Delightful Darjeeling

In that little thumb of land wedged in between the Himalayan nations of Nepal and Bhutan, Darjeeling is perched some 2100 meters above sea level. A bustling town and regional hub, officially in the state of West Bengal, Darjeeling has far more of a Nepali and Tibetan feel to it. Indeed, not much Bengali is heard; the main Indian language is Hindi. The local cinema, in the rather sad Rink Mall, has only played, since we've been here, Hindi films. 

Not being able to resist the temptation of Hindi movies here in the Desh, so far I have seen Bol Bachchan and Cocktail, the only two that have played. The latter flick, starring Saif Ali Khan (how does he still look so good?), the surprisingly versatile Deepika Padukone, as well as Diana Penty, deals with a love triangle, in a modern way that would have been unthinkable ten years ago. A thumping soundtrack makes it a film worth seeing. As for Bol Bachchan, it was kind of silly, but still amusing. Its fight scenes were really good though. 

But I digress. It's monsoon time in India, and the putative state of Gorkhaland is no exception. The mist and clouds are always thick, and the drizzle is more or less constant. Yet for a brief period each morning, the clouds open up revealing the spectacular mountain range, in view from almost everywhere, including from our hotel room. We awake each day to monks chanting and the wafting of temple incense. The hotel Seven Seventeen is owned by a Tibetan family; they built it from an initial six rooms twenty years ago to a formidable six floors. And they've done a great job at it, too.

There is plenty to do in Darjeeling. We have been to the Himalayan zoo, with its well-kept grounds and fascinating collection of species large and small, native to this region. There are parks. There are endless lane ways to get lost in, up and down the hills of the town. Of particular note is the cable car. Although Adam was reluctant to go with so much low-flying cloud, it ended up being a blessing. Going down, we could see the tea plantations just beyond the mist below. Coming up, I had the distinct sense of ascending to heaven, enveloped in fluffy clouds. There's even a fetching botanical garden, although in the rain it was somewhat less than wonderful, save for the orchid house, which was indoors.

What's more, in addition to the very shanti vibe, the breathtaking vistas, Darjeeling has no discernible population of mosquitoes. It's quite nearly paradise. I'm thinking it may be the best place I've been to in all of India, with Kovalam as the runner-up.

We're about halfway through our stay in this delightful town. Arrangements have however been been for the following two legs of our journey. Next up: tear up the town with good friends in big city Delhi, my hands-down favorite metro in India. Thereafter, up to Leh, aka Ladakh, in the Tibetan portion of Kashmir, all of 3500 meters above sea level, with an excellent probability of snow. Stay tuned. Austrian Immigration can take its sweet time.

Motivation Darjeeling

Puri without the bhang isn't so great. The saving grace really ended up being the Hotel Gandhara, with its pool, chill atmosphere, and toward the final days of our stay, some young European backpackers. I took full advantage of the opportunity to practice some German in anticipation of Vienna.

Getting from Puri to Darjeeling actually has some logic as far as itineraries go. The two are connected via Calcutta by airports in Bhubaneswar in Orissa, and Bagdogra on the northern West Bengal side. Adam has wanted to see snow since forever, and Darjeeling is just a stone's throw (about 40 km) from Gantok, which lies in Sikkim, and indeed has snow year round, or so I've read. Indeed, in Thai, "hi ma lay", the word for Himalaya, contains the word for snow, i.e. "hi ma".

At 6 AM, we didn't get off to such a good start, as the car we had rented had some defect that obliged us to turn back to Puri within five minutes of setting off. Car change effected (to a much nicer model) and we were off, in comfort, bidding farewell to the lovely Orissa countryside.

Enter Jet Airways, the tried and true favorite of the subcontinent. They fly to both destinations so we were able to get a single ticket. Interestingly, although they checked the backpack all the way through to Bagdogra, they gave us two sets of boarding passes, which led me to believe that we would have to disembark in Calcutta. We did actually alight the plane, only to be instructed to get back on. It was the same craft that would take us through to our final destination.

