Rumtek to Darjeeling The ride from Rumtek to Darjeeling was remarkable in its difficulty. Taking the back way, a driveway-like ribbon of road that went almost straight up, we drove hour after hour, all on switchback curves. At one point, one curve was a full 360-degrees, crossing over a semi-circular bridge. This trip was the only time during our week-long journey in the mountains that the jeep overheated and we just had to stop and let the car rest, looking out over the endless tea plantations to the valley far below. A misty rain was falling. This tiny road was also very dangerous, because there was even less than the usual room to maneuver and the road was often covered by mist and drive-through clouds. And you just had to drive through the mist and clouds, not seeing anything of what was coming at you. It was that or just sit there and wait for the clouds to clear away, which could take days. And it was all about curves. It was a full day’s trek and we were exhausted when we reached Darjeeling on our way back toward Mirik. Also, by that time, our son Michael Andrew was pretty sick, throwing up and the like. He got this way when he would become overtired, upset, or eat too much of the wrong kind of food – bad oils, etc. There was also the endless motion from driving on the mountain curves. Darjeeling is a quite large town perched some 8000 feet in the air on the side of a mountain. As we drove into the city, Ngodup pointed out hotel after hotel, many of which were new to him. In the end, we decided to splurge and stay at the legendary Windemere Hotel high up on Observatory Hill. The Windemere harkens back to the time when India was ruled by the British. It is a kind of Victorian mansion, complete with a series of small parlors and music rooms, each with their own fireplace, around which the guests gather in the late afternoons and evenings. Tea and crumpets are served at 4:15 sharp, each afternoon. And the service was from another era, as well, including all kinds of maidservants and manservants, many with the classic Indian turban. For example, meals were included in the price of the room and were served precisely at specific times. When you came down to dinner, your personal table was laid out just for your group. And each table had its own turban-wearing server, not to mention other servants, standing by. Unlike most restaurants, meals proceeded at your pace. Each dish was brought to your table and your portion was served from a platter. You could have as much as you wanted. When you finished that portion, you could have more or immediately move on to the next course. And the food was just excellent. There was never any waiting. I did not care one way or the other about being served, but I did appreciate some attention to taste and the quality of what was served there. I am sure it was an imitation of a bygone era that I know nothing of, but it was good eating and kind of fun. Dinner was accompanied by very-old standards from an Indian lady pianist seated at the back of the room. And each bedroom had a working pull-chain toilet and, best of all, a deep-dish bathtub on little lion’s feet. The water was hot and in abundance, so everyone took a bath, something we had not seen in a long time. On the down side, the coal fumes from the various fireplaces leaked into the rooms and tended to be very bad. The whole thing was just a little much and we ended up counting the time until we could leave. We were waiting for Ngodup, who had gone ahead to Mirik, because Michael Andrew was too sick to travel, and who would be returning to go with us on the next leg of our journey. Darjeeling is reputed to have spectacular views of the Himalayas, but the mist never parted long enough for us to see much of anything, much less that far. We waited, from meal to meal, wandering through the many empty sitting rooms of the Windemere, this being the off season. We climbed Observatory hill and watched the families of monkeys that lived around the various Hindu and Buddhist shrines there. These same monkeys raced around on the copper roofs above our room, occasionally peering over the roof edge at us. We idled about and hoped Ngodrup was safe and would return soon. We even set a place for him at lunch and, sure enough, he showed up and we had our final fancy meal at that hotel. ...back to the opening page go on to the next story...