Back Home (1)

‘There are a lot of suitcases about in London town.’

Now, let me clarify that statement. It is Christmas. And despite the best wishes of many, it is a time that people want to spend with their families. Some jet off home to loved ones, other take a tube from North London swank pad to South London suburban family home. Whatever. But now is the time that people head off home. It started this weekend, waiting in the cold, shivering away, annoyed that they had forgot to pack their gloves, waiting for a nightbus to take them to Heathrow (for the long distance jaunts), Victoria Coach Station (for those prepared to slog it by coach across Britain and Europe) or up to Liverpool Street (and onto lo-cost Stanstead). Some of these guys are light packers, others are lugging very heavy weights. The bulk of them are women as well. Interesting that.

Does that mean that women are more homebound than men? Probably not, but they are more likely to put up with the vagrancies of late night public transport in the city.

So let me get back to that first statement, ‘there are a lot of suitcases about in London town’.

And I wonder what is in them. After all, few will be leaving London for good, but they seem so…alluring. I have an inquisitive nature at heart and I would love to know what are the essential things for two weeks (without the graphic details), just a hint of intimacy at what women pack for two weeks to spend with mama, papa and the rest of the family back home. After all, it could have been many months since their last visit, so what is in the suitcase. Gifts for all, lots of underwear, a good book, liquor?

Oh well, curiosity will have to be satisfied by imagination for now…

Crossings of the River Rangeet (1)- The Mangitar Bridge

Last month, while I was reminiscing about my second trip to the North East of India, I related a rather jolly stroll that I took, from Darjeeling to the market town of Jorethang. On the way I crossed the River Rangeet, which marks the border between the two states of West Bengal and Sikkim. And so what better way to round up my journeys through India this year, then by ending my rambling words on a tiny little footbridge strung high above the valley of this raging torrent of the Himalaya…

This is one old bridge – 110 years old to be precise. And it is pretty good nick all things considered. This has had to put up with the freezing winters, monsoon rains and the ‘cyclones’ that come up the valley. In fact it was a cyclone that necessitated the construction of this footbridge as the old cane bridge was washed away in a nasty storm.

A little history is needed here. The whole area was once part of the Kingdom of Sikkim, but the British leased some land south of the Rangeet River for the hill station in Darjeeling. Sikkim remained a Princely State, which meant it was de jure independent, but the reality was that the British controlled the affairs of the area. On India’s independence, it retained its autonomy as a Princely State until 1975 when it joined India after a referendum. And so, to cut this down to basics, this bridge was once an international border crossing!

But enough politics and onto the bridge. Now there is no wikipedia entry for me to paraphrase, so I will have to go on my own observations. It is basically a narrow suspension bridge, designed for pedestrians, but I am sure that the odd scooter will roar over this bridge. The flooring is of wooden planks and so you can quite easily see the torrential flow of water below (and I was in the dry season). Unlike other crossing points into Sikkim, there is no one from the Sikkim State Police entering your details into a book and checking for your Inner Line Permit (an easily available piece of paperwork needed by foreigners to enter the state). So it is a whizz for anyone who just wants to take a peek into a life a little less known. Just like I did…

(Getting there and away)

The Mangitar Bridge is a two minute stroll from Mangitar village or a long jeep ride from Darjeeling. Alternatively, you can do a day hike to and from Darjeeling, or if you have an ILP, you can approach the bridge from the Sikkimese side. And take a look below the bridge as well, there is a lot of life on the river banks of the Rangeet. This is a place I must return too…

And so it’s good bye from the ‘Noughties’ (2)

Unlike yesterday, this is a much more personal recollection of the decade. Well, what a decade it has been! The one that is clearest in my memory, and definitely the decade that will shape my years to come. And so how was it for me? Well, that is a very good question, that could only properly be answered in a few years time as I look back and contemplate the happenings of the past ten years. But it has definitely been a decade of two halves. At the beginning of the decade, I started it in revelry on the streets of London. And by the end of the decade I also will be on the streets of London, but not as boisterous as I will be working the night shift. In between it has been an eventful ten years.

