Tabby and I went to Darjeeling the first week of February (okay, I know I am behind in writing!) for a weekend jaunt. A very sporting social work student was returning home for a few days and was gracious and kind enough to let us tag along with her. I cannot thank her and her enough for all that she and her lovely family did to make our stay memorable. They welcomed us with Darjeeling meals, provided escorts so we wouldn’t get lost or charged outrageous prices for being born foreign, and delivered much needed hot water bottles dressed in colorful knitted cozies so that we wouldn’t freeze to death.
Let me start where our adventure begins...on a train. Due to our late purchase of tickets, which was due to a last minute solidification of plans, no air conditioned compartments were available. The weather being colder up north, I didn’t think we would need it anyway. Little did I know what delights awaited me on the rails. It was an eight-ish hour overnight train. We purchased sleeper car tickets. When our student guide (P) told us that there were several other students going as well, it sounded like a lot of fun. Another student brought chicken in that he made drenched in a spicy sauce. We also celebrated a girl’s birthday with cake and singing. Very sweet. Then things turned a bit sour. In order to stay with the students, the group had to persuade two other passengers that they didn’t know to switch tickets because our seats were originally in a different car. No big deal, they said, and the first guy was fine with moving since he was traveling alone. The second guy would have none of it though. He got angry and he also demanded that we lower the middle berth immediately so that he could go to sleep, which meant we all had to go to sleep since with the middle berth down there is not enough room to sit. I smelled alcohol on his breath and thought it more likely that he was near passing out. So, Tabby and I crawled up to the top berths where the train bumped, creaked, and jostled. I felt like a bobble head on top of a rusty spring as I sat staring face to face with a very dusty fan that was attached to the ceiling. Well, to my surprise and delight, to my right, the person in the next upper berth was already asleep...er...passed out. The delightful part is that he reeked of excessive stale alcohol and was snoring loudly. To make matters even more trying, the metal divider separating us was only solid part way up, then the rest was a metal grid designed to ensure air and in this case odor circulation. Above the grid, there was a good four inches of open space. Although I appreciate the attempt to transition from solid to space with an intermediary phase, the design was not working for me because I kept thinking it was enough room for a groper to put his hand through should he arise from his drunken stupor in an amorous mood. His whiskey aroma and deep sonorous serenade of snores prevented the likelihood, yet I still felt uncomfortable about it and remained visibly stiffened.I thought that my nose would become accustomed to the smell in due time but alas I could not escape the olfactory assault. Meanwhile, as more people fell asleep, the stentorian snores amplified and resonated from one end of the train to another, and the men who argued throughout the night were inspired to compete to be heard. Their voices harangued with the thundering train as we blasted through the black night.
My repugnant berth mate continued his oozing of fumes, and who was it that now was producing an abundance of flatulence? I think the guy below me. But where was the smell of urine wafting from in the distance? So many layers going on. I opened up a Wet One cloth and draped it over the roll bar near my nose in an attempt to try to sleep. (Note to self: bring emergency air freshener next time!) I kept my body curled as far away from Stale Stoli as possible, which meant that I had to stay on one side permanently, which isn’t my natural sleep pattern. I am like a Libra cat and need to keep changing positions so that all sides are evenly balanced. But, sleeper car mattresses are rock hard and I was getting a cramp in my hip. My next plan of attack was to residually get drunk because of my proximity to the besotted one and maybe that would coax me to lose consciousness. Nothing doing. I tried to find my happy place or at least astral travel to a land of neutrality, but I was aware of breathing alcohol in its gaseous and vaporous form all night. I woke up, and I am using that term very loosely, feeling hung over and extremely grumpy. Ah, had we arrived at Darjeeling with its Himalayan tea plantations? No, we had a three hour shared jeep ride yet to go. P sat in front and Tabby and I got into the second row where two other people already sat. Tabby and I are tiny, yet when I shut the door I couldn’t straighten my shoulders because there wasn’t enough room. Tabby and I had less than half the space because the other two people took up more room. So, with my hip feeling out of joint, now my back began to hurt from staying twisted in one direction, which was the same direction that I had been sleeping all night. If only I was on the other side and could unwind the spine from the night.
