down the row of outside windows of airline carriers selling last minute tickets to destinations out of Kolkata.  One airline was full for the day’s trip to Bogdogra.  Bogdogra is the airport that serves most of northeastern India above Kolkata.  I went to the second window and was able to purchase return tickets -- out this afternoon and back on the 17th.  I wanted to return on the 16th but Indian Airlines does not make daily flights.  No problem.  I would find something to do for another day in Darjeeling. I was able to put these tickets on a credit card. Then I had to find a way to use the Indian phone system to call my family in Darjeeling.  My entire trip to India was based on a visit to see Shittal and her family and to pay for her schooling for the next few years.  I walked up to the W. Bengal Tourist Bureau booth and asked the lady about making a phone call.  She walked with me down the air terminal to the pay phone both.  The phone booth was staffed by a person who collects fees and helps (a bit) with phone calls.  I had been emailed the number, earlier, from the family. Mr. Lakandry is a driver and has mobile phone so he answered.  The lady dialed the phone number and talked in Bengali.  The Tourist Bureau lady gave him information on my arrival in Bogdogra and he told her that the family would be there to pick me up at 4:00 PM.  OK?  No problem!   I would kill the rest of the day at the airport.
    After a six-hour wait, I was allowed to check through security and went to the waiting area for departure to Bogdogra.  In India, one does not check through security and move to an assigned waiting area.  Here, you are called to go through security, but only when the flight is opened.  Then, you wait in a group area for someone with a hand-held banner to come down to one of two or three multiuse gates.  The loudspeaker will announce the departure in both Indian and English.  Because my hearing keeps getting worse, I usually have a problem understanding the Indian-English over the noise of all the people.
    Needless to say, paying attention is a great airport skill that one soon learns.  However, you usually know when the plane is ready to leave because, somehow, the herd of people seems to stand up simultaneously and move towards the assigned gate.  I could never figure out how, but the cue is there someplace.  Maybe they have made the flight often enough to work out the pattern of the procedure.
    The flight to Bogdogra was not full.  I had a full seat to myself.  We departed on schedule – amazing. As the plane was ascending, we were buffeted by wind and rain.  For a while, it looked like airsickness would be a problem.  Then, the turbulence ended and we smoothly proceeded.  Or so it seemed.  The next announcement from the cockpit came and reported that the plane had been hit by large hailstone and that the window of the airplane had been broken.  Airline procedure called for us to return to Kolkata airport and land.
    We began to circle the city.  A huge thunderstorm, that had caused the initial accident, was covering the entire Kolkata area. So, we would have to circle south to allow the storm to pass through.  The supposed 45-minute flight to Bogdogra ended up taking almost two hours and I here I was back in Kolkata waiting for a new plane to be found.  In the Indian bureaucratic way, they dropped the entire load of people off at a gate that would lead into the receiving part of the terminal.  That meant that we would again have to pass through security.  Well, that happened and passed through security the second time before standing in line at the gate.  This is worse than lining up for Southwest.  When the new plane was found and we boarded it was a propeller driven plane rather than a jet.  NO PROBLEM.  We are now over four hours late and my family is waiting in Bogdogra and I have no way of contacting them.  I wait and they wait? I hope.     Finally, at 10:30 PM, I pick up my luggage at the airport and there is a porter with a Robert Williams sign.  He grabs my luggage and hurries me out of the terminal to the joyous welcome from Shittal, Bhawana, Suman and Amma.  They have bags of fruit and a hand-made scarf to welcome me.  We pile in Suman’s car and ready to make the three hour-long torturous drive, up and over the mountains, to Darjeeling. The drive was made longer because we stopped and ate at a roadside café along the road to Darjeeling. Actually, the family ate and I had a coke.  Suman lauded the roadside food at this stop but I thought that a late evening meal taken from food cooked for an earlier time would not be one that I would appreciate. Finally, we arrived in Darjeeling at my hotel, the Dekeling.  I had stayed there the last time that I came.  How can I forget?  The climb from the street to the lobby is a real challenge because the altitude in Darjeeling runs at a bit less than 7000 feet.  The lobby of the Dekeling sets on the 5th floor.  Puffing and panting is a regular event.  I waited in the car while Suman ran up to the lobby to wake the guys to help carry up my luggage.  Everyone in the hotel knew that I was coming but they were expecting me much earlier.     My room was waiting and it was up another two flights. No heat in the room and there never would be.  I was afraid to try the hot water and just crawled into bed. Before I did, I added another cover.  One thing that they did remember was the hot water bottle that would accompany to bed each night of my stay.
Feb 9, Darjeeling, India    My first night in Darjeeling must have been good because I did not crawl from bed until almost nine.  Mrs. Norbu, the hotel owner, must also have been concerned.  She called offering tea.  I stayed at the Dekeling for almost two weeks and unrequested, delivered tea is a most unusual occurrence.        OK!  I am up.  The water in the shower was hot.  Of course one has to figure out how the system works but once that was done, the shower was great.  Then, down to the dining area for breakfast!  A pot of hot tea, mango juice, two eggs and toast were my usual choices for this meal.  I might have an omelet instead of the two eggs but that was the only change during my stay. Lots of hot tea with just a hint of sugar!  After breakfast, I went up to organize my room and luggage and to give the staff some of my dirty clothes for laundry.        Suman picked me up at 2 PM and we made the trip across town to the girl’s school, St. Teresa.  Most of Darjeeling is located on the sides of a mountain and this school is no exception.  We parked the car off the path leading down to the school.  Actually, Suman was not sure if there was a turn around so he backed down.  We walked down into the school and found the office.  Sister Elizabeth, the principal, was in Kolkata until the 16th. She is a member of the Sisters of Loreto and is in charge of St. Teresa, an all-girl’s school. I talked to all of the staff and was invited back when the Sister returned.  The staff was delightfully warm and friendly.  Monica, the second in command, is a lay person and said that she would warn Sister that I would be in at 11 AM on the 16th.