The first half of the 2000’s was spent studying and travelling. I studied far too frivolously and travelled far too hard, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I visited a war zone to reconnect with my family, I climbed temples in the jungle, taught English to kids and adults, nearly died in a desert and hiked across the lands of the Moors. And then in 2004, I made an about turn and decided to pursue filming with a vigour. I surprised everyone that knew, me, alienated quite a few of them and got stuck into the business of making films. Now, six years later, and with very little to show for that decision, the big question to ask myself of this decade is ‘has it been a waste of my life?’ After all, these are supposedly the ‘best years’, and if I fail in my quest to make a (decent) living out of writing and directing my own feature films, than I would have wasted those years on nothing more than a pipe dream.

Looking back can be almost as dangerous as looking forward. Fear grips our paths towards the future, regret litters our paths behind us. All that we really have is the present day, and the hum-drum safety net of work, eat, and sleep. And yet, as I look back, I think to myself that it has been an all right decade, but something has to give soon to make it a really spectacular one…

Clapham Common or How to get political about South London

Clapham Common is one of London’s largest green spaces, a place renowned as much for its moments of madness as well as its capacity to refresh the South London atmosphere. But first, a little history lesson is needed here…

Common Land is one of those unusual relics of Medieval law still (broadly) in use today. Basically, the locals adjoining the common have a right to graze their animals, collect wood or dig peat. Back ‘in the day’, when men were serfs, women were no bette than slaves and the vast amount of property in the country was owned by a handful of despots, people were tossed aside a piece of common land so they could eke out an existence.

But back to Clapham. A seemingly ordinary South London suburb, but thanks to the Common, it is now an area of high house prices, young hip things and Saturday Night bar brawls (which are actually quite amusing to watch as us Londoners fight like pussies). But yet, the people still come, attracted (mainly) by a triangular wedge of green surrounded by the A3 and the South Circular roads. And you know what, despite the toffs that surround this park, Clapham Common is a really nice place to venture, especially now as none of the locals are attempting to get a tan under the feeble British sunlight.

You can cycle across, ride a horse in piece or walk your dog. Go for a jog or stop off for the (obligatory) cup off coffee at the park’s cafe. But more importantly you can soak up the relative tranquility available in this part of South London. This is a busy part of the world. The main aim in this part of South London is to get from A to B as quickly as possible, without getting penalised by the speed/red route cameras (ah – the joys of big brother!) While walking on Clapham Common you almost forget that you are surrounded by maniac drivers who have not yet realised the futility that is driving in South London.

(The A3 – Britain’s third most important Trunk Route in a moment of relative calm)

One of the greatest attractions of Clapham Common is the bandstand. A tradition in many of Britain’s open spaces, this one was built in 1890 and is the largest such structure in London. At one point it nearly disintegrated due to the ‘competence’ of Lambeth Council, but happily, this relic of Victorian London is back in swing.

Getting there and away:

Two tube stations serve the common, Clapham Common and Clapham South, both on the Northern Line. Bus routes 35, 37, 50, 88, 137, 155, 249, 322, 345, 355, 417, N35, N137, N155 and the G1 serve all parts of Clapham Common too.

Traveling somewhere?

I am of fleeting interest to this world. In about 45 years, if I go by the average lifespan of the British man, I will be dead. About ten years before that, my body would have lost all usefulness. So the pressing question is not ‘who am I?’ but rather, ‘where shall I go next?’

I enjoy travel. It has bugged me that a major European airline has decided to cancel my flight, but with the cash refunded, I am feeling lucky. So where do I go next? Domestic or international? Back to India is certainly a possibility, but how about somewhere more exotic. The suicidal in me is plumping for Columbia, but I really want to see the mystique of West Africa before I pop off. Then there are relatives to see in far flung places, but it has been a while since I have set my eyes on a desert, forcing me back into the West African mindset.

Questions, yet to be answered, but all in good time. Let me have a cup of tea and mull over my options and my bank balance…

Mission Istanbul?

That’s annoying.

My flight back from Istanbul to LDN had been cancelled.

Now I have a choice.

To rebook my return flight or to get a refund on the entire trip (out and inbound journeys).

I actually wanted to rebook my flight, but, here is the rub.

