India, The Ending

The Most Beautiful Building in the World, Agra April 9,10

The train ride to Agra is another good 'experience'.  I catch a ride to the station in a rickshaw with an American and Englishman who I meet at a restaurant a couple hours before for dinner.  Waiting for the train to pull into station I pick up 3 Chai teas for us at a whopping 10 cents a piece.  It seems to be a big social thing in India to share a 'Chai', so we do.  It's a frothy mix of sugar, milk, and chai tea leaves.  The train pulls into station and we hop on.    

For about an hour, as the sun goes down, I stand up and stick my head out the train door.  The wind feels good and I take in some of the countryside.  Outside of Bundi there are vast swaths of farmland; mostly wheat.  The muted shades of dry wheat are lit up by women wearing colorful clothing working in the fields.  Bright colors are a mainstay in India, even while working in the fields.  I see a half dozen peacocks in the fields, and realize that they are larger than I imagined.  Like the womens clothes, they are really colorful with dark shades of blue feathers.  I pass by small villages where buildings are painted pastel blues and pinks.  India really is a fasinating and beautifull place.

Back inside the train I meet a handful of locals; a guy who doesn't speak any english but shows me a youtube video of the Taj he has made, a family of 5, a guy with a couple sons studying to be engineers, a group of young guys going home.  I didn't get to lay down until after midnight.  I got an email and a phone number “in case I need anything when I'm in Agra.”  If only they were womens phone numbers I'd be in luck!  The train stops at a boatload of places through the night (read: it was noisey and I didn't get much sleep).  I arrive at 6am.

Outside the train station I pick up a rickshaw and head to a part of town called Taj Gang to find a suitable room to stay in.  By the way, rickshaw drivers should really be called ripoff artists.At this point in my traveling career, I've become accustomed to the game.  Whatever the first price they quote is, you usually need to divide by 4 or 5.  Getting the price down usually involves a combination of laughing at their price in a “I'm not an idiot” type manner, waving them away (which is kind of like the talk to the hand move), simply walking away, ignoring them and asking the next guy,or asking them how far it is and then calling their lie.  A general rule is to assume they are lying to you at all times about everything and act like you know. Act insulted in a slightly playful way.  You need to make them respect you.

The hotel I choose is filthy mcnasty but it has a great view of the Taj from the rooftop so I take it for 6 dollars a night.  I take a nap until noon, grab some lunch, and find a bike taxi to take me to a bazaar and fort.  I see a herd of water buffalo walking down the crowed streets, a couple of cobra charmers who get a little too close for comfort, and a group of monkeys swinging across the power lines like vines in the forest.

Monkey on top of the world

I find another restaurant which has a better view of the Taj than mine.  I meet a couple of American girls who are traveling.  I learn that they went to MIT: one is running some business is Tanzania, the other works for some kind of medical company in Bangalore, India.  It was nice having some intelligent conversation with some classy, well educated, take-over-the-world type folks.   They were staying in one of the most expensive 5 star hotels in the city.  I too need to make boatloads of cash upon my return home so I can stay in 5 star resorts on my next trip.  Not really though. I find the common-folk more interesting.  The confused college graduate who doesn't have a clear idea what they want to do in the world yet, the 30-something who realizes that there is more to life than working, the 50 year olds who takes their kids around the world with them, the 20 somethings who have been traveling the world for 3 years, the 18 year old who just graduated high school, anybody who seeks adventure, those with a thirst for seeing and doing everything the world has to offer, .  These people are usually far more interesting to talk to.  The vacationers with their heavy luggage and preconceived notions are just escaping for awhile, but I digress.

The next day I meet a Venezuelan girl who lives in London; we are old friends from Bundi. We hang out for a couple hours during the middle of the day.  We talk about India, life lessons learned from traveling, and Radiohead.  It's 105 degrees outside at 3pm.  India is a furnace.

