Darjeeling Himalayan Railway

Indubitably one of the highlights of the trip – certainly for me.  The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway has long been viewed with affection and enthusiasm by travellers to the region, and the Earl of Ronaldshay gave the following description of a journey in the early 1920s:

"Siliguri is palpably a place of meeting ... The discovery that here the metre gauge system ends and the two foot gauge of the Darjeeling-Himalayan railway begins, confirms what all these things hint at ... One steps into a railway carriage which might easily be mistaken for a toy, and the whimsical idea seizes hold of one that one has accidentally stumbled into Lilliput. With a noisy fuss out of all proportion to its size the engine gives a jerk — and starts ... No special mechanical device such as a rack is employed — unless, indeed, one can so describe the squat and stolid hill-man who sits perched over the forward buffers of the engine and scatters sand on the rails when the wheels of the engine lose their grip of the metals and race, with the noise of a giant spring running down when the control has been removed. Sometimes we cross our own track after completing the circuit of a cone, at others we zigzag backwards and forwards; but always we climb at a steady gradient — so steady that if one embarks in a trolley at Ghum, the highest point on the line, the initial push supplies all the energy necessary to carry one to the bottom."

  

The trip up to Darjeeling on railway has changed little since that time, and continues to delight travellers and rail enthusiasts, so much so that it has its own preservation and support group, the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway Society.

All the steam locomotives currently in use on the railway were built between 1889 and 1925. A total of 34 were built but by 2005 only 12 remained on the railway and in use (or under repair).  However, many trains are no powered by ‘soulless’ diesel locomotives.

Darjeeling

We had two full days in town with a good mix of planned excursions and free time.

During the British Raj, Darjeeling's temperate climate led to its development as a hill station for British residents seeking to escape the summer heat of the plains, and its becoming the informal summer capital of the Bengal Presidency in 1840, a practice that was formalised after 1864.

The development of Darjeeling as a sanatorium and health resort proceeded briskly. Arthur Campbell, a surgeon with the Company, and Lieutenant Robert Napier were responsible for establishing a hill station there. Campbell's efforts to develop the station, attract immigrants to cultivate the slopes and stimulate trade resulted in a hundredfold increase in the population of Darjeeling between 1835 and 1849.

  

Tiger Hill is the highest viewpoint (2,590m), some 8 miles from Darjeeling, to which we made a dawn excursion here to contemplate the sunrise and the ravishing beauty of the world's third highest mountain Kanchenjunga (8,586m) and other eastern Himalayan peaks - on a clear day it is possible to see Mt Everest (8,848m). We set off at 0400 up 'jeepable' roads to the top of the Hill on which sat a concrete structure reminiscent of the famous mountain top restaurant in the Alps. However, this had seen better days with little internal fittings and few windows. There were hundreds of jeep taxis (the most prevalent form of local transport) and quite a crowd of, mainly, Indians. We stood around huddled into our warm clothing waiting for the sun to rise and the mist to lift - we weren't too bothered about the order of events. In the meantime, we fended off purveyors of postcards of what we were there to see and chai sellers. The mist swirled around and we waited - we may have had a brief small glimpse of mountain top and, perhaps hopefully, some snow capped peaks - but no spectacular rose hued pinnacles. Giving up, we headed back for breakfast.

The Himalayan Zoological Park has had some success at breeding rare / endangered animals. Including the elusive but fluffy Snow Leopard with its smudged rosettes and long bush tail, the shaggy Tibetan Wolf and comical Red Panda. They also have a breeding programme for the powerful Royal Bengal Tiger - unfortunately, just before In left the UK it had been announced that the gene pool for this species was now too small to be viable : yet another extinction. There were also single examples of the 'common' Leopard, the Black (Melanistic) Leopard and the Clouded Leopard (which although being a spotted cat isn't from the Leopard (Panthera) family. Despite everything having largish compounds with 'enrichment' the Tigers were showing signs of stress related metronomic pacing.

Adjoining the Zoo was the Mountaineering Institute which teaches and promotes climbing in the region but also has an Everest Museum. This was fascinating with many pieces of equipment used in assaults on the peak, atmospheric photos of climbs and of proud people who had reached the pinnacle, some very sad and tatty stuffed animals & birds found in the mountains and, what really brought things into perspective, a number of 3D maps showing the whole range and the Tibetan Plateau beyond. As ever, it's the often the strange / wonderful item that stays longest in the memory : in this case it will probably be a pair of leather walking boots specially made for somebody that had lost all his toes to frostbite - they were truncated just below the laces.