There was a choice. However it was not presented free and easy, but more like a shotgun wedding.

Now my preference was to find an alternative return flight. The free transfer. That would have been the easy solution.

But given the fact that I was not allowed to browse the return days before choosing, I decided to plump for the refund.

Silly airline. Sometimes, we like to see what the alternatives are before committing ourselves.

But if you put a shotgun to our head, maybe we might just press the trigger…

So there it is, a little bit more in my bank account. Always handy before Christmas.

Still, I would have liked to have seen Istanbul. Maybe not this year.

And next time, airline, don’t behave like some playground group. We are all adults here, capable of making ‘informed’ decisions.

Ultimately, you are the ones that have missed out…

Riding the Jeep…

On arriving at Jorethang, I treated myself to a couple of Samosas and a deep fried boiled egg. Trust me, it tastes better than it sounds, especially when dipped in a bit of chilli soy sauce. Andhow, I needed to get back to Darjeeling. And the sun was setting fast, had I missed te last bus. Well, the bus service does not really run in this part of India.

Okay, a little explanation is needed ere for anyone who is unfamiliar with Asian travel. This is the world’s most populated landmass. Six in every ten people live on this continent. They need to get around. Of course, buses will ply the major routes, the densely populated areas. But Sikkim, and other ’sparsely populated areas’ do not have regular bus services, there is no money to be made. Plus the roads are almost impassable. We are not talking about long straight highways, or even metalled surfaces. We are looking at twisting hairpin bends in the Himalaya. So, there is a plethora of options available to supplement (and even surpass) the local bus service in most of Asia. Unregulated, untaxed and infinitely more fun, for those that travel regularly in Asia, hanging onto the back of a moving vehicle is not some unique thrill, but a way of life.

Being India, there was a cartel. Or a ‘taxi driver’s’ association that controlled the route between Jorethang in Sikkim and Darjeeling in West Bengal. Some guy in a booth (in this case, a man with a pony tail) would take your money. This was one of the few times that I pretended I was from India (I can get away with it). I did not feel like getting conned and I was too tired of answering questions about where I was from. So this time I was a native of Cochin, that could speak Tamil, Malayalam and English. I do this in a lot of countries, pretend I am from a neighbouring region, just to get better prices or sneak in and out on local transport. We waitied, the other passengers and I. Oh, this is another thing to expect with travel (especially road travel) in Asia. A lot of waiting about.

Eventually ‘Humlae’ appeared. That was not his real name but our driver really looked like the character of Humlae from the film Ong Bak (the locals in this part of the world have exotic looks). The best way to describe our driver was easy. He was ‘the dude’. Quite simply, he was one of the coolest people ever. Shaking hands and chatting loudly as he approached our vehicle, everyone knew him, and he knoew everyone. He said hello to me, easily seeing that I was not a foreigner, and leaped into the driver’s seat, ready to take us back to Darjeeling. Any kids reading this (why?) do not worry about careers or cash, just be the coolest person you can be. And this person was definitely cool.

And we were off. Jolting up and down in the jeep, you must realise that any time spent waiting about is not in vain. It gives the driver a chance to floor it. Of course, ‘flooring it’ means no more than 40km/h on the roads of the Himalaya, and that is at a push. But this was Humlae’s turf, as he greeted the border guards of Sikkim (more on that next month), he knew every bump and pot hole on this road, every twist and turn. Well, most of them. The sun was setting fast and there are no street lights in this part of of the world. You needed a guy like Humlae, you needed a cool person at the wheels.

We passed another checkpoint. It seemed that this part of West Bengal had its own unofficial, private police force. Unlike the Sikkim border gaurds, Humlae was more coy with these people, more fawning. They let us pass and onward we went. We went through our first village, dropping off a couple of passengers and on meeting another jeep coming towards us, it was Humlae who stormed through! We were the winners, and Humlae had the wheels to prove it as we raced through tea plantations and forest upwards towards Darjeeling.

Dusk was upon us, as Humlae decided to stop the jeep in the next village. he engine (unusually) was kept running as Humlae jumped out of the jeep, cigarette in hand, and took a bag with him. He lifted the bonnet and took his bag into someone’s house. There, Humlae started chatting with the locals, and flirted with all the chicks of the village – hey, who can blame him – they’re cute!