We meet up with another friend and head out to see the Taj Mahal in all it's glory.  It is true what they say, the Taj is the most beautiful building in the world. Our first comments all revolved around the fact that it didn't look real.  It looked like some kind of special effects movie trickery.  The white marble, the intricate and perfectly symmetrical design, and the fact that it is raised off the ground by 15 feet or so all make it appear unique.  It's not like any other building I've seen before.  The grounds are crowded with people but this somehow doesn't take anything away from it.

After sunset we head to a rooftop restaurant to eat and have a beer.  We start to hear thunder and catch a decent lightning show before we have to dive inside for cover from the rain.  Afterward, I say bye to everyone and head off to the train station to go to Varanasi.  There's only one slight hurdle to overcome though.  I still don't have a seat on the train;  my ticket is still on the waitlist (i.e. I don't have an official seat for the overnight journey and I'm not even sure I can get on the train).  At the station, the train pulls in and it's packed full of people.  My hopes for getting on this train are whithering away.  I ask someone at the station what to do and get a nonsensical answer about talking to the train conductor.  Not helpful.  I find a computer booth and run my ticket number again: Still a waitlist status.  The train whistle blows and starts to pull out of the station and something in me just says go for it.  I jog up, hop on this train, and decide that the don't ask permission, ask for forgiveness policy is the best play here.

On the train, people are sitting on newspapers because there's nowhere to sit.  I figure I'll just play the dumb foreigner card assuming I'm not actually not allowed on the train.  Either that or pay the ticket man who walks through the cars some rupees to get me a seat...somewhere.   After about 15 minutes of trying to find somewhere on the ground to sit (which is filthy) a guy pushing through the crowded cars asks me if I have a waitlist ticket.  I say 'yes', he says 'follow me'.  I get to a seat and there's another guy laying down.  My new friend tells him to “get up”, “leave”, “that's my seat”, or some combination in Hindi.  He tells me to sit down.  Before I do, I ask him what is happening.  Apparently he is getting off in a couple stops, and he wants to gave me his seat since someone else would have taken it.  He tells me he'll stand for the next hour until he gets off.  He wants nothing in return for this other than talking for awhile and hearing my story.  It is a moment of pure gratitude and respect for another human being.  Hopefully I can pass the favor on to someone else while I'm here.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, Varanasi April 11,12,13,14,15

After yet another early morning session of rickshaw haggling and hotel room haggling, I take a much needed shower. India is a dirty place across the board. I head up to the rooftop and take look out over the Ganges river; the holiest river in the Hindu world. It's quite a sight. I get a lemon soda and head out to explore the ghats by the riverside. Of course, the first one I come across is the cremation ghat. I'm not really sure how to put this lightly, so I'll just throw it out there:

There are what look like big campfires with dead people on top, burning.  Family members are all watching and tending to the fires.  I watch in amazement for awhile. There's nothing private about it.  Next to the river there is a huge pile of ashes, with dogs and goats wandering about.  It is certainly another 'wow, this exists' moment.  India seems to be full of these moments.       

As  I'm observing, a guy comes up to me and starts explaining whats happening, the belief system, and how it all works.  It's interesting but I know his teachings are not for free.  In the end he asks for a donation for wood for those who cannot afford it.   I oblige.  I give the guy a a couple hundred rupees and he shakes his head and doesn't take it.  He wants a couple thousand.  Nope.  I walk away and f course he finally takes it.

Later, at the lassie shop which supposedly has the best ones in the city, I see funeral processions constantly going down the alleys en route to the cremation ghat. The bodies are wrapped in colorful cloth and carried on bamboo stretchers. Some have the head showing, some don't. The pace of the procession is not slow and calm, it is fast and hurried. The procession consists of only men, and they chant the same song every time. There is a common thread in India that everything happens in the open. Death, it seems, is no different.

