I am in Argentina planning my overland adventure to reach trekking destinations in Northern Chile. It is great having Mom here visiting (although I have to do most of the talking in Spanish). Happy Thanksgiving!
Monday, November 24, 2008
photos from India
I am in Argentina planning my overland adventure to reach trekking destinations in Northern Chile. It is great having Mom here visiting (although I have to do most of the talking in Spanish). Happy Thanksgiving!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
1st Quarterly Report
I know I asked the right questions about mountain huts and wilderness because three and a half months in, there are no easy answers. Thinking about intellectual questions even as I enjoy the pink glow of sunset on snowy peaks is not new to me, but there is more complexity surrounding the meaning of wilderness in Switzerland and India than I imagined when I wrote my proposal.
My first night in a mountain hut was at Aescher Berghotel in Appenzell. It was the Swiss national holiday and the celebratory fireworks matched my mood as I began to understand the Swiss system. There certainly is a mountain hut system run by a single organization, the Swiss Alpine Club, but I realized that narrowly defining my project liker that would leave out so much of the infrastructure available to hikers and climbers in Switzerland. So I happily trekked to and stayed at Berghotels in tiny alps and isolated, privately run inns as well as SAC huts.
My success in Switzerland was finding out about these different kinds of mountain huts and figuring out how to creatively arrange my own hiking circuits. I did not visit the most famous tourist destinations like Jungfrau in the Berner Oberland or the Matterhorn in Wallas. Instead, I went to the little huts--the ones Swiss people visit-- the ones that, according to their log books, haven't seen an American in years. The looseness of the Swiss system and the wide availability of services for hikers allowed me to be spontaneous, planning only day by day. I walked alone most of the time, silently passing through deserted alps and past cows with clanging bells (ok, silent except when I was belting out "the hills are alive..."). My mind was racing, though: could I really call any of the places I walked wilderness? There were branded cows and goats everywhere, indicating the presence of farmers and, more importantly, the fact that someone owned the land. I crossed countless fences---wooden, wire, electric-- and walked on well marked trails not only at altitude but also all the way down into villages. These were trails to get places, not tourist trails to see places. There was nothing wild about this landscape. Even an eerie howl turned out to be no more than an alpine horn player giving an afternoon concert to the misty mountains.
I explained my project to my friend Claudia, a Swiss mountain biker I met at Aescher on my first night. Claudia speaks English well, but she didn't understand what I meant by "wilderness." I have her my crudest definition: wild nature, untouched by humans. "Oh yes," she said, "we have some of that much higher up." After hiking hut to hut in Appenzell, Ticino, the Berner Oberland, and the Valais, I came to agree with Claudia. There is some wilderness "up there," but it wasn't where these huts were. I was in farm country--the presence of hikers does not disturb the cows or their farmers (and their purchases are certainly welcome). Importantly, it is the farmers tolerating hikers, and not the other way around. For the Swiss, wilderness begins when it is too high for the land to be used as summer pasture for cows. Wilderness is the land on crampons and ice axes, where daily climbers make daring ascents to peak summits. There was no question in the minds of the Swiss media who reported on the numerous climber deaths that took place while I was hiking in Switzerland. These victims had ventured into the uncertainty of wilderness, where no hut can protect you from the elements.
I left Switzerland with confidence--I had built up strength by carrying my pack over high mountain passes and I knew how to schedule my time to see the huts that I wanted. My failure in India was my inability to do what I had done in Switzerland: independently organize my time. Two bouts of illness undermined the strength I had built up and government regulations concerning foreigners on treks hampered the spontaneity I had while hut hopping in the Alps. Eventually, of course, I did go on the treks that I wanted--I saw the Himalayas from three different states: Ladakh, Sikkim, and West Bengal. But at times, I felt that my Watson spirit was lacking because I had to wait for permits or for other travelers instead of setting off for adventures on my own.
My experience with the limited access that I had to trekking regions naturally influenced my perception of wilderness in India.