And then the mountains began. These were not roads for non-professionals. Corkscrew hairpins at steep inclines and only one lane at the edge of the mountain without guard rails for two way traffic made it a hair raising experience. Good thing I am not prone to motion sickness. I had put on my magic wrist bands just in case. We were technically only in the foothills of the Himalayas, but it's much hillier than Chicago's midwestern flatlands.
In Darjeeling, we went to Tiger Hill to watch the sunrise, getting up at 4 a.m. It was gorgeous but too cloudy to see the Himalayan ridge. We also hiked to the Tibetan Refugee center and rode the narrow gauge toy train which is powered by coal and snakes in and out of traffic. I thought I had had enough of trains, but this ride I thoroughly enjoyed. I will try to post a short video for you gypsies, hobos, and train aficionados to vicariously ride the rails with me.
The temperature difference in Darjeeling was anticipated, yet still jarring. It didn’t help that our hotel did not have heat or space heaters. And, a mysterious puddle seemed to be creeping underneath my bed, staining the carpet dark and making everything feel damp. Did I mention that the toilet wasn’t flushing? Yes, it was Western, so there is that. The hotel staff said that we needed to put water in it to make it flush. It didn’t help. When we explained it to P’s mom, she said no, you don’t put the water in the bowl like we were doing, but in the tank. Oops. It still only worked one out of four times. We did not have a geyser, which the Indians pronounce geezer, so no hot water. I always picture a wrinkled old man in the bathroom when I hear it said. I had been wearing about five layers of clothing and thought the extra layer of dirt (mixed with coal from the train that passed by our window) could only help retain warmth. So, no showers for about four days total because of the night trains. It happens. All the rules change in a new context. (More on that in a post where I have no adventures to report!) Luckily, P’s mom helped us out by bringing hot water bottles for us to sleep with, which, along with out newly purchases Tibetan shawls, helped immensely to take the edge off.
Now, I have gotten to the way back. We were on our own this time. I requested lower berths because of such an impactful upper berth journey which I was loathe to repeat. All the other compartment mates were male. I did the math and counted one extra person sitting there. Hmmm. Was he just hanging out visiting his buddies for a while? Later, as people began to climb to recline in their berths, one man started talking to me in Bengali. When I didn’t understand he said a word in English. I thought he wanted to know if he could turn off the light. I said yes. He started to spread out his burlap bag and sheet on the floor between Tabby and me. Huh? Oh, I get it, he had said “lie.” I looked at him in disbelief. Hell, no. I was not going to be sleeping with another strange guy only inches away from me, within groping distance! Tell me, friends,did I overreact? If we were Indian women that he did not know, would he have asked to sleep there? I think not. So, I went into bad ass urban girl mode and said no way. I guess I made a scene because people were looking at me from all around. I went up and down the car and no other extra dudes were sleeping on the floor. So, I gestured, because no one spoke English, that he should move to someone else’s floor. One guy thought it was hilarious that I was angry and confused so I gave him a few words. Not sure he understood but I felt better doing it! The floor interloper did move but only to join one of his friends on his berth where they spent a cozy night, I am sure. When I told the conductor about the incident he didn’t care or understand, and shrugged me off. So, again I was revved up and uncomfortable with so many strange men around me. It is probable that he meant no harm and just didn’t have his own ticket, but I didn’t want the possibility of anything happening. As during the up journey, I didn’t sleep going back down. Next train, we are getting the AC car, which is a more expensive, comfortable, supplies a bedroll at a small cost, and is attended by train staff. Is it too good to be true? We will see on our way to Bhubaneswar!
As I was triggered by these experiences of strangers in close proximity, it brings up some otherwise unknown fears that I will explore further in my reflections. Is it because of the invasion of my personal space or because they were men, or both? What other fears are lurking that I will discover? Whatever is asking for attention, I hope to resolve and heal.
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