The old city is a maze of streets and I'm in a constant state of being lost, I just happen to find the restaurant and lassie shop where I plan to go out of shear luck. I certainly didn't make it there or home in a direct route. The streets are small enough that only bikes and people can fit through them, No cars or rickshaws. I pay a kid 10 rupees to show me where to go once.

I listen to some local music on the rooftop before retiring for the evening and letting the day sink in.

Varanasi from guesthouse roof

The ghats on the holy Ganges

Ghats

------12

My first order of business today is to get a ride to the train station and buy a ticket to Darjeeling. A seemingly simple trip turns into a fairly exhausting journey mentally and physically. It starts with a bicycle rickshaw. I walk out to the road an ask the first guy I see if he can help me get to the “Varanasi railway station”. As soon as I finish the sentence there are about 9 drivers surrounding me vying for my attention. The first offer from the driver was about 3 times to high so I get him down to a fairly cheap price. It's easy to bargain when there is so much competition! As I'm getting into the bicycle rickshaw the other drivers yell impossibly low offers. If it sounds too good to be true, it almost certainly is. Off we go. 

At some point, about 15 minutes later the driver stops and gives me a look like “we're here, time to get out”. We are not at the train station though, far from it. I tell the driver again to go to the “Varanasi railway station” once more.  He nods, with a look of self-disappointment, and heads off again. I'm not sure at this point if he made a simple mistake or if some kind of scam is in order. We finally arrive at the train station, and I tell the driver to wait outside (If he really did make a mistake earlier I want to be a good tourist and give him the business going back). I buy the ticket successfully, find my driver, and off we go again back to the guest house. It's a terribly bumpy road and the bone rattling journey is sapping my energy in the heat of midday. On the ride home, I decide to give the driver a bit more than the usual fair. It's hot and I feel bad that he made a mistake and had to drive a bit further than necessary. Upon arrival at the guest-house I get out and hand the driver the money, upon which he quotes a new price of almost double my 'generous' offer. He tells me he needs more money for going to the other place first. I tell him I didn't want or tell him to go to the other place. Of course, all of the sudden he doesn't understand English. After arguing for awhile I start to go from calm and reasonable to angry. I think he might have gone to the other place just to get more money out of me. He either made a mistake or this is part of his scam. I decide I'm not paying an exorbitant fare for either one. I hand him the money for a 5^th time, he doesn't take it. I feel like throwing the money on the ground in front of him and walking away, but instead put it on the seat of his rickshaw and walk away...fuck him (I think this properly expresses my level of anger).   Rickshaw drivers are the scum of the earth. I don't let him ruin my day though.

It's time to explore the ghats. I end up walking to the farthest ghat and back the rest of the day. I get approached about 60 times, no exaggeration, from people trying to sell boat rides, drugs, massages, silk, jewelry, and drinks to name a few. It's exhausting. Everyone of them asks 1) Where you from? 2) How long have you been in Varanasi and 3) Whats your name? At some point you learn to simply ignore them. Don't make eye contact.

There are parts of the day that make up for the madness though. In India, you must endure the bad to experience the good. It's a land of highs and lows and the intensity of both are powerful. I pass by a man playing an instrument which I've never heard before. After listening for about an hour in amazement with a growing crowd, I ask him what it's called. It is the Belles and it is played with such great skill it is mesmerizing.

People watching is fantastic on the ghats as well.  I watch a number of cricket games.  Kids seem to form pickup games all over the place.  I still don't know all the rules, but it's fun to watch.  Others are tending to their boats; some pulling in fishing line, some building new boats from scraps of boards.  Some river men are taking tourists for rides down the river, some are sleeping on their boats.  I see girl rescue a little puppy from falling down steep stairs.  I see old men practicing yoga.  I see a group of women singing some kind of Hindi song.