As I had anticipated, there were villages scattered throughout the Himalayas, even at high altitudes. Like Switzerland, grazing animals were the surest indication of human presence. There was a variety of lodging available to trekkers depending on the trail and time of year. I stayed in wooden shacks with warped plank walls and just a space to roll out a sleeping bag on the Dzongri trek in West Sikkim. I stayed in a solid stone building with bed frames and an indoor toilet on the Singalila Ridge trek outside of Darjeeling. The biggest factor affecting the trekker experience was whether the lodging was built specifically for trekkers or was simply a part of a local family home.
In the mountain hut systems I visited, the rhythm of life was determined by the locals, not the trekkers. At times I was eating breakfast as one of the family, on a wicker stool by a fire in the dirt-floor kitchen. And even if farmers did not run lodges themselves, they still interacted with tourists, selling snacks and drinks in small shops nearby. And the physical evidence of those goods -- the plastic wrappers along the trails and the scent of burning trash -- was everywhere.
A wilderness utterly lacking in human presence is something to be guarded against here in India. Roads reach past 18,000ft outside of Leh, the capital of Ladakh, making what would have been extreme wilderness at altitude another access point to the border for the Indian army. The difference in political situations between Switzerland and India certainly affects the meaning of wilderness here in India. The trekking regions I visited seemed to be dangerous wilderness areas not ebcause of the risk to human life, like in Switzerland, but because of the possible threats to national security. An empty landscape is one to be guarded against in the border regions of India, even the supposedly non-threatening ones. The regulations that frustrated me, like needing to hike with another foreigner and needing to hire a guide, seemed intent on monitoring the actions of foreigners in the wilderness regions. And I registered my passport at army check posts innumerable times while on the trail. Certainly not all of Indian wilderness is near a border, but based on the places I visited, it seems that like Switzerland, wilderness in India is where things turn dangerous. In both countries, there are the same considerations like villages in remote areas and icy peaks requiring crampons, but the political situation added another dimension to my understanding of wilderness in India.
I am looking forward to taking more chances in my planning of treks in the coming months as I head to South America tomorrow. As I visit more mountain hut systems, my understanding of wilderness becomes more and more complicated. I am glad that there are still so many unknown factors out there to challenge me.
My first night in a mountain hut was at Aescher Berghotel in Appenzell. It was the Swiss national holiday and the celebratory fireworks matched my mood as I began to understand the Swiss system. There certainly is a mountain hut system run by a single organization, the Swiss Alpine Club, but I realized that narrowly defining my project liker that would leave out so much of the infrastructure available to hikers and climbers in Switzerland. So I happily trekked to and stayed at Berghotels in tiny alps and isolated, privately run inns as well as SAC huts.
My success in Switzerland was finding out about these different kinds of mountain huts and figuring out how to creatively arrange my own hiking circuits. I did not visit the most famous tourist destinations like Jungfrau in the Berner Oberland or the Matterhorn in Wallas. Instead, I went to the little huts--the ones Swiss people visit-- the ones that, according to their log books, haven't seen an American in years. The looseness of the Swiss system and the wide availability of services for hikers allowed me to be spontaneous, planning only day by day. I walked alone most of the time, silently passing through deserted alps and past cows with clanging bells (ok, silent except when I was belting out "the hills are alive..."). My mind was racing, though: could I really call any of the places I walked wilderness? There were branded cows and goats everywhere, indicating the presence of farmers and, more importantly, the fact that someone owned the land. I crossed countless fences---wooden, wire, electric-- and walked on well marked trails not only at altitude but also all the way down into villages. These were trails to get places, not tourist trails to see places. There was nothing wild about this landscape. Even an eerie howl turned out to be no more than an alpine horn player giving an afternoon concert to the misty mountains.