       On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the bookstore to pick up Shittal’s year three books.  The books for the entire year cost just a little less than $20.  The books store is located on the second level in one of the busiest parts of Darjeeling where all the taxis, jeeps and busses wait for passengers to and from Darjeeling to various parts of Northern India. We double-parked and paid the attendant to watch the car.  It would have been much easier to walk and that is what we would do on out later visits to the market and the school. The books were heavy so it was nice to have the vehicle handy.  Shittal was so happy that night to have her new books.
       Suman dropped me back at the hotel and I asked if he was busy that afternoon.  He said not but he had a few things to do and wondered what I wanted to do.  I said that I would like to go up to the Tibetan Refugee Center to purchase some rugs.  No problem.  He would be back in an hour and take me.   I met some of the crew at the hotel and arranged to meet with them at the local café owned by the Dekeling people.  One of the fellow travelers in the hotel was a chap from Tasmania who was on a trekking tour of Nepal and Northern India.  I asked if Mike wanted to ride along to the Tibetan Center.  He did and we went downstairs to eat lunch and wait for Suman.
       The Dekelas is a street-side café serving a Tibetan menu along with foods from all over the world. You can have a pizza or spaghetti, but the best things on the menu are the Tibetan momo.  These are dumplings filled with either veggies or chicken.  I would eat them every day during my stay in Darjeeling.  I would OD on momo because one cannot find them in Edwardsville or maybe in St. Louis.  I will not be able to have them until my return to Darjeeling.  Love those momo! The owners of my hotel, the Norbus, are Tibetan refugees whose family came to the Refugee center when it opened many years ago.  They personally have never been to Tibet.  They are Buddhist and the hotel is covered with pictures of Tibet and the Dali Lama. Mrs. Norbu is one of the nicest people that you could meet.  She has that mother or grandmother image and appeal that is warm, open and friendly.  She just takes care of you. The Dekeling is in the Lonely Planet Guide, my travel Bible, and the hotel is filled most of the time.  The countries represented by the occupants will fill any travel list.  It is a good place to spend a week.  She was happy that I was going to the Center and knew all the people there. The Tibetan Refugee Center is located within long walking distance of the hotel.  But I wanted to purchase some rugs so walking was not an option. Suman drove us down through the market and up to the center.  He had been here many times and knew all the staff.  I had been here too in my previous time in Darjeeling and, even so, took some pictures of the people creating the products sold in the store.  All of them were very old, with practically no one crafting who was under the age of 70.  I asked the head man who sold me the three rugs, why the crafts people were so old and yet the yard was filled with young children running and playing. His explanation was that this no longer served as a refugee center.  All Tibetans who came into the country were now processed west of here in Dharamsala where the Dali Lama had his headquarters.  It was illegal for refugees to be coming into this center. All of the children were here for the Tibetan school that was located at the center.  Most of the Tibetans found in the area are children or grandchildren of the original refugees.  Most, except for the elderly people, had never been to Tibet but were keeping the customs and the language in hopes that Tibet would eventually be free of Chinese rule. I wandered the grounds looked into the shops, and took an occasional picture.  Noticing several young men standing at the edge of the compound, I walked over and engaged them in conversation.  One of them was from Seattle.  He had grown up in the compound; his mother was still here, along with his younger brother. He carpentered in Seattle and was here on a visit but would return to Washington after a few weeks.  I met the entire family.  Travel always rewards me with new and enlightening experiences. I loaded the carpets into the car and we drove back to the hotel.  Luckily, one of the staff was down at the street level and was there to carry my lovely Tibetan carpets up the stairs.  I will get them mailed back to the USA in a couple of days.  The post office is just down the street and an easy walk from the hotel.  I showed off the carpet to my fellow travelers and bragged a bit about my deal.  I just love to deal and bargain. Mrs. Norbu was happy that I had shopped at the Center.
    Dinner of momo was next. I stayed down in the breakfast area to read before heading for m hot water bottle and the bed.  A new set of travelers had come to the hotel.  We met and talked.   I was off for a trip with my family in the morning and was anticipating that adventure.
Feb 10, Darjeeling, India   Today would be a special day for travel.  When I had arrived at the airport, Suman had invited me over on the 15th to have dinner in the family home.  They family planned a special meal of freshly made Nepali dishes all served in the new place to which they had just moved.  That was fine.  The house was close enough that we could walk.