I get a massage of the ghats as well.  It's a welcomed peace in a place surrounded with and made of chaos.  The peace ends when I have to pay him though.  He wants more money than we agreed to at the beginning.  He feeds me some (probably well rehearsed) about making a deal which will make both of us happy.  Other tourists give him this much tip or that much tip.  I hold strong and give him what we agreed to; nothing more, nothing less.  He is unhappy, but this is the way of the world.  The massage was actually really good.

------13

After an exhausting day yesterday I sleep in until about noon. In Varanasi, the outside world is an aggressive, challenging, amazing, spiritual, high-energy landscape. A full day outside is overwhelming for even the most hardened travelers. I decide to relax during the day and get a full night out in the ghats. I eat lunch at a cozy little restaurant with pillows on the ground. It's quiet and relaxing. I meet my old friend once again from Venezuela; Anna. We have been crossing paths all over the place in India. We're both going to Darjeeling next so it seems our paths are destined to cross in at least one more city.      

We leave the restaurant and head out to the ghats to catch a sunset boat ride down the river. It turns out to be a perfect thing to do. Away from the bustle of the ghats, we were slowing floating down the holy Ganges river. There are hundreds of candles floating down the river with us. People light them and push them out into the river for Karma. Another row boat pulls up to ours and I buy two floating candles with flowers: one for me, one for Anna. We light them and send them out into the river with the others. We now have good Karma. At night, the Ghats come alive with music, dance, and religous rituals. Watching it all from the river is perfect. We ride from one burning ghat (cremation) down the river to another burning ghat. Watching the fires burning on the side of the river along with the other sights and sounds is like nothing else I've seen in this world. It changes you.

The boat drops us off where we began just in time to see the largest ceremony on the river. It's a combination of bells, fire, and chanting. It lasts for an hour. We watch in amazement.

After the ceremony ends we walk down the ghats. We get to the cremation ghat and watch for awhile. There's a certain series of steps the families of the dead perform from carrying the body through the streets, to dousing the body in the river, to building the fire, starting a torch from the 'eternal fire', to setting it ablaze. It's not gruesome, it's not primitive, it's not even uncomfortable to watch. It's simply a normal part of life which is brought into the open here. Just as life is lived in the open in India, so to is death. There's nothing hidden away in India behind closed doors, and I mean nothing.

We walk further down to the last ghat, and on the way meet an India guy. We ask him about a music festival at one of the temples. He gives us some information as we chat. Upon reaching the ghat we catch a rickshaw and head out to monkey temple to see some local Indian music.  At the temple there are hundreds of people watching.  We shimmy into a spot on the ground and watch.  There's a lively mixture of drums, sitar (sp?), an accordion looking instrument, and singers;male and female.  Listening to the arts produced by other cultures is enlightening and fun.  

On the way back we see some gathering in the street and wander over to see whats going on. I ask a girl what's happening and she says it's a "party". There's a rickshaw with music lasting out from speakers on it and people dancing. It's late at this point so we make our way through the maze of small alleys back to our guest house. It is creepy at night trying to navigate through the dark catacombs. Great night in Varanasi. It was probably the single most memorable day on my trip so far.

------14

I wake up at the crack of dawn to see the ghats during the morning. The sunrise over the Ganges is quite a sight. The people are washing their clothes on the river, swimming, doing morning yoga and mediation, and boatmen are going out for the morning. The ghats come alive. Smoke from the burning ghats still smolders. Kids are already playing badminton and cricket. Wild dogs chase each other around, and cows slowly move about. Me and Anna grab a chai tea and people watch for awhile. When the sun starts to burn through the cloudy sky I head back to the hotel to check out. Off to Darjeeling and the Himilayas. Cooler weather, cleaner air, and delicious tea awaits.