It was suggested that we might like to visit the Tibetan Refugee Centre were Tibetan craft-work is on sale. However, it was Tibetian New Year and it was closed.

We took the steam powered Toy Train up as far as the station at Ghoom - a journey of about 6 miles. The train shared the road with vehicles for most of the journey shaving itself past shopfronts and cliff faces - spewing steam and soot its shrill whistle gave plenty of notice of its approach : of course it had right of way over everything. We had a brief stop at a large memorial to Gurkha deaths in service of Britain and then visited the Railway Museum in Ghoom. From there we had a gentle walk back to town on a back road that contours around the other side of the ridge. It took us past the front doors of many small houses. Evidently they are restricted to a first floor only - unless you have enough money to bribe a planning official.

One of our excursions was to the Botanical Gardens - it was a long walk down hill through the thongs in the back streets.  I didn't really realise that we were there until I started to see Latin labels on the trees. There was an Orchid House (but it was the wrong season for blooms) and a large glasshouse but it didn't seem to be any better than an average garden centre back home. It must have been an idyllic place in its heyday but, with paths lined with barbed wire fences, empty concrete pools gathering dead leaves and fountains that look as if they contained frozen water when it was a thick scum, it was no more.

This faded glory theme was evident elsewhere with beautiful old buildings falling apart, the paint flaking of the badminton hall / skating rink at the Gymkhana Club, potholed roads with open drains and people having to carry water home. However, there was enough left to still generate a feeling of how it must have been during the full force of the Raj. It is perhaps understandable that the Indian Government doesn't want to preserve its colonial past when it has so many other pressing problems. However, it is both an integral part of its history and a valuable tourist revenue generator.

Rangpur

This morning we left Bogra and headed, via Rangpur, to Dinajpur and visited the Jamindar Palace. A faded pile that once must have been an imposing building with columns and balconies - hanging in several places from the eaves were several large swarms of bees. In the rear courtyard there was a small temple - around the back of which we came across a group of local men being fed by their woman : the food was placed on green palm leaves.

Jamidar Palace

Kitchen

We will stayed in Dinajpur for lunch in a noisy buzzing local restaurant - a constant supply of new dishes arrived and were promptly consumed. Out the back was the kitchen were large cauldrons were bubbling over flaming pits.

Then it was off to Mahasthangarh to what were told was one of the most spectacular monuments in Bangladesh, the Kantanagar temple. Built of brick and terracotta every inch of the temple surface is beautifully embellished with exquisitely sculptured terracotta plaques representing flora, fauna, geometric motifs, mythological scenes and an astonishing array of contemporary social scenes and favourite pastimes.

Afterwards we headed back to Rangpur where we were to stay for the night. During the afternoon we visited the Taihat Palace - one of the most imposing ones we had seen with a grand sweeping staircase but inside it was total faded glory with fading, flaking paint and massive locked wooden doors.

From there it was through the local backroads by rickshaw to the Kali Temple - a strange mixture of Eastern and classical European - all nubile angels and cherubs.

Our accommodation for the night was the best so far - the base of a NGO working with local communities on empowerment, health etc projects. There was a spacious and comfy lounge with satellite TV, a extensive library of paperbacks and free WiFi. After the past couple of night in a hotel that was right on a major road junction - there was horns blaring all night.

Into India

An early start today breakfast at 0600 and on the road by 0700. Breakfast was amazing - a wide selection including a choice of fried, boiled and a choice of orange or ginger marmalade. Our long drive today would take us across the border into Indian and the state of West Bengal.  

The border crossings weren't as horrendous as they could have been between two states with a love of detail, forms and general bureaucracy - all many thanks to the long departed Raj. Bangladesh emigration was fine - we didn't even have to get off the bus. Rowthin our local guide just took all the passports into the office, they were stamped and an officer came out to count heads.

A short walk across a dusty no-man's land took us to a higgly-piggly set of small corrugated metal sheet shacks - none with any clear indication of whether they were something important or just somebody's shop or house. We negotiated our way along a windy dirt path over a narrow bridge over a dried rubbish choked stream bed.