     I received a call from Suman that I had been invited to go south of Darjeeling to a small village and to the house where Amma had been raised. Her brothers still lived on the home place and were anxious for me to visit and meet all the family.  OK!  Plan to spend the night! OK?  We would leave early in the morning and be back by ten.  No Problem.        Suman came by and picked me up a bit after ten.  He brought the girls and said that he had some errands to run and I would have Shittal and Bhawana until he finished the tasks.  Then, we would go to the house to pick up Amma and eat lunch before going south.  I took the girls and we walked up the main drag of Darjeeling to see if we could kill a few hours.  First stop was an ice cream shop.  The girls are funny or I am not used to interacting with young Nepali girls.  I asked Bhawana if she wanted ice cream.  She did not think that she would.  She had just eaten.  Then I asked Shittal.  Her eyes lit up and a definite, yes, was softly said.  OK, we have a problem.  Shittal and I would like ice cream but Bhawana does not.  I, then, looked at Bhawana and asked if she might be able to eat a cone.  Her sheepish smile was enough confirmation.  We had chosen a store with a number of different kinds so choosing one kind was a problem.  I suggested that a double cone might solve the problem. So we had that.  Firsts are going to be the rule of the day.  This was their first ice cream store.        We ate ice cream and walked on the path that went around the top of the ridge that forms the center of the city.  The walk took about 45 minutes and allowed me to see the beautiful valleys that surround Darjeeling.  And we could see the kid’s school as we walked by.  We passed several churches along the path and tried to enter one, St. Andrew, an old Church of England parish.  Not open.  Lovely lawns.  Sunday, it would be busy.  The path came out on the mall area not to far from where we started.  My first sighting was the Oxford Book Store.  This store is renowned in the area as having a fine collection of books.  This would be the girl’s first visit to such a store and they were going to choose some books to read.  We weregoing to fill our time fruitfully.        One entire section of the Oxford is filled with kid’s books.  The store clerks gave my girls the kind of look that goes with poor kids.  I also gave him a look that said, “They are with me and I have money!”  It worked.  We spent half an hour looking at books. Finally, I said for them to pick two each.  The search became a bit more directed.  Bhawana chose a girl’s series fiction and a book of stories from the New Testament.  I asked her if she was sure? She said, “Yes, we are reading about that in school.”  Oh, Yes! St. Teresa’s Catholic education is going strong. Shittal chose a couple of books that would make Walt Disney proud.  Her selections were Princess something that my granddaughters in Florida would already know about and have.  American publications are everywhere and are too obvious to miss.  Then, I posed a math problem for the girls.  Bhawana had selected books equaling R200.  How much had Shittal proposed to spend?  We checked; her books were cheaper and cost R100.  If we were to spend equal amounts, then what? The discussion results told the story that two more books could be selected by Shittal.  Choosing was easy and the final book was not reading but a project book of puzzles and drawings.  I paid for the books and we headed back down the street to meet dad at the hotel. We drove up to their house to meet Amma.   She was waiting for her first view of Uncle who she had not seen for two years.  She had prepared lunch at the house.  Fresh chapati and a cooked vegetable.  I helped Shittal with her puzzle book and was read to by both girls.  After eating we headed out on the long crooked, rocky, rough road to Amma’s house. We stopped one time at an overlook and took pictures of us all. It was a good thing that we did, because the weather would take a turn for the worse after this day.  We stopped several more times along the way to purchase things to take to the family.  It seems that they had not been to the village in several years so gifts were in order.  A special gift is the Pan or betel nut that everyone chews.
I watched as the Pan dealer made up the concoction that consisted of 6-8 different herbs along with the betel nut, all of which is wrapped in betel leaf for storage.  The entire mess is popped into the mouth and chewed.  Suman also purchased some plain betel nut for his own consumption.  He does not like the sweetness of the wrapped type.  We also picked up some fresh vegetables that would be used in the night’s meal. And, somehow, a small bottle of Indian whiskey was found.  This was for the brothers and Uncle to help them with digestion.  Suman has given up drinking. His only vice is the betel nut.  Good dad and father. I have the impression that he used to imbibe a bit but that was in bygone days.
The drive down into the valley, with all the stops, took just about three hours.  I asked Suman how far it was and he said about 70 kilometers.  That’s about 42 miles.  You can understand from the speed that we made that the road was rough, curvy and tough to navigate. Finally, we arrived and unloaded our things plus all the presents.  Everyone was happy to see Amma and the kids.  Of course, everyone was curious about Uncle (that’s me).  We settled in and although everyone wanted to talk to me, most did not have good conversational English.  The kids were probably all encouraged to practice their English on Uncle and they did try.  The TV set picture tube was going out so the viewing that captured interest for a few minutes and then boredom began.  I can tell that Uncle and his storytelling would not do for long.  The kids soon began to head for the outdoors or went to helping the moms prepare the evening meal.  I would have been fine too had I thought to bring a book.  Suman and Amma’s brother took the car into the nearby town to pick up a daughter.
When all returned, a consensus developed among the men that we should go for a walk.  I was happy with that and away we trooped heading down the road. Supposedly, we would walk down a short bit and find the vast tea plantation for which this area of India is known.  We walked and walked and I worried and worried.  Going down is easy.  Going up is not.  We walked a long way down.  Finally, Suman stopped the group and admitted that he had misjudged the distance that we had come.  He thought that the tea fields were closer.  OK?  Now What?        Just then a station wagon taxi came into view.  Suman flagged him down and he volunteered to take the group back to the houses. Needless to say, I was happy.
When we arrived back at the top of the hill, Suman said that I was a lucky man to have had the car come by at just that moment.  I looked at him, laughed, and said that he was the lucky man.  He asked why!  I said that had the car not come by that he would have had to carry me up the hill and that would not have been an easy job.  He laughed too and admitted the solution was good for both of us.
When the Sun goes down in these Indian hills, so does the temperature.  None of the houses have heat. Amma’s brother brought in the charcoal-burning heater that is common throughout the country.  It is a bit smaller than a five-gallon bucket and is made from concrete.  The walls of the container are 1.5 inches thick and thicker on the bottom.  Near the bottom is an opening that allows air to move through the charcoal.  Wood pieces are placed in the bottom and charcoal dropped on top of the burning wood.  The heat is just OK right above the coals but elsewhere it only heats a little bit.  I sat right on top and they let me do that.  These folks have adapted to living in the cold.  Meanwhile, I am bundled up and still cold and they are walking around in t-shirts and sandals. Amma and her two sister-in-laws were beginning the meal preparation.  Each house has a cooking area. Both are fueled by wood.  Each cooking area also has a propane stove. For a feed of this size, every heating source was in use.   I was invited into the kitchen building of the eldest sister-in-law.  It was the warmest place in the compound and especially reserved this day for shivering uncle.  Cooking is done on a cement slab that has holes in the top for placing the various pots and griddles on the heat.  Wood is fed through an opening in the bottom front. Several sticks of wood are pushed in this opening as the fire continues to burns down.  Hot water pots are always heating and tea is made instantly.  I warmed over the fire, drank tea and watched the women prepare the meal.