However, even the best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.  I reach the train station early and go to the ticket office to buy a ticket back to Delhi.  This is where I will fly out so I need a confirmed ticket which I purchase without issue.  I get out to the train platform 10 minutes early only to see my train chugging off in the distance.  I suppose it is my own fault for trusting the scheduled departure time on the ticket.  Of course it's not accurate!  Now I know.  This was actually one of those India moments when the world comes crashing down.  I was so excited about going to the Himalayas, that, to be held up for another day was infuriating, excruciating.  The silver lining is that I meet up with some Germans back at the hostel and enjoy some beers on the rooftop.  There's no doubt that I'll be at the platform with  plenty of time to spare tomorrow.  

The Himalayas and a Breath of Fresh Air, Darjeeling April 16,17,18,19,20,21,22




---17
After one missed train, another extremely late train, a stopover in a undesirable town, an annoying jeep negotiation, one flat jeep tire, and a long winding ride on a small mountain road, I finally arrive in the mythical town of Darjeeling!  I honestly wasn't sure I would ever make it;  I persevered through a series of unfortunate events for days (literally) to get here.  It's a small mountain town in Northern India bordering Nepal known for it's tea.  It's my kind of place. With the late arrival, I decide to ride out the rest of my days in India here.  It turns out to be the perfect (read: relaxing) ending to a crazy month in India.      

Met an army guy on the train, he let me borrow his shades.

...On the jeep ride through the beginnings of the Himalayan chain everyone in the jeep has an 'Oh my god, this place is exactly what I needed' look on their faces.  The air is clean, clouds float by the open windows at eye level, and a green blanket of nature wraps around the road as we drive upward.  We pass small towns of the way.  The houses are uniquely small and colorful.  Potted flowers adorn most of the front porches and roofs.  As we go upward, others in the jeep start to put on more clothes.  I don't though.  It feels good to be cold when you've been following summer around the globe.  After a couple hours of driving we stop in a town for a tea and a break from the winding roads.  After another hour or so we finally arrive in Darjeeling.  We go through the normal drill of navigating through the town to find a cool guest-house and settling into our new surroundings.  We have an Irish guy, English girl, French  girl, Venezuelan girl, and an American guy (me).  We all came from Varanasi and met at the train station.

After settling in, we decide to just go wander around the town and try our best to get lost.  Sometimes this is the best way to get to know a place.  One interesting discovery we make along the way is a Hindi Temple on the top of a hill.  Thousands of different colored flags are strung up everywhere.  With the mountain winds blowing, they looked like giant tree leaves blowing around.  Everyone who enters the temple grounds rings a series of bells hung over the paths around the temple.  We resist the urge to ring them ourselves as we explore the temple grounds.  In the end though, I can't resist and while walking out I ring them. We walk away smiling.

Flags

We eat Tibetan noodle soup, Tibetan bread, and drink some local teas during the day.  These mountain people can make some damn good food and drinks.  We talk about how cool it's going to be cook all of the foods we've had in India and around the world.  It really opens your culinary options.  It's kind of interesting that every different culture seems to produce excellent food; all of them very different though.  If someone were to travel the world just to eat the food, it would be a damn good trip.

Tibetan Bread and Noodles

In the evening we meet up at an English Pub (the only pub in town really) There's a wood burning furnace, low cielings, and it has a family room type feel to it.  It's a warm and cozy respite from the cold mountain air.  We talk and carry on into the night.  The English girl asks me what my 'tipper' is at some point.  I look around to see if anyone else understands.  She laughs, senses a teachable moment, and proceeds to explain that it is an old English word which means 'what is your drink of choice'.  For me, I explain, the reigning king of drinks is the gin & tonic.  Some wholeheartedly agree, some cringe in disgust, and some have never had the pleasure of trying one.  I think the gin & tonic is one of those love it or hate it things.  We all settle for Indian beer tonight though.

--- 18

Waking up in a warm bed when it's cold outside is one of the simple pleasures in life.  After rustling out of bed we decide to get breakfast and walk to a Japanese peace pagoda on the outskirts of town.  For me it was museli with bananas and milk; not the pasturized, homogenized, deflavorized milk we get back home).  I'm talking real milk.

