and you thought I’d abandoned you!

Hello friends.  I’ve missed you, really…
A little reverse chronological order:

I cherish the squat toilets, funny English, cold bucket “showers” that drench the bathroom,  and signs on the road such as “be gentle on my curves”.

This morning I ate brown bread for the first time in a month.  Such deliciousness in my system was well worth the 30 rupees.

From my somewhat damp but warm and soft enough bed this morning, the sun rose directly outside my window.  Outside of it I see down the hillside of Darjeeling, and mountains faint with fog in the far distance.

At a monestary near Kechupuri (sp?) Lake in Sikkim, I saw the snow-capped Himaliyas for the first time.  Mountains are SO powerful – the day just before I hiked 30 kms to reach this tiny heaven, a little Shangrila, and the inclines happily kicked my lungs and butt.  Just seeing the distant peaks that morning was something of a darshan experience – hiking up the mountain to the monestary I met “the reincarnation of Patma Samba Wa” who “hadn’t eaten for 7 years” and was on his way to Darmsala to get “recognized by the Dalai Lama”.  He had told me that the next morning would be significant (and gave me an orange candy – thought it would make me see purple but it didn’t).

Palla, or father, runs the guest house at the monestary.  He is a tiny man whose face would take a lifetime to explore and a heart that cares for little boys and girls of the monestary as well as Ferengi travellers.  His warmth provided Stephane (my French/Canadian Sikkim traveling buddy) and I (upon our arrival) with warm tea, a hot bucket! with which to bathe, big beers, a warm fire, and a hug.  A taste of commune life – I took the job of giving compliments.  SO HARD.

Sikkim is remarkably well developed.  Compared to Darjeeling, in which electricity and water are not givens.

The train-ride to Kolkata – speaking to people about my travels, I received so much skepticism about traveling alone.  Watch your bags, keep your money with you, trust no one.  If I can trust no one, can’t I trust anyone?  Do surveillance, paranoia, and fear increase crime by making it a possibility, a forbidden fruit?  The men and women I encountered during my train travels were absolute sweethearts.  They taught me Bengali, warned me against eating cashews because they would make my throat worse, told me where to get off, and gave me cookies and chai.  I dreamt about working in northern BC but having a constant source of chai-wallas to refresh me as I worked.

I saw cows with their horns painted different colors, goats, dogs, children playing, women doing laundry on the tracks (didn’t their mother tell them!), cities becoming farms, harshly beautiful wasteland, wild forests, and more sprawl, a dark night sprinkled with welcoming lights, seeming to say “here there is a warm fire, a friend, and some possible food.”  Between the spaces of passing train cars the landscape blinked seductively at me.  I arrived in Kolkata covered in dust (that still hasn’t washed out, though I haven’t really tried) and stayed in a dorm more packed with beds than I thought possible.

It’s good to be in the mountains, out of the city… I came here to chill a little but just found more adventure.  In a few days I plan on going to an organic farm, hopefully to do a little working and a lot of learning.  Much love.