The men sat in the living room, talked and chewed pan.  There is something to be said about the old ways. We four men were soon called to the eating area and each was handed a large metal plate with a mound of rice, several chapati, and two small bowls of curried vegetables and chicken.  The Nepali mixes everything onto the rice mound, adds a couple of hot chili peppers to the mixture, and eats with their fingers. They said that eating with the fingers was easy.  I replied that I would have the stuff all over me if I used my hands.  Rice would be in my hair, ears, beard and all over their house.  I would know what the meal was for a couple of days.  They laughed and one of the brothers ate with a fork for my sake. The women ate in the other room.  Every one of them used their hands. Over the past week, I had observed Amma eat and she can eat hot, hot chili peppers with the best.  I order my food medium hot. And I cannot even come close to eating as much rice as the smallest Nepali child.  The food was great.  We finished with small glasses of Indian Whiskey so that digestion would be aided. By this time it was almost nine and close to everyone’s bedtime.  One of the brothers worked for the Army as an electrician.  He was off early in the morning for a weeklong posting in another town. Another brother worked as a policeman in Darjeeling. Each day, he made the bus trip of two hours into the city and two hours back. And he walked 45 minutes up to the bus station to catch that ride.  I bet you could guess that he is a bit on the skinny side. I was soon shown my bed in the spare room of the new house.  Remember, no heat.  Also no hot water bottle! I coughed a bit and curled under the deep pile of blankets.  I put a stocking hat on and only my face and my breath showed.  Finally, it warmed up enough for me to unwind.  Amma came in with a glass of hot tea.  I turned her down.  WHY?  I was thinking about a night trip out to the outhouse.  Like any Indian potty, it smells pretty interesting and I could not imagine a nighttime visit.  I would find out later that she thought that I was unhappy with the place. NO Amma, just worried about a night visit to the toilet.  I presume that you know how an Indian outside toilet is constructed.  If not, then, you might want to Google that!
Feb 11, Darjeeling, India  It must have been the food or maybe the whiskey.  I had a wonderful night’s sleep.  The older brother had left for Darjeeling at 4 AM.  His wife was preparing the morning meal.  She would go to work when we left, below on the tea plantation.  The electrician brother would catch a ride with us to the village to meet his ride to Kalimpong. I had buttered chapati and tea for breakfast.  Others ate warmed up leftovers form the night’s meal along with chapati.  We were supposed to depart at 7 AM but finally left close to ten.  On the way out Suman discovered that he had left his mobile phone charging at the house.  He borrowed a phone locally and had the boys from the house run it up. That took thirty minutes.
Then, we headed back into town.  It had rained much of the night and many of small streams were now running. The Darjeeling area was under a water restriction. This is the dry season and most of the streams and catchment basins have been dry for a long time.  The city water system is under stress and most businesses bring in truckloads of water during the night.  Today, however, water was very much in evidence. Arriving back in the city, the family gave me a love and sent me back to the hotel.  Suman said in departing, “Remember, Uncle, that we want you to have a special feast on the evening of the 16th.  We will come get you in the afternoon and Amma will prepare special Nepali food.  And she will make momo for you.” And Amma and the girls will come to get you at 2 PM so that you can take them shopping for their uniforms and shoes.  “Ok! I will be ready!” I said as I scrambled up the long stairway to my room.
       Everyone in the hotel was curious and some a bit jealous about my adventure into the hinterland. I made an appointment to have dinner that night with Mike Calder, my new photographer friend from Tasmania in Australia.  He was off to visit some new site and I had the girls to take care of.  I ate down stairs at the Tibetan Restaurant.
       The girls and Amma came on time at two and we headed down the stairs and road to the Market area.   Amma knew each business that we needed in this busy area. The first was the cloth shop where we purchased the blue and white cloth needed for St. Teresa uniforms. Up the market road a couple of buildings was the tailor’s shop.  We handed over the cloth.  The girls were measured and fitted.  They make each uniform a bit big and tailor it so that it can be let out next year to allow for growth.  We planned two years for each uniform. The girls, now, have two uniforms each. Shittal needed another cardigan.  OK! That shop is up the street.  Then shoes. Another store. Amma suggested a sturdy shoe.  Shittal eyed the feminine, stylish model.  She and I voted on her choice.  Her eyes sparkled.  The school uniform is complete.  The cost for one complete uniform runs around $20.
I then suggest that the girls would need a good warm coat as I was cold just watching them.  We began to tour the malls and stores in the area looking for warm coat for each.  One store had several coats that Bhawana liked.  She wanted a long coat.  The one that she found was a style that was too old for her.  In the same store I found one that was a pale blue and was semi-long (my words). It is a sky blue and was very well padded.  Her dark hair and skin are really complimented by the blue.  Uncle told her to try it on and look in the mirror to see how it looked.  OK, One coat down.  Shittal went through the same steps of looking for coats and finding one that was styled too old for her.  Uncle suggested a pink coat with a hood and belt.  Trying that one on was successful too. Two coats down and two happy girls!  We were done shopping.  I have remained loving and patient through it all. And I am surprised at that because shopping is not my thing.  It must have been the happiness of Amma and the girls that allowed me to restrain my impatience.  A fun day ended with the girls leaving me at the hotel as they headed to their house. I climbed the stairs again and had a cup of tea. Mike is leaving shortly for Sikkim. I am staying.  He wants to help with a girl’s schooling.  Simone is the daughter of one of the kitchen workers in the hotel. Mrs. Norbu wants someone to help her with the tuition.  Mike met with the father, Rupes.  The problem is that she attends another school and will have to transfer to St. Teresa.  I will not see Sister Elizabeth until the 16th.   Mike hands me R6000 and says to help her. My reply was, “If I can?”  “If I cannot then I will get you money back to you in AU.”
I went down at 7 PM for a bit of momo and a good Kingfisher Beer.  Mike is gone to Sikkim and Mrs. Norbu is encouraging me about Simone.  I talked to the father, Rupes, about getting a transcript for his daughter to take with me when I talk to Sister.  He will try.  He has recently moved and Simone’s original transcript is lost. Probably, he never even thought that the transcript would be important.  Poor people think about houses, food and clothing but not transcripts.  It is the same the world over.  It is hard to make long-term goals when one is cold, hungry, or moving.  I promised to work my Dr. Bob charm on Sister Elizabeth.