We set out for a lazy walk.  In the mountains you either go up or down, not left or right.  The pagota is mostly up so it takes us awhile to get there.  It's nice.

We meander back to town at a relaxed pace.  It's one of those days.  We stop by a local market and basically try one of each thing we see.  There are vegetable dumplings (called momos), fried vegetable pastries, fried spinach balls with some type of batter, mashed potatoes covered in some kin of cake-type batter, and grilled corn.  It's all good and cheap.

We then head out (down this time) to a Buddhist monestary.  Small cobblestone roads, excellent views of the surrounding mountains, and colorful flowers join us on our journey.  On the way we meet a local guy who tells us he walks to the monastery everyday.  When we arrive with our new friend 'Foo' it's obvious that he is friends with all the monks.  He lets us inside the temple to get an exclusive view.  Inside there's a small spinning contraption that catches my eye.  It appears to be spinning by some invisible force.  After a short examination I figure out that the rising heat from a candle keeps the cylinder spinning.  Outside, there are cylinders surrounding the monastery,  I finally ask what they are for.  It turns out that they spin them while praying.

After wandering inside and out, Foo invites us over to his house for some tea.  Can't say no to that offer! We follow him through a small town adjacent to Darjeeling.  He seems to know everyone we pass.  He stops inside a small shop and buys some cookies.  Instead of eating them or offering some to us, he proceeds to feed 3 or 4 dogs along the way.  One of them, he explains, is his dog.  These dogs have longer fur and seem to be happier than the junkyard dogs in the cities.  I know they are happier becasue they seem to sleep all day long around town.

We get to his home and he drags some chairs out to a porch overlooking the mountains.  It's quite a view.  The porch is adorned with pots full of various orchids and flowers.  He then runs off for a bit and tells his mom to put on some tea.  We talk among ourselves about how nice and friendly the people are in Darjeeling.  In Varanasi everything that comes out of someones mouth is a deceptive plot to separate you from your money.  Not here.  Foo, for example, is soft spoken, gentle, and open in a way that is refreshing.  And most of all, he doesn't want any money.  He returns with a pot of tea and we all enjoy it.  We talk about all the things people usually talk about upon first meeting; family, job, likes, current events, future plans.  Foo shows us his room, his pictures, his garden (where he grows tea and corn), his personal mountain stream which is the sole source of water.  This is the highlight of the day really.

As night falls, he shows us a shortcut back to our guesthouse.  This is one of those travel experiences you can't plan for. No matter how much money you have, you can't buy it.





---19
Waking up and taking a warm shower is better in the mountains.  Half the water turns to steam, so you have a half warm water and half steam shower.  Todays destination is the Happy Valley Tea Estate.  It's the closest tea plantation to Darjeeling, so we go forth, walking of course.  A nice old man gives us a tour of the factory.  He teaches us how the different teas (black, green, white) are made and explains the process.  The smell in the factory is almost like a mix of grass and flowers.  He tells us about the different teams of women who work the fields and pick the tea by hand.  The teams of older women get to work closer to the factory than the teams of younger women.  I can now appreciate the tea I drink at home.  In fact, from now on I will always be reminded of Darjeeling whenever I brew a cup.

After the factory we wander out into the fields.  They seem to go on and on forever across the valleys and ridges.  The leaves of the tea plants are a bright green color because the new shoots are just developing.  These are the first of the season (called first blush) and are supposed to have the best flavor.  We kind of get lost in the fields looking around at the landscape, the women working in the fields, and the nice weather.  Eventually we find a nice spot to sit down and take a nap for awhile.  If we had bee more thoughful we might have brought out some food and had a picnic.  Maybe tomorrow.  

After walking back uphill to the guesthouse, exhausted and hungry.  We stop at a Tibetan restaurant and get noodles and bread and then hobble back to the guesthouse feeling quite plump (another english word I learned).