Humlae then came running out of the house with ONE jug of water and poured it into the radiator. Cap closed, he went back into the house and we could hear the lively conversation taking place alongside the illicit consumption of beer. Prohibition, whether enforced by the unofficial police or the real Sikkim border guards is useless. The village became a party zone and Humlae was at the centre of attention. Jovial and in his element, it seemed that everyone (except for the passengers in the jeep) knew his name. But Humlae was only there to kick off the party. He had brought the booze along, stayed for a drink, but he had a job to do! Off to Darjeeling we went!

Into the next village we arrived and Humlae knew everyone there too! As a jeep driver approached in the opposite direction, Humlae engaged him in some witty banter that put a smile on his face. Smiles abounded and we were off. And then we stopped! An old woman leapt out in front of us! Screeching to a halt, the old woman ran over to the driver’s window and gave Humlae a letter. He was not just a transporter of goods and people but also the local postman! Whatever task you needed to get done, Humlae would do it. They chatted for a bit, Humlae as always, respectful to his elders before he floored it. And agan we stopped! A few more needed to squeeze in. We were probably the last jeep of the night, and obligingly, Humlae let them one, and we squeezed together, Humlae himself giving up his driving space to accommodate the extra passengers. Humlae was no mere taxi driver, he really was the dude, a pillar of the local community.

Kids, remember this, be cool, just like Humlae. Never have I seen a man more content in life, than our driver. It may have been the beer, but he was happily driving along. And his love was infectious. Whenever he passed someone by, he would stop and chat with them, putting a smile on their face too, before driving off. Forget about those crooked bankers, or idiots in suits that seem to be proliferating in this world. It is people like Humlae who keep the world going round. He may not have much, just the jeep and his wits, but he knew love, he knew how to spread it, and even though we were running well late, no one seemed to care. Hey man, this is India! Enjoy it, this type of thing won’t be around forever…

And so, Humlae continued. By now it was pitch black outside. The bends were sharper as we climbed up towards Darjeeling. Vehicles were coming the other way, the road got rougher (a legacy of the monsoon) and Humlae concentrated on the journey ahead. But alas, we got stuck. We grounded ourselves on one of the bends. Now, travel in Asia, is not always smooth. It’s the terrain, its pretty rough. And so we all jumped out, and all the men helped push the vehicle back onto the road surface. That was about ten minutes of revving and muscle, but at least I got to stretch the legs. Then we were on the way. Back through Lebong, the road that I had taken earlier that day looking familiar in the dark as we screamed towards Darjeeling.

And finally we arrived, in the lower part of town, where all the markets and stalls were located. Dusty from a full day’s hike, where I got to saw a world few other outsiders get to glimpse at, I stumbled out of the jeep. I wished Humlae goodbye, and he warmly shook my hand. I do not know who he is, what is his history or personal life. But he was a cool guy. He was the dude. Like many other journeys that I have taken on this magnificent continent, he provided with memories that were far more special than the destination itself. Ad you know what kids, spread the love. Be like Humlae. You may not be as wealthy as you had hoped, but you will be a lot happier. And that happiness is infectious!

India 2 – A look back

Twice in a year, what a lucky guy I am and again to North East India. What a place to go, just go! Anyone (if there is anyone) who reads these posts must now realise how much I love India. Admittedly, I have only seen a tiny part of the country but what a country to visit! And the North East, what an undiscovered gem!

To be honest, most people (my own family included on their Indian trips) do not know much about the North East. Its isolation due to the geographical (wet and mountainous) and geopolitical (Bangladesh) reality means that it is a pain to get in and out of the region. So why bother when you can stick with the beautiful sights of the Golden Triangle, head south to Goa or take in the sights of eclectic Mumbai. And these are all great things to do, and activities that I will do one day. But for now, I am still captivated by the wonders of the North East.