Feb 12, Darjeeling, India.  The sounds of laughter made my morning awakening a bit different today. People were yelling and calling to each other.  I went to the window and looked out at a blanket of white.  I had heard thunder during the night but had assumed a rainstorm.  Not so! Close to six inches of snow covered all the houses, hills, and slopes of Darjeeling. It was lovely to see.  Mike had gotten out just in time.  Another day and he would have been stuck here.  Actually, all of us were stuck.  The snow isolated the city and only four-wheeled drive traffic was moving.  I found out later that vehicles had tried to leave the city but several trucks had ended up across the road blocking any movement in or out.  Soon the heavy snow would drop tree branches that in turn would drop power lines and we would be without electricity for the next four days.
       Being without electricity in India is not the same as being without electricity in the USA.  Because electricity goes off and on at any time of the day or night, every business and many homes have portable generators.  The generators would run the basic electricity needs of the hotel.  No TV, no hot water, and no portable heaters.  Each business has an electrical line that is serviced by the generator and one that works with regular electricity.  We all soon learned which lights were attached to the real power line.  They flickered on after a couple of days and then went off.  When I left on the 17th, the staff was predicting that power would be on fully that day. Another adventure.
I did not have heat in my room nor did I watch TV so none of this made a difference. I would worry tomorrow about a hot shower. Maybe the day after?  I was not sweating too much and my hot water bottle was not picky about its bed partner.  When I was ripe enough, I would ask for water from the kitchen and take a dipper bath.  In the mean time, the snow began to melt.  It had not snowed in Darjeeling for four years and the citizens were overjoyed. One could not walk the streets without dodging a few snowballs.  The temperature was perfect for making them.  And perfect for turning the streets into wet slippery places. And what did I have to wear on my feet?  A pair of sandals and my flat-bottomed Birkenstocks -- not good shoes to walk in the snow! I got out and tried to walk the streets.  I made it up to the Internet place. They had a generator so the news could go out.  I decided that being out with all these snowball throwers was crazy.  So I went back to the Hotel, stopped at the café and drank a hot ginger, lemon, honey tea, and finally trudged back up the five floors to my room.  Before leaving the café, I asked the staff to show me how they made the ginger tea.  It surely is good stuff.
They take fresh ginger root and place it in a blender with a bit of water.  A teaspoon of ginger paste is added to each glass of hot tea, along with the juice of one lemon.  Hot black tea is, then, added along with the desired amount of honey.  You drink it down hot. It is so good.  Ginger is a good digestive aide and is also supposed to heal respiratory problems.  I just like the taste of ginger.  I brought home the candied form too.
I spent the rest of the day reading.  I had collected and read all but one of the books that had journeyed with me from Illinois.  So I went to Mrs. Norbu and asked for an exchange.  She did a three for one swap and I was back in the reading business.  The Dekeling Hotel has something for everyone.
And while I am at it, a description of the Dekeling would be useful here.  In Darjeeling, building does not go out, they go up.  Looking out the window, one can see all sorts of construction going on but only at the top of the buildings.  Bricks are the major building material.  If concrete is poured, then it is done in small, handmade batches.  Bamboo is used everywhere to supporting, holding, and for climbing. (I know that I do not want to be in Darjeeling during an earthquake!)
The Dekeling is built like the other structures of Darjeeling. UP!  One hits the first floor of the Hotel at floor five.  Under it is another business, actually two more. The check-in lobby along with a dozen small rooms is the first business area.  One floor up is the eating area, kitchen, the Norbu’s office, a couple of rooms and the open area the houses the hotels pot belly stove.  The stove area is the gathering place for all of the travelers during the evening or on snowy days. If you want a warm place to stay up past eleven in the evening, then you buy the coal. Above this area are two more floors of rooms. My floor was the next up – the eighth floor.  Maybe the ninth!  One more floor is located above mine.  I stayed on the top floor when I was here before.  That floor is made entirely of wood.  The floors below are constructed with bricks and concrete.  Each room has big single-paned windows that fit loosely. The wind easily finds its way inside.  One pulls the drapes and crawls in with the hot water bottle and lots of covers.  It is surely lovely in the spring and the view of the Himalayas is stunning.  The snow on the mountains and on the roofs of the multicolored buildings is also incredible, especially in the early morning sunlight.
Brrrrr!  Everyone heads down on these days to the potbelly stove room.  The cold draws us close.  Don is a photographer from Seattle who has been teaching and living in Beijing.  Douglas is a retired stockbroker from the northwest of Scotland.  Anne is a veterinarian from Tasmania and is heading to Sikkim to volunteer in working to reduce the dog population. Barbara and Walter, an Italian couple, trekking northern India for the third time.  Walter sells insurance and Barbara is an administrator for a small company in Milan.  Four French ladies are traveling together.  They do not mingle like the rest.  But on my final day, Maryvonne came to me and expressed the group’s interest in a girl.  A Norwegian couple adds to the mix.  There is a Danish Grandmother, her daughter and granddaughter.  The daughter is studying Buddhism and also learning Hindu.
YT came in the night before the storm from Bhutan.  He came to bring his son to enroll at St. Joseph Academy, the Jesuit school known for its scholarship.  One night YT invited me to join him in a visit to one of his former schoolmates house.  I accepted and we walked across the city following one of the many footpaths that traverse the ridges. On our way up we stopped at one of the bakeries and he purchased two cakes for the family.   He remembered the way after all the passing years and we entered the home of his friend. The entire family was gathered around a bed. YT explained that the daughter had eaten at a roadside stall and had gotten food poisoning.  She was one sick girl and had visited two doctors. I sat and had tea and YT talked. I would find out later that his son had been accepted into the school.  The family was happy with that.  Many Bhutanese come to Darjeeling to attend St Joseph.  YT has invited me to visit to Bhutan again.  He and I hit it off and have become friends.
With everyone, I talk about my family and the reason that I have come to Darjeeling.  The girls are the reason.  Most of the travelers that are with me express an interest in helping.  I am doing good or not?  The day had slipped by and the evening calls for a bit more momo.  I ate, read and hit the hot water bottle warmed bed.