Tea Fields

---20
When are in the Himalayas the best thing to do besides drink tea  is to go trekking.  After asking a couple of people where to go around the town (they recommend all the places we have already been) we set out to make our own route.  From the tea plantation the day before, we could see another ridge line in the distance, so we decide to find our way over there.  It looked cool.  We aren't sure if we can even do it.  Are there trails that connect here to there? Sometimes you just have to make your own path (symbolism intended).  We pick up some cookies and water on the way in case we need to have an impromptu picnic.

In the mountains you can see where you need to go so we know we aren't going to get lost.  Onward we go.  We pass through small villages on dirt roads, through gardens, through more tea fields.  We meet some kids playing cricket, wave to some more kids on a rooftop, and talk to a guy when we pass by his house.  He invites us in for some tea.  I don't think they see many tourists on our custom route.  He explains that he is going on a date that night, and offers to sell us some of the tea he grows.  We figured that he needed the money for the date so we buy some.  It's actually some of the best tea I've had so far in Darjeeling.  Go figure.  Onward we go.

We walk through another tea field where we find more women working.  We stop to take some pictures.  The women, probably not used to seeing foreigners here, start talking among themselves and laughing.  We couldn't tell what they were saying but it probably is something like "What are these people doing out here and what is so interesting about us picking tea!?" Onward we go.  We pass through large sections of farmland where a couple people are working.  We wave and continue on.  There's only a small semblance of a path but we can see where to go and we even see the path we eventually need to get on.  We trudge through high grass and weeds, and over little streams.  We see one marijuana plant.  We loose the trail a couple times but eventually re-find it.  At no point did anyone suggest we go back.  We are on a mission.



We make our way through a garbage dump (aka river bed) and finally arrive on the other ridge line.  In another small town we meet a pack of local kids.  "Where are you going?" one of them asks.  We point to a tea field in the distance.  "Can you show us how to get there", I ask.  Now we have a big group of trekkers.  Their parents look on, again, with a 'what the hell are they doing out here' type face.  The kids speak good English.  After a couple hours, we arrive!  We sit down with the kids and share our cookies with them.  They tell us about their town, and about a fire which happened in town.  They explain that they are off school because of the fire; no one should be working (i.e. benefiting) on such a sad day.  Things work differently in the mountains.  We stay with them, or rather they stay with us until the sun gets uncomfortably low in the sky.  I'm all for adventures but not in the mountains at night, lost.   We head off and say bye to the kids.

It was a great day.      





---21
We wake up in the middle of the night and find a jeep to take us to a lookout to watch the sunrise over the 3rd highest peak in the world.  It's not Everest but it's close enough.  We buy some coffee from a local women on the hill.  People slowly start to convene on the hill, mostly locals.  As the sun appears over the mountains, everyone cheers.    




We decide to walk back to Darjeeling through some more mountain paths.  Our confidence is high from our adventure yesterday.  We meet another guy who joins us.  I learn he is in India doing something called the 'Rickshaw Race'  It's a charity based adventure.  You get a rickshaw and a small team and ride it around India for a couple weeks from place to place.  It sounds fun, cool guy.

---22
I relax and drink tea all day, eat Tibetan food, plan.  It rains most of the day.

--23
As my time in India comes to a close, I spend the day looking for a ride back to the closest airport.  I need to catch a flight back to New Delhi, then on to Moscow.  Unfortunately, everyone that I talk to tells me there is a strike going on in the town with the airport so no one is sure if I can get there.  Some tell me I must leave in the middle of the night to avoid protesters, some tell me to go ahead and risk it, some tell me there is nothing to worry about.  It's a long story, but I catch a ride early the next morning, meet an older guy from Darjeeling in the jeep, and proceed to get to the airport without issue. The older gentleman spends the entire 2 hour jeep ride telling me about the tensions that are going on in the area.  Basically the area around Darjeeling wants to be it's own state.  Tensions boil up every now and then.  Bye bye India.  It was a crazy ride.