Now we encountered the full force of Indian paperwork - a table outside behind which 3 or 4 uniformed police officers held court. We were given a long form to fill in and had been warned that we must only use block capitals and should not make any mistakes. Every seasoned traveller keeps a stock of pens ready for such events but what wasn't provided was a writing surface - so everybody improvised whatever they could. With trepidation, as I had to make a couple of small corrections, I handed my form into the Sub-Inspector in charge - he was all smiles and said it was fine. Then it was inside one of the shacks where there were even more officers sat behind an even bigger desk - each poised over a large paper ledger. Taking our passports off us, they wrote down of lodsa unknown details, asked us our professions and required us to sign our entry - job done ! Customs hadn't even exercised their right to inspect our luggage. A fairly painless session of money changing followed - good rates had been arranged for the whole group which all the change booths honoured - they even provided a free cup of chai whilst we waited.

Then we boarded "Thunder King" for so was our new conveyance named - 'new' was a bit of a misnomer if not prosecutable under the Trades Description Act. We had been promised a bigger bus - it wasn't - it had certainly been well used. There were electric fans on each side of each row of seats : the individual switches were in plastic blocks usually seen in houses back home. They were positioned just right so that if your head lolled as you snoozed or on a bump, you came in contact with a sharp hard corner. The doors were secured by bolts you would normally buy from B&Q and the window catches looked as if they could easily be opened from outside - so no more happily leaving stuff on the bus whist we visited a site etc.
As soon as we entered India we stared to notice changes :

- the lush green wet paddy fields gave way to scruffy dusty fields dotted with livestock but little seemed to be growing.

- there was now litter and rubbish everywhere - gone were the well swept villages, now there were scruffy towns. This might have had a bit to do with the fact that the Bangladesh government had banned plastic bags some years ago.

- In Dakah we had seen the full range of cars but once outside there had only been trucks, buses, pedal rickshaws and a few small motorcycles & 4x4s. As soon as we crossed the border the were cars & motorcycles clogging the road.

- Most of our travels around Bangladesh had been on the floodplains of its massive rivers - greenery to the horizon : rice, tobacco and maize broken only by the occasional stand of trees giving shade to small villages and what seemed to be ever present brickworks signaled by smoking chimneys. Now we actually encountered inclines and even hills.

- Whilst in Bangladesh we were constantly the centre of friendly curiosity. People would stop and watch us walk past, ask us where we were from and ask to take our photograph or have their photograph taken with us or for us to take their photo. Any smile and/or wave was usually returned with interest : overall very friendly peoples. In India were were ignored !

Towards the end of our journey we started the climb into the foothills of the Himalayas. We twisted up the sides of steep sided ravines with sheer drops down to the rocky river seen fleeting through the thick vegetation. We passed a massive hydro-electric dam already halfway across the river - evidently there had been objections both on the grounds of environmental impact and because it was being imposed by the central government and the local region would see little benefit.

We eventually reached the the hill station of Darjeeling. In the days of the Raj the Bengal government escaped from Calcutta Summer's heat to take up its official summer residence here and today's city dwellers still do likewise with Darjeeling being a popular holiday spot.

At 2,134m, the town is beautifully situated on a mountain ridge; the near vertical streets are crowded with a colourful mixture of Hindus and hill tribes – Lepchas, Bhutias and refugee Tibetans among them. On a clear day the views over the mountains to the snowy Himalayan peaks are magnificent or so we were told - during our visit the mist swirled up, over and around the hills.

The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway connects the town with the plains and has one of the few steam locomotives still in service in India. Despite being a 'Heritage' facility it is falling into disrepair and the steam trains are now very old asthmatic and lacking enough power to be of any real use. They pull the small number of carriages that make up the tourist 'toy' train but soulless diesels now undertake the daily grind.

The town, with its neighbour Kalimpong, was a centre for the demand of the Gorkhaland movement in the 1980s. In recent years the town's fragile ecology has been threatened by a rising demand for environmental resources, stemming from growing tourist traffic and poorly planned urbanisation. We were told of increasingly agitation for more autonomy and a greater slice of the national budget. There are many points of conflict - eg they have only few MPs and so its voice is only faintly heard in Government and Darjeeling's water system was originally installed by the British but it hasn't been improved or even maintained - despite now supporting a population three times its design capacity. In protest, many of the local population have neither paid taxes nor utility bills for up to three year. The Government has threatened to cease generating hydro-electricity but the locals have said "Fine we use very little when compared with the heavily populated plains with its heavy industry.