Feb 13, Darjeeling, India The cold of the past evening was offset by the bright sun that strained to drive away the mist of the morning.  Low clouds hang over the valley.  The melting snow created a slushy mixture that made walking impossible on most of the steep side streets.  The sun of yesterday had been strong enough to leave the main thoroughfares fairly clear.  I walked up, after breakfast, to the Internet café.  The generators were working so that email could go out. No power yet.  I had been instructed by several of my elder lady friends to try to find some osteoporosis drugs for them.  I checked with one of the drugstores on the main drag, Frank Ross’. A surprising name for an Indian drugstore.  Maybe it was left over from colonial times.  I did not think to ask and will during my next visit.  They can order the generic Indian version of the drugs.  I ordered a two-year supply for each and left a deposit.  In the USA, the drug is available for a $20 co-pay a month.  Insurance pays the rest.  In India, I paid $2.76 for the same monthly supply.  Interesting.
Last year in Vietnam, I ordered trifocal glasses. Total cost including lenses, frames and visit was $135.  Makes one wonder about American medicine costs? Back down at the hotel, I stopped for lunch at the café and found a message from the Lakandry’s.  Dinner had to be changed from the 16th to tonight.  They would be down by two to take me to the house.  We could walk there and maybe I could spend the night. OK, I took the message and finished my bowl of Tibetan soup. Tibetan chicken soup is excellent for a cold day.  And I have a cold too.
I walked out the door of the café and there came dad and the girls.  Suman reported that he had some errands and that the girls could stay with me.  Just like any other family relationship, grandpas, or in this case, uncles can serve as instant baby sitters. OK, we will improvise?  I walked with them up to my Internet café and we checked out the bakery selection.  Both of the girls, in unison, fastened their eyes on the two chocolate cakes in the display. Yea for chocolate cakes!  Each had a piece and I had a cup of ginger, lemon tea.  Not as good as my café, though. Next stop was up the street at a variety store.  Here, they sold gift cards, games, videos, and school paraphernalia. Suman was at the counter when we walked into the store.  He was purchasing a card for me and would present that later in the evening. I was looking for games that the girls might play. I am sure the girls have seen games but they did not know any of the ones at the store. We found several that they could live with and I purchased two. They had the travel versions and the full sized.  I thought of how small the girl’s house is and encouraged them to select the smaller ones. Chutes and Ladders and Chinese checkers where the games we chose. After the shopping was finished, we all walked back toward the hotel. I ran up to grab some things that included a deck of playing cards.  This is their first deck of cards.  I was glad that I threw them in my suitcase. I also took along all of the shirts that I would not need for the trip home.  I would leave these with the family Now the “real” trek began and my story gets interesting.  Remember, I told you about my shoes and how slippery they were on the snow.  Well, the road to the Lakandry house is all up hill.  The streets in front of the hotel are well traversed by vehicles and walked by humans.  As one progresses up the hill the road becomes too steep for most vehicles to drive. That leaves a snow-covered street with two water-filled ruts running down the middle. The higher we go the harder it is for me to walk. Soon, I am leaning on Suman or holding to the fence to keep me from falling.  My feet are soaked by now. Bhawana and Suman get a kick out of my struggle.  I am thinking about the trip back down when my shoes will turn into skis.  Finally, we are in sight of the house.  Suman has parked the car in some sheltered place.  He, too, cannot make it easily up the hill. He is comforting me by saying that I can spend the night so there is no problem.  I still wonder where I was going to sleep?  They only have two beds.  Another adventure is unfolding!
The house presents another challenge.  Snow and ice cover everything.  Amma has scraped the sidewalk but still the ice is everywhere.  Suman helps me down the two flights of “maybe” sidewalk to their front door. Amma welcomes me with a full smile.  The girls are happy that I am here.  Shittal goes to her pile of new schoolbooks and selects the reading book.  She wants to read a story.  I was impressed with her reading. She would sound out the new words and could pronounce most.  I would ask her if she knew the meaning of the words and she could not give me definitions.  Her phonics base is great and the definitions will come when the class begins the study. Her base language is Nepali but her English is going to be very good. Uncle talks to her slowly and she listens and answers back. She is shy but each day she talks more.
I realize that my feet are very wet and are now getting cold on the cement floor in this cinder-block house.  I know that Amma is concerned about me but she says little.  I have a cough and she is making tea and chicken soup for that.  I had brought another pair of socks and changed into those.  The wet socks would never dry so Suman brings out the charcoal heater and props the socks on wooden blocks to dry.  They get too close to the heat and one sock melts.  Eventually, they will dry and I will wear them home.  But they will be tossed away the next day, holey but not in a sacred way.
Soon, Shittal is interested in the new games and begins to open the boxes.  We opened the Chutes and Ladders first and invited Bhawana to join us in playing. She does and we play that and then play Chinese checkers.  Finally, I bring out the cards and introduce Old Maid and Number Lotto.  Occasionally, Bhawana would be called to help Amma in the kitchen but most of the rest of the afternoon and into the evening we played games and talked.  My socks were finally dry, so I put on two pairs, hiding the one with the hole.
       Amma had been working hard.  She made chicken curry, chicken soup, momo, vegetable curry, chapati and sweet cake desserts.  I was ready to eat and so was everyone else.  I had played every game a dozen, or more, times.  Shittal was not tired of them but the rest of us were.  We put everything away and the food was served to Suman, Shittal, and me.  Bhawana and Amma ate in the kitchen.  The momo was specially made because they knew how Uncle liked his momo.  The other dishes were the same with rice as the mainstay.        After dinner, the girls cleaned up and Suman wanted me to spend the night.  I did not want to and finally reported that I had not taken my medicine and had to be back at the hotel to do that.  I actually did forget but could have made it through until tomorrow. For all their desire to make me happy, I just wanted to be at the hotel with my book and the hot water bottle.  I told them of my wish and my problem of medication and Suman volunteered to share his.  I was grateful but told him that my fat, American body could only take the one that the doctor had prescribed. After much discussion, he agreed to get me back to the hotel.