I explained my project to my friend Claudia, a Swiss mountain biker I met at Aescher on my first night. Claudia speaks English well, but she didn't understand what I meant by "wilderness." I have her my crudest definition: wild nature, untouched by humans. "Oh yes," she said, "we have some of that much higher up." After hiking hut to hut in Appenzell, Ticino, the Berner Oberland, and the Valais, I came to agree with Claudia. There is some wilderness "up there," but it wasn't where these huts were. I was in farm country--the presence of hikers does not disturb the cows or their farmers (and their purchases are certainly welcome). Importantly, it is the farmers tolerating hikers, and not the other way around. For the Swiss, wilderness begins when it is too high for the land to be used as summer pasture for cows. Wilderness is the land on crampons and ice axes, where daily climbers make daring ascents to peak summits. There was no question in the minds of the Swiss media who reported on the numerous climber deaths that took place while I was hiking in Switzerland. These victims had ventured into the uncertainty of wilderness, where no hut can protect you from the elements.
I left Switzerland with confidence--I had built up strength by carrying my pack over high mountain passes and I knew how to schedule my time to see the huts that I wanted. My failure in India was my inability to do what I had done in Switzerland: independently organize my time. Two bouts of illness undermined the strength I had built up and government regulations concerning foreigners on treks hampered the spontaneity I had while hut hopping in the Alps. Eventually, of course, I did go on the treks that I wanted--I saw the Himalayas from three different states: Ladakh, Sikkim, and West Bengal. But at times, I felt that my Watson spirit was lacking because I had to wait for permits or for other travelers instead of setting off for adventures on my own.
My experience with the limited access that I had to trekking regions naturally influenced my perception of wilderness in India.
As I had anticipated, there were villages scattered throughout the Himalayas, even at high altitudes. Like Switzerland, grazing animals were the surest indication of human presence. There was a variety of lodging available to trekkers depending on the trail and time of year. I stayed in wooden shacks with warped plank walls and just a space to roll out a sleeping bag on the Dzongri trek in West Sikkim. I stayed in a solid stone building with bed frames and an indoor toilet on the Singalila Ridge trek outside of Darjeeling. The biggest factor affecting the trekker experience was whether the lodging was built specifically for trekkers or was simply a part of a local family home.
In the mountain hut systems I visited, the rhythm of life was determined by the locals, not the trekkers. At times I was eating breakfast as one of the family, on a wicker stool by a fire in the dirt-floor kitchen. And even if farmers did not run lodges themselves, they still interacted with tourists, selling snacks and drinks in small shops nearby. And the physical evidence of those goods -- the plastic wrappers along the trails and the scent of burning trash -- was everywhere.
A wilderness utterly lacking in human presence is something to be guarded against here in India. Roads reach past 18,000ft outside of Leh, the capital of Ladakh, making what would have been extreme wilderness at altitude another access point to the border for the Indian army. The difference in political situations between Switzerland and India certainly affects the meaning of wilderness here in India. The trekking regions I visited seemed to be dangerous wilderness areas not ebcause of the risk to human life, like in Switzerland, but because of the possible threats to national security. An empty landscape is one to be guarded against in the border regions of India, even the supposedly non-threatening ones. The regulations that frustrated me, like needing to hike with another foreigner and needing to hire a guide, seemed intent on monitoring the actions of foreigners in the wilderness regions. And I registered my passport at army check posts innumerable times while on the trail. Certainly not all of Indian wilderness is near a border, but based on the places I visited, it seems that like Switzerland, wilderness in India is where things turn dangerous. In both countries, there are the same considerations like villages in remote areas and icy peaks requiring crampons, but the political situation added another dimension to my understanding of wilderness in India.