Potatoes and Ruins

Today we headed off to see the remains of Paharpur Buddhist monastery. Originally, planned to be a fairly short trip. However, on the way were delayed in a town where what appeared to thousands of tons of potatoes in big hessian sacks were being delivered to a central market. The hundreds of trucks & PNCs formed a melee in the centre of town totally blocking traffic movement in either direction through out the whole place. They were wheel to plumber with little room to pass.

Potato Commerce

Rather than sit - fuming - on the bus we decamped on mass and attempted to walk down the road until the bus caught us up. With the road blocked we had to thread our way through the road stall, mountains of loose potatoes and little huddles of men buying & selling. For a while, I found a first floor platform from which I could, covertly, watch the ebb and flow of commerce below. However, after a while, others joined my in my eyire and the tables were turned. We were noticed by the crowd and below became a sea of up-tuned faces and mobile phones.

We again decamped from the bus when we came across a failed bridge and it had to negotiate precarious earth ramps down into the riverbed and up again. We carried on walking through the village, collecting the usual herd of smiling children and passing often shy & bemused adults. We were invited to visit one of the villager's houses - I usually find such visits to be slightly too much like a human zoo. However, the family seemed genuinely pleased to welcome us - even cooking us some sweet sticky 'pancakes'. We weren't alone as most of the village also crammed into the courtyard around which the family's rooms were built.

Paharpur

This monastery was once the largest monastery south of the Himalayas with a site that covers 27 acres. The massive quadrangular structure is contained within a boundary made up of 177 cells and a traditional Buddhist stupa in the centre. The rooms were used by the monks for accommodation and meditation. In addition to the large number of stupas and shrines of various sizes and shapes, terracotta plaques, stone sculptures, inscriptions, coins, ceramics etc. have been discovered and some were on display in the museum. Opposed to yesterday's sites, there were hundreds of local tourists picnicking in and around the site, school were being harangued by frazzled teachers, party music blared from trumpet speakers and, inevitably, a few stalls selling shlock & tat.

After this visit we returned to Bogra for lunch and then headed to Mahasthangarh. 

This is the earliest urban archaeological site so far discovered in Bangladesh and contains the remains of an ancient city which was called Pundranagara or Paundravardhanapura. The fortified city's heyday was under the Buddhists who were here until at least the 11^th century AD but the fortified area was in use till the 18th century AD. 

Together with the ancient and medieval ruins, the mazhar (holy tomb) of Shah Sultan Balkhi Mahisawar built at site of a Hindu temple is located at Mahasthangarh. He was a dervish (holy person devoted to Islam) of royal lineage who came to the Mahasthangarh area, with the objective of spreading Islam among non-Muslims. He converted the people of the area to Islam and settled there.

After touring the site returned to Bogra for our second night. After a quick beer in next door's bar, we headed into town to a restaurant that had a Chinese feel - very discretely they too were able to provide a can of imported beer to support our excellent repast

Dhaka

Parliament

Dhaka – Bangladesh's capital - is a megacity and one of the major cities of South Asia with a population of over 12 million. This makes it the largest city in Bangladesh and the 9th largest city in the world – it is also among the most densely populated cities in the world.

Curzon Hall

In the morning we went go on a guided orientation tour which included some of the principal sights of the city including the Liberation War Museum which graphically illustrated the battle / genocide that led to East Pakistan breaking away from the larger / oppressive West Pakistan - including the blind-eye turned by most of the world to the bloody conflict. We also visited the Lalbagh Fort, the Curzon Hall in the University and the Parliament building.

In the afternoon we took a boat trip along the Buriganga River. In the distant past, the Ganges used to reach the Bay of Bengal through the Dhaleshwari river. This course gradually shifted and ultimately lost its link with the main channel of the Ganges and was renamed as the Buriganga.

We joined the myriad of other crafts from cargo vessels to small canoes. The country's rivers are its lifeblood, irrigating its fertile plains and providing transport connections. It's even a place to live for the Bhadja (river gypsies) who move as a clan in their houseboats from river to river – allegedly, it is one of the best places from which to observe the life of this. However, we saw no sign of this romantic bunch - just the local washing themselves and their clothing in the water running sluggishly past their hovels.