There were tons of police and soldiers when we arrived, as West Bengal's Chief Minister was due to pay a visit the very same day. She would do well to fix the roads in that region of the state. They were in deplorable shape. Luckily for us, the charge for a big car was only nominally more than for a small one, and we set off in style, yet again, on a 90 km mountain climb, which would take the better part of three hours.

The mountain views started right away. Our driver was a nice and handsome chap, who played Hindi movie songs on the stereo and was patient enough to converse with me as I mangled the Hindi language. As our journey progressed, climbing ever further, going around seemingly countless hairpin turns, the scenery got ever more impressive. It became foggy as we got high enough to have low flying clouds in our midst. 

Darjeeling is actually a bustling town, full of commerce, and with a significant Tibetan exile community. Indeed the vibe is very Tibetan, and the altitude of over 2100 meters together with the mountain air adds to it. In July, the temperature gets down to 9 or 10 Celsius at night; although with no wind, it doesn't seem so cold. Nevertheless, we immediately bought warm clothes upon arrival from a lovely Tibetan shop. Items included two gorgeous hand-made wool cardigans with hoods (matching, of course), as well as two really neat pairs of gloves. The gloves are wool knit, with soft cotton lining. The fingers are open for dexterity, but can be covered, turning them into mittens. Great for winter bike riding in Vienna.

In addition to beautiful scenery and a very positive vibe, Darjeeling actually has scores of activities, very unlike Puri. Tea tasting, pony riding, even white water rafting (though we may skip that last one), just to name a few. So on the first morning, after a rather starchy but certainly hearty breakfast, we set out to check things out and have some fun.

Konark Sun Temple

Konark Sun Temple is a 13th century Sun Temple (also known as the Black Pagoda)[1], at Konark, in Orissa. It was constructed from oxidized and weathered ferruginous sandstone by King Narasimhadeva I (1238-1250 CE) of the Eastern Ganga Dynasty. 

Legend has it that the temple was constructed by Samba, the son of Lord Krishna. It is said that Samba was afflicted by leprosy, brought about by his father’s curse on him. After 12 years of penance, he was cured by Surya, the Sun God, in whose honor he built the magnificent Konark Sun Temple. 

The Sun Temple, built in the thirteenth century, was conceived as a gigantic chariot of the Sun God, with twelve pairs of exquisitely ornamented wheels pulled by seven pairs of horses. Majestic in conception, this temple is one of the most sublime monuments of India, famous as much for its imposing dimensions and faultless proportions as for the harmonious integration of architectural grandeur with plastic allegiance. Every inch of the temple is covered with sculpture of an unsurpassed beauty and grace, in tableaux and freestanding pieces ranging from the monumental to the miniature. The subject matter is fascinating. Thousands of images include deities, celestial and human musicians, dancers, lovers, and myriad scenes of courtly life, ranging from hunts and military battles to the pleasures of courtly relaxation. These are interspersed with birds, animals (close to two thousand charming and lively elephants march around the base of the main temple alone), mythological creatures, and a wealth of intricate botanical and geometrical decorative designs. 

The temple is famous for its erotic sculptures, which can be found primarily on the second level of the porch structure. It will become immediately apparent upon viewing them that the frank nature of their content is combined with an overwhelming tenderness and lyrical movement. This same kindly and indulgent view of life extends to almost all the other sculptures at Konark, where the thousands of human, animal, and divine personages are shown engaged in the full range of the 'carnival of life' with an overwhelming sense of appealing realism.  

Legend has it that, the uniqueness of the temple lies in the fact that between every two stone pieces there lies an iron plate (this can be clearly seen). The temples higher floors have been reinforced using massive iron beams. This fantastic effort in human perseverance took 1200 workers about 12 years to complete and that the ’’Dadhinauti’’ (Peak) of the main temple had to be installed by the 12 year old son of the Chief Architect. The said peak being a 52 ton magnet. This magnet was the reason the entire edifice endured the harsh conditions (being on the sea front) for centuries without being affected. The main pratima (idol) was believed to be floating in the air because of the unique arrangements of the main magnets and other series of magnets. The placement of the temple had been aligned in a way that the first rays of the Sun falling on the coast would pass thru the Nata Mandir and would reflect from the diamond placed at the center of this idol in the Main Sanctum. This phenomena would last for a couple of minutes during the early morning. These magnets were later removed by the Britishers for acquiring the magnetic stone, 

