Fourteen people, three cars: that's five people in two of those cars. That means that two people have to sit in the middle. One of the couples, Mike and Judy, balked at this. They complained to Gurmay, demanded that the company pay for an extra vehicle so that everyone could ride in comfort. This of course was not possible: imagine the extra cost of a car plus a driver, plus the driver's food and accommodation. The answer was no. Possibly Gurmay shouldn't have told the rest of us, because it set up a bit of animosity that rippled on throughout the trip.
Anyway, on the first day we were blissfully unaware, and I happily sat in the middle of the back seat, not realising it was terribly uncomfortable (it wasn't). Gurmay, Merle and Susan were in the car too, and it was great, we had a fun trip. The road took us winding up through hairpin bens from the heat of the plains into the cool forested hills.
Halfway there we stopped for tea: our first sip of real Darjeeling.
Then up and up, through little towns lined with shops crammed with goods, people sitting out on verandahs, dogs running around. There were two types of dog: white fluffy pet dogs, and a bigger, sturdy-looking dogs, mostly gingery brown that seemed to be freelance. They jaunted around, seemingly healthy and confident, grubbing in middens for food or sleeping, sometimes on a mat, often in a pile of dogs.
Most of the people in and around Darjeeling are Nepali or Tibetan in origin. The population of Lepcha, the original inhabitants of Darjeeling and Sikkim, was small when the Brits arrived and planted tea, so they imported labour for the plantations. Everyone seems very relaxed and amiable.
Here's a quick bit of film I took driving through Margaret's Hope. The voice right at the end is that of Merle, an artist from New York and a great travel companion.
Darjeeling itself was wonderful, an eccentric guddle of buildings clinging to the slopes, with narrow streets packed with shops, a bigger, madder, more crowded version of the villages we'd driven through.
The hotel, the Mayfair, was grand, once the summer home of a maharaja and very comfortable. After checking in and having a late lunch, we headed out for a quick wander around the main shopping area. I'd forgotten to bring a fan, so stopped at a stall and bought one, helped by Denis, who enjoys bargaining. At one point a little child slipped his hand into mine. When I looked down, he was begging. A man coming up behind told him off, but he carried on tugging at my hand and pleading. The man gave him a biff in the head, not hard, and sent him packing. "He's from the plains, he's not from round here," he told me. That was the only time I came across begging in the hills - you can wander around freely and no-one bothers you. Some of the shop-keepers cry their wares, but nowhere nearly as aggressively as in say, Marakech. So walking down a shopping street is really enjoyable and relaxing.
After our excursion we had dinner and retired to bed. I did, anyway - I was tired out! And the room was very comfortable.
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