I am looking forward to taking more chances in my planning of treks in the coming months as I head to South America tomorrow. As I visit more mountain hut systems, my understanding of wilderness becomes more and more complicated. I am glad that there are still so many unknown factors out there to challenge me.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Singalila Ridge Trek
I got up early so that I would be ready to meet my guide, required by the Indian government, by 8.30. It was early enough that the streets were still quiet and I could smell the fish slopped out on wooden slabs and the chickens freshly slaughered, all ready for sale. Rajin and I took a share taxi to the start of the trek. There was traffic along the way, caused by rows of trucks filled with flag-waving singers, all shouting Jai Gorkha. In Mana Bhanjang, the officer at the checkpost who looked at my passport asked me what I thought of Obama. This was a common response when I said I was from the US, even in the tiniest Nepali villages in the mountains. The road at the end of the main bazaar was blocked off and a banner strung above the road said that this was the finish for the Himalayan 100 mile run/trek. Wow. Imagine running a marathon. In the mountains. Four days in a row. We were there along with the schoolchildren waving Indian flags to watch the first finisher cross the line. With a more limited effort, I began the walk up with Rajin. The first 2 km were quite steep, but the effect was lessened by the two stops we made for tea along the way. These "huts" were part of the system - we could have stayed here except that would have made for a very short day. It was nice to have a local refreshment without the weight in our packs. Right before we got to Tonglu in the afternoon, we plopped down on the grass (well Rajin was more graceful anyway) and looked off into the blue landscape. To the left of the ridge is Nepal-- the rolling hills don't look too different from the ones on the Indian side, but it is a cool feeling knowing that across the way is an entirely different country. The trail the first day was often deep groves in the dried mud. The park is closed for 3 months during the summer monsoons, so I imagine that is enough time to wash away the trail that is set the rest of the year. We passed only a few people, all locals walking down with huge baskets of wood balanced on their foreheads. By the end of the day, my face ws crusty with dried sweat and my sleeves were black with soot, but I was loving it. It was late afternoon and the light falling on the full-on view of Mt. Kachendzonga was hazy. There was Hindi music playing as I sat outside in the fading light, but otherwise I just heard cows walking home on the rocky road. The lodge I stayed at was part of a family home. I was the only trekker there, so I got to warm my hands by the same fire as the children and watch as they cooked. I ate separately from them, but it was the same Nepali fare. The lodge felt homey and my room was a huge step up from the trekkers' huts on the Dzongri trek -- there was no cold wind coming through cracks in the wall and I even had my own bathroom. I went to sleep with my Nalgenes filled with hot water (purified for the morning) so my toes were warm as I went to sleep.
Breakfast was at 7am. I could pack my jacket because the sun was warm even at that hour. I got a stool in the kitchen and got to watch from only inches away as my host family for the day made Tibetan roti over the fire. The dough was rolled out then cut in the middle 3 or 4 times, long lines that didn't reach the edge of the circle. The roti were fried up to cripy, almost flaky perfection. We left at 7.40 am and I arrived at Sandakphur a full 8 hours and 45 minutes later. This day was a tie, in my book, for the world's longest hiking days ever (this is mostly in terms of attitude, not in terms of actual length). The first part of the day was sold - it was pretty flat and easy. We passed through a village much bigger than the one we stayed in the night before, but it was very quiet - everyone was either inside or out working in the fields. Only an hour into the hike, I got a clear view, albeit from far away, of the flat-topped Lhotse and that most famous of peaks, Everest. I felt exhilirated after that, ready to walk and walk. We covered 13 out of 19km before lunch. There were steep bits, switchbacks up entire mountainsides at impossible angles that seemed to go on forever. I occupied myself by calculating my walking speed at different times - this was better than focusing on the blisters on the back of each heel. The last set of switchbacks were the worst -- I could see a roof at the top of the hill, but I couldn't walk any faster. I needed a break every 20 steps to make it up the next section. How happy I was to put my feet up on a bed when we got to the trekkers' hut at the top. The soles burned and tingled and froze all at the same time. I had to get on my feet again quickly though to check in at the checkpost with my passport. This night I was comfortable, but there was little feeling of family. I was glad to have the hot water bottles in my sleeping bag at the higher altitude. I stayed up and looked at my photos of the day. It is definitely fall here: the mountainside looks like a zoomed in Seurat painting - the overall effect is green, but there are discernable blobs of color-yellow and gold and maroon and white- dabbed everywhere.