Few Indians realise the beauty of this corner of their land and even fewer foreigners venture to this part of the world. Apart from the above mentioned difficulties, it is also a land that unfortunately that has had its fair share of internal turmoil. But move past these problems and you will see a magical land, untouched by the ravages of modern society. Traditions prevail here in the North East, proud traditions that have given the area far more advantages than the rest of India. Literacy in the North East is higher than the national average. Education and multilingualism is evident when traveling in North East India. Sikkim, Nagaland, Meghalaya and Mizoram do not have the problems with female infanticide that plagues the rest of India. Again this translates into more egalitarian roles for women. Unlike the rest of India, women are running businesses and controlling the wealth. Its location as well, at the crossroads of the North Indian, Tibetan and South East Asian worlds have given this area a fascinating backdrop and its people a richness in their culture that is unsurpassed in much of my travels. This is real fusion country, having a unique identity that is its own.

North East India, is not an easy place to travel round. Like the rest of the country, it is plagued by incompetence from upon high, and this area especially so as it is ‘in the corner’. But it is a rewarding place to visit, it is a stunning part of the world to experience. I feel very blessed that I have been able to travel around the North East of India so freely and openly, one of the advantages to travel as a whole round this country. Wandering like I did in the countryside of Sikkim or chatting with the locals in Meghalaya would not be possible across the border in nearby China, the police would swarm around you in a few minutes. And I am also very lucky to have picked the North East of India as the first part of the country to visit. I do not know what the future holds, whether or not I shall return to India. But if my path leads to the North East, don’t worry, I will be there in a flash.

And just in case, you have not realised from these posts, I love India. It is a tough country to visit, but man, is it a great place to visit. Everyone in their life, if they can do it, must see this land at least once before they die. You will not regret it!

India 2 – A walk through Sikkim…

(Continued from yesterday).

Refueled with Noodles, and with a spring in my spirit (a.k.a. stomach), I took my first steps on the road to Jorethang, the big ‘market town’ for this part of Southern Sikkim. Some 7km away, this would be only an hour or so by foot. Interestingly, this was the first time that the locals were unsurprised by the fact that I was prepared to walk it. Most parts of the world, people look at you strangely and even laugh that you are prepared to walk more than ten minutes. Here in Sikkim however, the walk to Jorethang was considered a ’short walk’. People after my own heart, they also had the same mentality a me. Why bother spending your cash on a four wheeled monstrosity when you can enjoy the scenery, keep fit and save that cash for some funky food at the other end. While walking from Majitar to Jorethang, I passed by people who were walking back from market and a few locals overtaking me on their walk to Jorethang (impressive for them, as I am a six footer, and my strides are a lot loner than theirs).

My path was a fairly easy one. The road to Jorethang was well paved and more importantly, followed the course of the River Rangeet upstream, meaning that it would be hard to get lost on the way to Jorethang village. As a true child of the Himalaya, the Rangeet had carved an impressive valley for me to walk through. Hard rocks, the foothills of the mountains to the north surrounded me as I meandered my way through South Sikkim. The river however, was always a raging torrent, although the valley it had carved was huge. I can only imagine what it would be like after the srping thaw or during the impressive monsoon season in this part of India.

The river is a hive of industry now that the monsoon is over. The rough pebbles in the bed of the river were being exploited by the local building industry, while the sand banks left behind by the meandering watercourse are utilised as paddy fields bringing rice to the local populace. And nets were cast throughout the watercourse, catching the many fish that populate this part of the river. The Himalaya gives a lot to the local land. Its fertility is a gift to India, and this part of Sikkim is one of the first places to receive its bounty. But it is also a harsh land. I was traveling in this area through the benign post-monsoon season. But during the rains, it would become almost impassable. Landslides are common, and the river itself is a dangerous child of the mountain, sweeping all away in front if it when the rains leave it full.

But life goes on. In amongst the landscape, the many trees and plants that sheltered my way during this sunny walk through South Sikkim, were signs of civilisation. This is one of the least crowded parts of India, but all through business takes place, people are living their lives and despite the many hardships and Blessings of the land, people are just that. People. Eating, going to work, loving, arguing, laughing and crying on their journey through life. One thing you learn very quickly in your travels, whether it is to the local shops or halfway around the world is how similar we all are. It is that rather than the differences which is the biggest eye-opener. And so I arrived in Jorethang, another bustling town on my wanders through life. A cross roads of sorts, nestled in the foothills of the Himalaya.

