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Wanchuk's father gave us a ride to the taxi station in Deorali. We bought tickets, and after a while off we went to Darjeeling. We passed the grim sight of the Sikkim Rehabilitation and Detoxification Society with its Male and Female wings and set a course to Darjeeling.
As our stretched jeep taxi was climbing the steep and narrow serpentine road, the mist set in and then gave way to a pattering rain that seemed to be perpetual—like in Gabriel García Márquez's Macondo. Having left Sikkim behind, I couldn't help but feel certain emptiness and sadness realizing that my Himalayan journey was coming to an end.
Meanwhile, Wanchuk struck a conversation with the driver whose story was all too common: he got a university degree, I think in sociology, but couldn't find a job and was making his leaving by driving a taxi. Wanchuk wrote down his number, just in case.
We stopped somewhere and climbed out of the car. I walked up and down the muddy road under a drizzling rain and watched how a small kid with remarkably large hands was washing and cleaning our jeep taxi.
In Darjeeling we walked under the drizzling rain up to the centrally located The Main Olde Bellevue Hotel near the Chowrasta Mall. Having settled in, we went to the famous Glenary's and ordered Darjeeling tea, which came in a shiny silver pot. The tea was really good!
We then took a little walk through the narrow streets of Darjeeling.
For dinner Wanchuk chose the Dekeva's restaurant, and suddenly I felt like being back to Sikkim: one of the restaurant's windows featured an “Uprising in Tibet” poster while the other displayed the “Karmapa to Rumtek” sticker.
As we walked back to the hotel, we saw men and women carrying enormous sacks by means of a rope encircling the load and widening into a supporting band on their foreheads. Sikkim and West Bengal are the only places where I saw this style of carrying goods.
Find more details in the Wanchuk's blog entry for the same day.
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