Rajin knocked on my window at 5.15am. Was it really my idea to get up at that insane hour? But how often will I get a chance to see the sunrise on both Kanchendzonga and Everest? It was a much easier walk to the viewpoint than the one I had at Dzongri. There was only 1 other American there and a few Indians. The fiery red skittle of a sun hit Kanchendonga before Everest, and its light was on us quickly, making the morning warm even before 6am. After taking the "usual" sunrise in the Himalayas with prayer flags fluttering in the foreground picture, I descended. It was all blue skies and easy going for most of the day. 21km seemed daunting after my experience the day before, but I regained my confidence quickly. We left the jeep road and made our way across grassy hillsides. The trees here were wind-blown-all knobbly and spindly. The red arrows spray painted on the ground a few days earlier to direct the runners in the Himalayan 100mi race were oddly reminiscent of the Swiss trail markers I saw back in August. There were no villages to stop at for tea on this day, so we ate biscuits instead. Isn't that reason enough to go trekking--when cookies are allowed at 9.30am? Phalut, just below the dividing line of West Bengal, Sikkim, and Nepal is not a village but merely a forest service outpost. I took off my boots right away, the Chacos giving my raw heels a chance to breath. I sat and ate noodle soup outside and watched as the officers in uniform scurried around in a hurry. An important personage--the secretary of the environment of all of India- was expected at any moment, so the men were tightening belt buckles and straightening hats. Three jeeps pulled up in a cloud of dust and the forest service men stood at attention. I could tell who the head honcho was by the stiff posture of the men as they saluted. There were at least 12 people milling about after getting out of the jeep, along with the uniformed men who were already there, but when the Secretary saw me he greeted me and sat down at the table with me. We preceeded to have an entire conversation while with whole contingent stood back and waited-- and yes, everyone was listening. He asked me where I was from and what I was doing here. He didn't see the connection between my study of history and my interest in mountain hut systems, so he decided to enlighten me on the topic. "Do you know what it was like here 30 or 50 years ago?" he asked. Well, no. He could tell me because he had been here 50 years ago, when the trekkers hut, now destroyed, was further up the hill. In those days, the huts were made of wood, the kind of buildings that let cold air in as I had experienced at Dzongri. He indicated the new trekkers hut where I had left my pack--a stone hut would have been unthinkable back then. After ennumerating a few further concepts, he thanked me for talking with him and the whole group shuffled down past the trekkers hut to the green forest service hut. Only afterwards did it strike me that my casual, American nature of talking might have seemed rude to those listening, since I didn't use sir as automatically as they did. Rajin and I left the hut and went up the hillside (past the the ruins of the old trekkers hut, as promised) to the viewpoint. With prayer flags fluttering, I admired my last view of the snowy Kanchendzonga and Everest ranges.
In a final episode of growing pains, I woke up and realized my last wisdom tooth is growing in. The others did the same in Spain - they must like traveling. I ate my porridge sitting in the sun outside. I couldn't finish the whole bowl, that it turned out ok because it was an easier day. The trail was gentle downward slopes through shady forests. The trees were mossing and I crunched on speckled fallen leaves the whole way down. We came to Gorkhey just past 11. The unique location didn't really sink in until I was sitting in a kitchen drinking tea. I looked out of the window at brightly lit terraced fields. I could see cows grazing and a few weather-beaten farmers digging in the dirt. I had to remind myself how different this is-- how special to be in a quiet Nepali village. Like a true Indian, I squatted by the water spicket outside and washed my pants for the first time in 25 days. How's that for adventure. I might have been in shape to walk 10 miles a day, but washing clothes by hand was a different matter- my forearms felt very tired after that. I took lunch outside--roti, an omelette, and a highlighter green prickly vegetable. After lunch, with our smelly socks drying on the top of a thatched bamboo roof, Rajin and I walked across a rickety bridge and we were back in Sikkim (oops no permit this time). It is past harvest time, so all that is left on the terraced fields are the bottoms of corn stalks.
I ate my morning porridge and we set off through other quiet villages on the way to Rimbik. We were on a local trail, just stoned laid out between fields. The people along the way were interested in me like I was in them. I took a much needed hot bath in Rimbik and enjoyed the views of Darjeeling across the valley. And finally, I started working on my thoughts about wilderness, my conclusions (or at least my observations) from the last 3.5 months of travel. I am now back in Darjeeling after a long morning drive. Cold, cloudy weather has set in, so I know how lucky I was to have sun and clear skies for the entire trek (yes, even in the afternoons). I will take a share jeep to Siliguri then a taxi to Bagdogra and fly to Delhi from there. All this to do mundane things like get a Tanzanian visa and add pages to my passport (both only possible M-F). I got train tickets for a day trip to Agra so I can take a picture of my rubber ducky with the Taj Mahal, my one concession to famous sights in India. And somewhere along the way I will type up the quarterly report I wrote and post it here. My last few days in India, coming up...