       This time it was a downhill run.  At one time Suman and Bhawana held on to my hand and I slid down the road.  As the time had slipped away, so had the temperature.  The snowy slush was turning into icy slush.  What a trip.  I: never fell but thought that I would during the entire time.  Shortly after beginning the walk, my newly dried socks were wringing wet.  And my poor Dutch-boy shoes were equally soaked.  Down through the quiet streets we crept.  They walked and I slid.  Bhawana laughed at my antics.  She thought Uncle was funny.  In the dark, they could not see the look on my face.  I was never afraid; I just did not want to get wet from a fall.  One never knows with us old people what things we could break. I did not want to take the chance.  We did make it!
       When I returned to the hotel, everyone was gathered around the stove talking and having a hot tea or a beer.  The cast of characters did not change from the night before.  YT, from Bhutan, had tried to drive out and was back.  He would try again tomorrow. Several others would try to leave but the road to Sikkim, where many were planning to travel, was still closed. None of us had an urgent schedule and the warmth of the stove was inviting.  That night someone paid for the extra charcoal and spent the night on the couch. I went up with my hot water bottle and put another cover on the bed.  Sleep came easily.  I had had a busy day with my family.
Feb 14, Darjeeling, India  Today was spent with organizing and getting some clothes washed.  I grabbed my rugs from the Tibetan Cultural Center and headed down to the post office.  That building was just two blocks from the hotel.  I walked with the rugs draped over my shoulder.  Entering the post office, I went to the stamp counter and asked about getting the rugs ready for mailing.  The people who do this were not coming in today.  I am not sure why, but the packaging people are not Postal Service employees but rather come to work each day and are paid by the people mailing packages.
       All packages are wrapped in white muslin and stitched shut with strong tread.  The mixture forms a strong skin that surrounds the package.  The wrapped and stitched package is then stamped with a hot wax and a seal.  Now, the employees in India and America cannot open the package without it being detected.        In any case the PO guy was not in and one of the attendants behind the counter indicated that a shop down the street would prepare the package.  The rain came as I walked out and around the corner.  Asking in a couple of stores brought me to a men’s store that doubled as a package wrapper.  They did not keep the muslin in the shop and had to send a man out for that.  They did have wax, a seal and thread.  What should have taken a half hour took two.  While they wrapped, I went up to the bank to exchange dollars for rupees so that I could pay for the Shittal’s tuition.        With the package wrapped, I headed back to the post office to complete the transaction.  The package was weighed and checked.  I filled out the customs forms and paid the postage.  That would amount to about $50.  The package would go sea mail and would take several months.  All is well with the arrangement.  I sent a package to the states when I was last in India and no problems occurred.  Another task is completed and the three very nice rugs will arrive in Edwardsville some time in May.  It will be interesting to see my mailman, Eddie’s reaction.  I will have to let him know that the rugs are coming.  The mailing process had taken me all of the morning.  I headed back to the hotel for some Tibetan soup.
       In the afternoon, I walked up to the Ross drug store to confirm the order of old lady drugs.  It is surely nice to be an old man helping a couple of old ladies with their old lady ailments.  Makes a person feel that they have value to be able to help others.  If any of you knows someone going to one of these SE Asia countries, then they can find glasses, prescriptions and in many cases can get you an operation that is very much cheaper than can be found in America.  It is surely worth checking things out.        This was an easy day.  I roamed around the city a bit.  Checked email.  Read. I am on the downhill run and will head home soon.  I am anticipating my meeting with Sister Elizabeth at St. Teresa.  I confer regularly with my fellow travelers.  They are interested in helping with a child.  Mrs. Norbu keeps finding kids that need help.  I walked down from the hotel and found a Tibetan shop owner with some jewelry and masks.  I make a deal for both.  Harry Hendrickson has a new house with a very nice bar in the basement. He has challenged me to furnish it with masks from the World.  I have three that I will carry back.  He will take all three masks and want more.  I have one from Myanmar, one from Tibet and another from Nepal.        I have picked up some loose jewels along the way. Some rubies from Myanmar; jade from Myanmar and India, lapis from India by way of Afghanistan, silver from India.  I hope that they all are real and I have not purchased glass.  I will have them made into jewelry and present them like they are the real things.  Some offspring might have them appraised but none of the recipients will ever complain.  They look good and it’s the thought.  I did not pay great prices for anything.  If anyone wants a real Myanmar ruby, then give me a shout.  I will make you a deal.  And you can bargain?
Feb 15, Darjeeling, India  Another day of treading water and getting nothing of importance done.  I finished another book, went up to the Internet café and sent messages home.  I stopped by the drug store and picked up the old ladies’ order. The cost was less than I was told initially. I ate momo at dinner.  The most important project this day was to arrange for and purchase tickets to fly from Kolkata to Bangkok.  I had been talking to the lady at the travel agency. She did not normally write international tickets but would call another agency in Silaguri and help me out.  She called and made the arrangements.  I left a deposit.  This afternoon, I would stop by and pick up the tickets.  I had stopped by the bank and changed money before heading up to pay for the tickets. Exchanging money in India is another experience in bureaucracy and paperwork.  You enter the bank and are directed to the person who can begin the exchange. That person will hand you a form to complete.  They will then make a copy of your passport.  The two pieces of paper are added to another that the bank attendant completes.  All of the papers are stamped with an inked stamp.  Thump, thump, thump!  Then, you are directed to another counter where the money is housed.  The bank attendant counts out the Rupees (at this time +/- 42.8 rupees/dollar. After counting the rupees, you sign on the back to verify receiving the funds. Each time, they repeat the process and complete all three forms.  I have stopped at this bank four times so they knew me well.  Each time I would make a comment about using up to many trees with all the paper they use.  Each time, they would tell me that the auditors would be on them if the paper work were not complete.  I would laugh and tell them that they had a pile in the basement that they never looked at again.  That comment always brought a laugh.  They still play the paper game in India.  I even volunteered to retype the form to make it half a sheet.  No this form came from Kolkata. I did make friends with one of the young ladies who worked at the exchange counter.  I told her of my helping Shittal with tuition and that I wanted to help others.  I also talked about how expensive it was to transfer money in from the US.  She said that she was a graduate of St. Teresa and knew Sr. Elizabeth. Sister was her principal when she graduated.  Handing me a brochure, she offered the service of the bank to move money anywhere in the world to Darjeeling with no cost.  I have to go by my bank to see if that can really happen.  I am hoping that I can find the way for more people to help the girls of Darjeeling to have a better education.