However, the river is unfortunately Dhaka's main outlet of sewage waste - newspaper articles in 2004 indicated that up to 80% of its sewage was untreated. A number of industries, including tanneries also discharge their chemical waste in to the river. Luckily, during the monsoon flood the river is "flushed" every year.

Almost Sinking

On the banks there were numerous shipyards building new vessels and mending older ones - the ring of heavy hammers on thick steel plate must have been like that on the banks of the Clyde and in Belfast in their prime. There was a constant stream of small-ish vessels loaded with enough sand to push the hull into the water until the gunnels were under water. Big passenger ferries backed with humanity surged past us and little row boats with one or two passengers being taken from one bank to another. Where there were no ship yards there was a myriad of activity : un/loading all manner of goods, sleeping, laundry, a naval minesweeper, a small floating dry dock. I think we could all have spent much longer observing the pulse of river life.

Pink Palace

Following this, we visited the Pink Palace – an old impressive building which has been turned into a museum with a good historical collection. There were impressive iron gates into this site - looking back as we walk in the bars of the big double gates were being grasped by a solid wall of males looking in at our party. The smaller gate for pedestrians was similarly lined by females - there is evidently a gender split even in rubbernecking !

From here we walked on through the narrow lanes of old Dhaka - squeezing into the sides to let the constant stream of cycle rickshaws to pass, fielding innumerable queries of "where are you from", getting an insight into local life and being importuned to take picture of or with locals.

There was very slow trip back to the hotel through the disappearing light and the grindlingly slow traffic. Sitting behind the driver, it was frightening to see how close some of the vehicles come to each other - and more importantly - to our bus. So close, o very close but no contact. However, many of the buses and trucks seem to be more filler than original metal and many of the newer cars have added metal nudge bars.
It was quite late when we eventually arrived back at the hotel. So about half elected to eat in and the remainder (including yours truly) went out to a local eatery for an excellent meal. Whilst we had taken our bus there, we had let our driver have an early night and took cycle rickshaws back home. All was going well until the frame of one broke and pitched one of us into the road. Luckily, she was only shaken but had a lucky escape the vehicle was just about to overtake.
 This has been written as I've watched the Irish beat England in the cricket World Cup and my Celtic roots came to the front !

To Dhaka

Oft we jolly well go again - down to Heathrow on yet another trip. All the hassles with visas should now be behind me but I still have to see when I present my passport to a succession of ten immigration officers - all of whom would probably prefer to be watching the cricket World Cup rather then dealing with a group of foreign tourists.

The flights were indistinguishable from all other international trips, except for two points. On the flight to Delhi we had a very flash touch-screen entertainment system. I watched "True Grit wasn't a patch on big John Wayne's version and the "Kings Speech" during which I fell asleep - so much for the Oscars ! We shared the flight from Delhi to Dakar with the West Indies cricket team - so big and so black - who are to play Bangladesh on Friday - it should be a lively place where ever we are that night.

The country below us seemed to be a smaller version of England - or at least from several thousand feet. However, the patchwork of green English fields the size of duvet covers was replaced by pocket handkerchief ones. Even in the large mega-cities there seem to be remnants of green fields & woods surviving amongst the urban press. The countryside was slashed by the pale winding courses of many rivers and there was evidence everywhere - in the form of floods - of the recent rains.

Dakah was the the epitome of all sub-continent town - noisy and crowded with people and vehicles without break. There were the ever present Tuk Tuks which here are evidently called CNGs after the fuel they all use - compressed natural gas. Past the army's sports stadium with a couple of defunct howitzers at the gates and then, a couple of hundred metres down the road, a couple of aged motor torpedo boats (+ a couple of torpedoes) mounted outside the navy's HQ. As ever, spaghetti of electrical cabling hanging from various poles impressed.

Our party is to be 16 strong - but when we slope off to bed (about 2100 for a 0700 breakfast) we are still missing two whose flights have been delayed. It looks as if the gender split will be 33% : 66% in 'favour' of the girls. As usual we are drawn from across the world : the majority from the UK, a few from North America and, unusually, only one Aussie. However, I did manage to mistake a Cornish/London accent for Aussie - not sure how long it will take me to live that down : I suspect at least three weeks. The tour leader - Laura - is from the UK and our paths had crossed before - last December in Damascus where the group she was leading was leaving just as we arrived : I think I saw her over breakfast