Breakfast was at 7am. I could pack my jacket because the sun was warm even at that hour. I got a stool in the kitchen and got to watch from only inches away as my host family for the day made Tibetan roti over the fire. The dough was rolled out then cut in the middle 3 or 4 times, long lines that didn't reach the edge of the circle. The roti were fried up to cripy, almost flaky perfection. We left at 7.40 am and I arrived at Sandakphur a full 8 hours and 45 minutes later. This day was a tie, in my book, for the world's longest hiking days ever (this is mostly in terms of attitude, not in terms of actual length). The first part of the day was sold - it was pretty flat and easy. We passed through a village much bigger than the one we stayed in the night before, but it was very quiet - everyone was either inside or out working in the fields. Only an hour into the hike, I got a clear view, albeit from far away, of the flat-topped Lhotse and that most famous of peaks, Everest. I felt exhilirated after that, ready to walk and walk. We covered 13 out of 19km before lunch. There were steep bits, switchbacks up entire mountainsides at impossible angles that seemed to go on forever. I occupied myself by calculating my walking speed at different times - this was better than focusing on the blisters on the back of each heel. The last set of switchbacks were the worst -- I could see a roof at the top of the hill, but I couldn't walk any faster. I needed a break every 20 steps to make it up the next section. How happy I was to put my feet up on a bed when we got to the trekkers' hut at the top. The soles burned and tingled and froze all at the same time. I had to get on my feet again quickly though to check in at the checkpost with my passport. This night I was comfortable, but there was little feeling of family. I was glad to have the hot water bottles in my sleeping bag at the higher altitude. I stayed up and looked at my photos of the day. It is definitely fall here: the mountainside looks like a zoomed in Seurat painting - the overall effect is green, but there are discernable blobs of color-yellow and gold and maroon and white- dabbed everywhere.
Rajin knocked on my window at 5.15am. Was it really my idea to get up at that insane hour? But how often will I get a chance to see the sunrise on both Kanchendzonga and Everest? It was a much easier walk to the viewpoint than the one I had at Dzongri. There was only 1 other American there and a few Indians. The fiery red skittle of a sun hit Kanchendonga before Everest, and its light was on us quickly, making the morning warm even before 6am. After taking the "usual" sunrise in the Himalayas with prayer flags fluttering in the foreground picture, I descended. It was all blue skies and easy going for most of the day. 21km seemed daunting after my experience the day before, but I regained my confidence quickly. We left the jeep road and made our way across grassy hillsides. The trees here were wind-blown-all knobbly and spindly. The red arrows spray painted on the ground a few days earlier to direct the runners in the Himalayan 100mi race were oddly reminiscent of the Swiss trail markers I saw back in August. There were no villages to stop at for tea on this day, so we ate biscuits instead. Isn't that reason enough to go trekking--when cookies are allowed at 9.30am? Phalut, just below the dividing line of West Bengal, Sikkim, and Nepal is not a village but merely a forest service outpost. I took off my boots right away, the Chacos giving my raw heels a chance to breath. I sat and ate noodle soup outside and watched as the officers in uniform scurried around in a hurry. An important personage--the secretary of the environment of all of India- was expected at any moment, so the men were tightening belt buckles and straightening hats. Three jeeps pulled up in a cloud of dust and the forest service men stood at attention. I could tell who the head honcho was by the stiff posture of the men as they saluted. There were at least 12 people milling about after getting out of the jeep, along with the uniformed men who were already there, but when the Secretary saw me he greeted me and sat down at the table with me. We preceeded to have an entire conversation while with whole contingent stood back and waited-- and yes, everyone was listening. He asked me where I was from and what I was doing here. He didn't see the connection between my study of history and my interest in mountain hut systems, so he decided to enlighten me on the topic. "Do you know what it was like here 30 or 50 years ago?" he asked. Well, no. He could tell me because he had been here 50 years ago, when the trekkers hut, now destroyed, was further up the hill. In those days, the huts were made of wood, the kind of buildings that let cold air in as I had experienced at Dzongri. He indicated the new trekkers hut where I had left my pack--a stone hut would have been unthinkable back then. After ennumerating a few further concepts, he thanked me for talking with him and the whole group shuffled down past the trekkers hut to the green forest service hut. Only afterwards did it strike me that my casual, American nature of talking might have seemed rude to those listening, since I didn't use sir as automatically as they did. Rajin and I left the hut and went up the hillside (past the the ruins of the old trekkers hut, as promised) to the viewpoint. With prayer flags fluttering, I admired my last view of the snowy Kanchendzonga and Everest ranges.