What a walk! Started in touristic Darjeeling, I quickly left behind all sense of backpackers and travelers and was truly by myself amongst the tea plantations of West Bengal. Crossing the River Rangeet, I made my first, tentative footsteps into Sikkim, a name synonymous with intrigue and mystery. Finally I made my way into ‘Real Sikkim’, and got to saw life first hand, without the help of a TV screen or a hastily written guidebook. I do not know when I will return to the North East of India, hell, I do not know when I will next come to India. But it is a land that I have truly fallen in love with. A beautiful country, filled with intrigue to satisfy even me, the most curious of all people. And if my path takes me to this country again, I hope to revisit this magical place, nestled in the shadow of the Himalaya.

—

My walk complete I managed to grab a space on a jeep heading towards Darjeeling from the ‘local cartel’. But that of course, is another story…

India 2 – A walk into Sikkim…

(Continued from November 10th).

I crossed the Rangeet river over the Mangitar Bridge and took my first steps in Sikkim. A land that has fascinated me since I first heard of the Himalaya. Nestled in the mountains, this little known part of India is not exactly the ‘classical’ India of the tourist trail, the India of the Taj Mahal, Delhi or Goa, but like the rest of this country, it is hard to pin down. And Sikkim is proof, if any was needed after these blog posts on India, that the diversity of this country will amaze and astound at each and every turn.

Sikkim does not fail to amaze, and it is surprisingly different from neighbouring Dajeeling in West Bengal. For a start, it is clean. Really clean. Darjeeling was clean, but Sikkim was pristine. Secondly, the people were different. Slightly. The mountain culture of Darjeeling is shared by Sikkim, but there is less of the polyglot sense that there is in Darjeeling. Darjeeling is a melting pot of cultures from throughout this area, but on crossing into Sikkim, especially this little visited part of the state by the Rangeet River, it is much more homegrown. The culture is indigenous, and there is an attachment to the land.

This part of Sikkim is also incredibly poor. It is the first time in my travels around North East India that I actually felt that. No, there were no starving people or amputees wandering the streets, but there is a sense that India’s economic miracle has yet to penetrate this mountain hideaway. Now, this is not a comment on the state as a whole, just this part of the state between the villages of Majitar and Jorethang. I have barely scratched the surface of this evocative state, and it is a place that I really want to return to.

Over the Rangeet River I went and into mythical Sikkim. My first stop, Majitar Village. I grabbed an (expensive) bottle of water and a (cheap) bowl of noodles. Oh yes, this is fusion food at its best. Spicy noodles with dahl. A mixture of the the cultures of China and India, this Rs5 bowl was more that refreshing but an anthropological treat! Instead of spending time in colonial era societies, why don’t those useless anthropologists just open their eyes and the rest of their senses to the flavours of this world? A large tree dominated the centre of the village where (a lot) of children played around. The noise of the rapids and kids’ voices filled the air as I slurped on my noodles.

I had a choice. To walk back the way I came, or to head deeper into Sikkim. On one hand, I had the unknown ahead of me. No guidebook comes out this far into the state, nor are there any maps. Plus, this being the tropics, night falls quickly here. Then again, to walk back, along the same path I came along would be so dull…so asking the directions to the town with a bus/jeep link back to Darjeeling, I was told that Jorethang was only a 4 mile hike. Well, I had already done over 20 miles, what was another four to these tired legs. So I set off, further into this journey, along the Rangeet River. This short stroll was turning out to be something a lot longer!

I climbed up the mound past vegetable patches and a primary school towards the main road above the village of Majitar. And I took one last look at my first footsteps into Sikkim. I had finally done it! A sense of achievement came over me, as I finally entered Sikkim. I am not sure if the locals realise how famed their state is, nestled as they are in the shadow of the Himalaya. A place of wonder, a part of the world that so many people wish to visit, and I was one of the few that had made it, possibly via one of the most unorthodox routes possible. But there was no time to dawdle. The sun would be setting soon, and I had still had a few miles ahead of me yet!

(to be continued)