Other legends state that, the magnetic effects of the lodestone was so strong that it disturbed the ships compasses that passed by the coast and the ships would run aground. To save their trade and their ships, the Portuguese took away the lodestone. The lodestone that was acting as the central stone and keeping all the stones of the temple wall balanced, fell out of alignment because of its removal and eventually led to the destruction of Main Sanctum. 

Source: Wikipedia

I certainly couldn't describe it better myself. The temple is nearly overwhelming. It is immediately clear that a heck of a lot of forethought went into it. 

Having downed two generous helpings of bhang lassi, Adam and I got in an auto rickshaw and headed for "another" temple, i.e. not the Jagannath Puri one. With no expectations, it would never have been much of a challenge to impress us. But we could not have anticipated something so great: truly a monument to a brilliant civilization.

At the entrance to the temple grounds, a middle-aged man came up to us. He was wearing a uniform of sorts, so without too much thought, seeing that he kind of looked official, I handed him Rs. 200 and he was hired as our guide. To be fair, he was very knowledgeable, and it was also apparent that he was a Brahmin, which made the tour extraordinarily informative. However he was also a chauvinistic Hindu nationalist, and spewed invective at length, the contents of which are not worth repeating. By the end of the tour, we felt rather uncomfortable in his presence.

The prejudices of others aside, it was truly an amazing sight, and we experienced it in a meaningful way.

We are about halfway through our sojourn in Puri. Varanasi is still an idea, but perhaps later on. Thoughts are now turning towards Darjeeling, part of the "original" plan. Today is just lazing around the hotel grounds. Tomorrow will involve a trip to the travel agent.

Puri

Josh-bhai was in Puri some six years ago, about a year before I made my Great Yearlong Sojourn in India. He had warmly recommended it. Not so much because of the beach, even though it is on the Bay of Bengal; as the Lonely Planet aptly puts it, “this is no palm-fringed paradise”. The waves are huge, so besides being of dubious cleanliness, it’s not really my kind of waterfront, lovely as it is to walk along.

There’s also the the Jagannath Puri temple, a major (and I mean major) pilgrimage site. We arrived in the aftermath of a great festival, so the entire place was thronged, as only in India such places can be. Perhaps it is because, being the first port of call, I’m still enthused about being back in India; I can’t help but feel a very positive vibe in this place.

Adam is in shock pretty much all the time. However he’s enjoying himself, and at every meal he tries new things, which is a far cry from only a year ago. So far, we’ve established that he likes egg curry, Haldiram, and the Desi rendition of chow mein. He’s not a fan of chapatis, naans, rotis or any other breads; neither does he go in much for daal. Even daal makhni wasn’t to his taste, which I found a bit surprising, as it contains a ton of ghee, which should make just about everything taste good. And pickles are my weakness, but alas, mine alone. No matter.

The greatest pull of Puri however is the supposed ubiquitousness of bhang, ganja (and even, so I’ve read, opium). As a holy city, you cannot purchase alcohol (although our hotel discretely stocks beer). Instead, in licensed government shops, Shiva-wallahs and others can legally procure their stash. So far this statal source has eluded me, but we’re here for at least ten days, so I’m sure something will turn up.

There don’t seem to be too many Western tourists. It’s really only Indian families right now. I was also looking to buy the latest incarnation of a Bag of Culture, but the wares we’ve seen so far don’t quite fit the bill. Not really hippie-dippie enough. No rush. In any case, this is shaping up to be a rather different sort of trip than the previous ones. At this point, we’re still undecided on what to do next. We’ll be in Delhi on July 20th, as I have just too many good friends there to pass up at least ten days in the capital, no doubt my favorite metro in this country. Just now though I’m toying with the idea of Varanasi. Let’s see how things shape up.