In a final episode of growing pains, I woke up and realized my last wisdom tooth is growing in. The others did the same in Spain - they must like traveling. I ate my porridge sitting in the sun outside. I couldn't finish the whole bowl, that it turned out ok because it was an easier day. The trail was gentle downward slopes through shady forests. The trees were mossing and I crunched on speckled fallen leaves the whole way down. We came to Gorkhey just past 11. The unique location didn't really sink in until I was sitting in a kitchen drinking tea. I looked out of the window at brightly lit terraced fields. I could see cows grazing and a few weather-beaten farmers digging in the dirt. I had to remind myself how different this is-- how special to be in a quiet Nepali village. Like a true Indian, I squatted by the water spicket outside and washed my pants for the first time in 25 days. How's that for adventure. I might have been in shape to walk 10 miles a day, but washing clothes by hand was a different matter- my forearms felt very tired after that. I took lunch outside--roti, an omelette, and a highlighter green prickly vegetable. After lunch, with our smelly socks drying on the top of a thatched bamboo roof, Rajin and I walked across a rickety bridge and we were back in Sikkim (oops no permit this time). It is past harvest time, so all that is left on the terraced fields are the bottoms of corn stalks.
I ate my morning porridge and we set off through other quiet villages on the way to Rimbik. We were on a local trail, just stoned laid out between fields. The people along the way were interested in me like I was in them. I took a much needed hot bath in Rimbik and enjoyed the views of Darjeeling across the valley. And finally, I started working on my thoughts about wilderness, my conclusions (or at least my observations) from the last 3.5 months of travel. I am now back in Darjeeling after a long morning drive. Cold, cloudy weather has set in, so I know how lucky I was to have sun and clear skies for the entire trek (yes, even in the afternoons). I will take a share jeep to Siliguri then a taxi to Bagdogra and fly to Delhi from there. All this to do mundane things like get a Tanzanian visa and add pages to my passport (both only possible M-F). I got train tickets for a day trip to Agra so I can take a picture of my rubber ducky with the Taj Mahal, my one concession to famous sights in India. And somewhere along the way I will type up the quarterly report I wrote and post it here. My last few days in India, coming up...
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Darjeeling Limited
no not the movie - it's just that my time in Darjeeling is limited. It was tough to leave Gangtok since Sikkim has been my home for the last month. I especially didn't want to say goodbye to my "family" there because I know I will miss them. I said goodbye to Prerna, Zoe, and co. this morning and took a share jeep to Darjeeling. It was an easier ride than the one I remember taking 1 month ago from West Bengal into Sikkim; this time, there were no obstructions on the bridge. I knew we were getting close to Darjeeling because I could see peaks off in the distance brushed with snow -- not just a few mountains like there were in Pelling, but an entire mountain range. The line of peaks seemed to go on forever (in reality it was maybe 120 degrees worth of viewing). I don't think I've ever seen so many mountains all together. It was also hazy enough that the lower parts of the peaks, the parts with no snow, seemed to vanish, so that all that was visible was a long line of pointy snow. The tiny old man sitting next to me knew enough English to proudly point out where he lived in the city. I said goodbye and dropped my bag at a hotel before going off to organize my trek for tomorrow. Within an hour, I had done it, and visited the post office on top of that. I will leave tomorrow for a six day trek on the Singalila route.
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