I have become quite adept in my travels at chatting with people that I have never met before.  It is a skill that has made me friends all over the world. I would say that talking is a genetically passed skill that my father unwittingly gave to me.  My mom used to say that he could have a conversation with any wall or tree.  Me too!  I guess being a happy and a nice person can bring good to both parties.  When I am on the road, the cares just seem to go away or are reduced to triviality.  In any case new banking friend offered and I will pursue the process.  Then, we will see. I have to take the brochure by my bank and check.        Returning to the hotel, I read more on the book and finished off the evening with the group toasting my success with Sr. Elizabeth in the morning.  Walter and Barbara would join me in the visit.  Don offered to go along and take some pictures of the school and environs.  We would meet at 10:30 to walk over.  Amma, Shittal, and Bhawana would join the troop and visit their school.  The Norwegian couple brought out a bottle of Anisette and we toasted the travelers of the world.  And we toasted the successful completion of our individual travels.  The semi-cool bottles of Kingfisher beer seemed to spring from the floor.  We talked and shared and the ice and snow had brought us closer.  But soon we would return to our own individual worlds.  But this night was a toast to Darjeeling and the incredible mountains that make it special.  And we all thought of the kids that we might help in the morning.
Feb 16, Darjeeling, India  Some members of the group were heading out to ride the toy train out of Darjeeling.  Another group was off to visit a Buddhist temple and monastery. YT tried the Bhutan road again and was gone.  My group finished a slow lazy breakfast and drank an extra pot of tea.  The electricity was still off but the generator gave us needed light.  In the kitchen, all the staff of the hotel was busy in making the special cookies and goodies that are eaten during the Tibetan New Year.  The celebrations would begin in the afternoon.  That is one of the reasons that the one group was heading for the Temples. Supposedly, a special dance with costumes would be held towards dusk. No one knew if this was happening, not even the Norbu family.  Every temple, however, would be involved somehow in the annual celebration.        In my 2005 visit to Darjeeling the hotel was equally involved in the events surrounding the New Year celebration.  Most families will hold a special blessing celebration that is designed to bring good luck and health to all attending, The event, a puja, calls for bringing in monks who conduct cleansing and other special ceremonies.  Special foods are prepared and gifts exchanged.  Some of the ceremony would be given to looking into the future of the people and business.  Suman was having his puja today too. I would like to have attended and could have done so, here, at the hotel.  But I will be heading home in the morning.
       A little after ten we headed down stairs to meet the Lakandry’s.  The girls were all dressed up and looked very lovely in their pink and blue coats. Amma wore a traditional Nepali dress. Dad was working. Everyone needs to look good.  After all, we were going to meet the boss lady, Sister Elizabeth.  The walk follows the series of paths along the mountain ridge.  Part of the path is along the busy market street where all the taxi and jeeps wait.  Shittal and Bhawana walk the route each day.  The walk takes a bit over an hour. Suman says that it is good for them, makes them healthy.  It would make Uncle healthy too.  I wonder why Suman and I drove the first day?  We arrived on time at the school.  Don became real busy taking pictures.  I have not seen the pictures but will email him when this journal is finished.
       The halls of the school administrative area were filled with people lined up to either see the Sister or to pay the year’s tuition.  School would begin on Monday the 19th, so enrollment and payment was in high gear.  We waited a bit and went right in.  Sister’s tiny office was filled with us long-nosed foreigners. Amma and the girls waited in the outside waiting room.
       I had two main orders of business.  The first was to get Shittal’s tuition paid.  The school is used to working in one-year integrals.  I wanted to pay for four years.  A problem, but not a problem!  “The tuition might go up in the future”, sister said.  We will have the family pay that and I will send the funds – NO PROBLEM!  Then I needed to spend Mike’s money and get Simone enrolled in the school and pay for her tuition.  I had funds enough for three years. She looked at her list of students and decided that she had room for one more girl.  “This is the last spot”, she said.  “She is very lucky”.        With those two things out of the way, I talked with her about the cost of getting funds to the school if I found more people who would support her girls.  Sister went over her problems of keeping funds separated and how the Diocese had certain rules about foreign funds and keeping them in certain accounts.  Then she talked about her own problems of having the retina in her eye detaching and that she had just returned from Kolkata where the eye surgeons had used laser to reattach the retina.  She talked about the problems of changing sight and that she was planning not to work too hard this next six months while her eyes healed.  Sister is one of those take-charge nuns that is all sense and no nonsense.  She talked about the problems of being two kinds of people to the children and families. One face is loving and understanding along while another face that is stern and enforces the rules.  She has moved up through the hierarchy of the school so many graduates have seen both faces.  Did I say that she also is shrewd?
       My Italian friends are listening and asking an occasional question.  But the next series of comments by Sister was directed towards them.  She talked about a young girl, eleven, who was being driven to Darjeeling by Sister Barbara.  This young lady would be living at the boarding area and attending school at St. Teresa.  Sister said that Sister Barbara had called and told of this very bright girl who was at the end of learning as far as the country school where her family lived.  Bringing her to the city was the only answer.  Sister said that she had told the rural people that she must come her and somehow God would provide a way.  She looked directly at Barbara and Walter.  “I will call and find out when she will arrive”, said Sister as she picked up the phone. “Would you like to meet the girl”? “She will arrive