Kolkata hits you with heat, humidity and a relentless cacophony of sound from a million hooters. Cars, buses, lorries, yellow taxis, motorbikes, autorickshaws, hand-drawn rickshaws and handcarts all vie for the limited space on the roads. The pavements are often covered with stalls so pedestrians brave the traffic, everyone dodging and weaving. Red traffic lights sometimes mean stop but this is not universally accepted. One-way streets too seem to be optional if you have fewer than three wheels. Some one-way streets have the quaint rule of changing direction at midday. The bustle of activity is intense, with goods being carried on heads, shoulders and carts, and stall holders selling everything from bangles and beads to hosepipes, stoves and knickers. Around the water pumps on the pavements groups of people would be washing themselves or their clothes, and the occasional homeless person would be asleep on a wall or in a doorway. Very few people were begging for money, but the shop touts could be irritating, following you along the street saying their shop had everything from handicrafts to pashminas, peanuts, tee-shirts and shawls. On street corners the rickshaw owners would ring their little bell and eagerly ask where you wanted go. I clearly remember the sight of one well dressed man on his mobile phone being pulled along in a rickshaw by a barefooted man in ragged shorts and tee-shirt. I guess Kolkata is no different from many other places – there will always be the haves and the have-nots. The numerous chai stalls selling their sweetened tea in tiny red clay cups were everywhere as well as food stalls with rice, noodles and stews always available, the smell of food mixed with the scent of incense from a fruit stall along with a touch of exhaust fumes and occasionally horse poo. The famous sweet shops just had to be visited as well for a serious sugar fix. The Victoria Monument, that grand edifice from the days of ‘The Empire’, sits in its spacious and well groomed parkland, its white marble domes gleaming in the sun. Darjeeling was suffering from a surfeit of jeep taxis all trying to fit into the same space regardless of which side of the road the space happened to be. The philosophy was to keep blowing your horn as somehow this would cause the vehicles in front, as well as those coming in the opposite direction, to somehow magically disappear and allow you to progress. The ride on the narrow gauge railway was fun with the line criss-crossing the road and the loud whistling to warn people and cars to clear the way. It was a wonderful site, the tine blue engine puffing its way through the swirling mists pulling its two coaches. It is a pity it is so often rather disparagingly called a ‘toy’ train. I am sure it is far from that for the people who look after it with such loving care. The Singalila trek was brilliant and all of us were astounded by the quality and quantity of food that the cook and his assistant could produce three times a day, plus snacks, on two kerosene burners. All of the staff were always really friendly and extremely helpful. The low cloud and rain on the first two afternoons did not bode well as we slogged our way ever upwards through dripping forest, but on the third day it cleared and we had the most fantastic views of the mountains every morning. From our chilly campsites at Nepal Tar and Sandakphu, after breaking our way out of the frozen tents and with our hands wrapped tightly round a steaming mug of tea, the sight of the snow capped peaks of the Kanchenjunga and Everest ranges turning pink and then gleaming white as the sun rose was truly memorable. (Make sure you have a really good sleeping bag, thermals, hat and a couple of fleeces or a down jacket). The scenery as we walked was wonderful – steep sided valleys, forest, streams and waterfalls, some with prayer flags fluttering above them, pasture with a few yaks or goats, and the absolute silence. The contrast with the cacophony of Darjeeling and Kolkata was just lovely! Occasionally we passed through a small village and were frequently greeted with ‘Namasta’, Nepali for ‘Hello’. We were very lucky in that three of the monasteries that we visited had services going on. The main halls themselves were superb with their richly decorated walls and ceilings, numerous beautifully painted statues of fearsome looking gods, and of course Buddha himself serenely gazing down on his followers. The chanting was haunting and mesmerising, sometimes interspersed with blasts on long and short horns, the clash of cymbals and the tinkling of bells. The whole trip was a heady mixture of sights, sounds and silence, memorable and thought provoking, with never to be forgotten experiences and of course the awe inspiring mountains. (SQ - 15 October 2010)
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