India changed me, maaan

Many people come to India for some kind of spiritual awakening, associating India with all things mystical and religious in nature. Amartya Sen wrote a genius book addressing this association (among other things) and the general side-lining of the strong rationalist, intellectual history of India. But never mind that today. Today I have less than one week left in this village where I've been whiling away the last four months and also my dear friend Karo has just arrived back in Germany, and we've both had cause to reflect on how India changed us (said with syrupy, hippie-like emphasis).



Let me count the ways. 

1. I got my ears pieced, and now I'm obsessed with earrings. I already have something like a dozen pairs and it's pretty much the biggest decision of my day. This is a radical change, because previously I never considered I might pierce my ears and I certainly never dreamed I'd think plastic, bulbous coral-coloured earrings are awesome. Now I do. But also all the other earrings ever.
2. In a similar vein, I have started painting my nails for the first time. I never used to do this. I thought nail polish was one of things that just wasn't my "stil" (German word meaning something between 'style', 'taste', 'way of life' and 'character'). Now my nails are almost always painted, and always in some very bright colour. 
3. Colour. Most of my wardrobe in New Zealand is muted colours and, lets be honest, black. Now it is hot pink, green, bright blue, plaid, everything. 
4. Fabric. I care about fabric. I go to my tailors house for dinner and know his whole family on a first-name basis. At the fabric shops, I fuss, I only buy pure cotton, pure silk - I'm stopping on the way to Vizag in Odissa because of how famous the region is for silk and embroidery. 
5. I have glasses now. So I can see far away villages and stuff. 
6. I say sentences like: "It's too beautiful!" (Indians use the word 'too' as meaning 'very' constantly) 
7. If  I see a cute child, I think it's normal to stop and have an extended conversation with them. In fact, I am late everywhere (this isn't new) because I have a policing of stopping to talk to every child who tries to talk to me. This policy does not apply to adult men. 
8. I think trashy pop music like this is seriously good. I'm not being ironic or anything cool, I actually just love it and sing along every time it comes on. I can listen to it twice in a row even. 
9. I started wearing rings because 1. When I didn't, Bengali women would look at my naked hands and ask why I have such a vendetta against rings, and 2. Because the rings sold in my area are so beautiful. 
10. Even if I am wearing: a brightly coloured kurta and choose slacks (tight Indian pants), earrings, a necklace and a ring, one of the local teenage girls will look at me askew and ask "Leila, don't you like eye-liner?" and in the same day another one will tell me, with their concerned face on: "Leila, if you put eye-liner, you would look too beautiful, really." I've internalized this rigorous idea of getting dressed, and now I feel like I won't feel ready until I look something like this: 

At least for my wedding, eh? I said to a woman today "I wish I was Indian. I want a big Indian wedding" (the picture above is traditional Bengali wedding jewellery). 

She said, like it was the obvious solution, "well, marry an Indian man!" and I told her that I already have an idea of who I'd like to marry, and he's unfortunately Canadian. She made sympathetic tut-tut noises. 

To summarise, some might say India has made me more superficial and silly (both directions my character was doubtless already headed in), and I would agree. But it's also made me love being a woman, in this particular female body. This feels like a bizarre thing to say about such a famously bad place to be a woman, but here in West Bengal, it's made me feel like some kind of playful, treasured forest nymph. Some schools of feminist thought would argue I'm just taking joy in decorating my cage, a metaphor well-fitted to my new love of jewelry, but for me (I cannot speak for others) it has been more like a celebration of embodiment. In India, my own embodiment has felt okay to me, for the first time. I got sick, a lot, at the start and I've felt hot beyond anything I'd experienced before. My appearance is always being observed, commented on and I'm very conscious of how much skin I show. Climbing Maenam was physically my limit and the beds I've slept on are little more than a board with a sheet on it. My body is always there. And now, at the age of 28, I love it. Covering it in jewels seems like the entirely appropriate response. 

Old post: Nepali Stroll

So this is about three months old (or more!), but anyway in Kathmandu valley I walked from the village of Nagarkot to the village of Dhulikhel. Both are famous for their views of the Himalayas and generally being pretty Mountain places: Nagarkot is on the typical 'lonely planet' trail and consists mostly of hotels, and Dhulikhel is more of an ordinary village - I really liked both. The walk between the two took me about six hours, but I wasn't exactly hurrying, and I was approached by several well-meaning Nepalis telling me that they would take a taxi, given the choice.

Nagarkot locals

Baby with money

Pierre asked me if he could please stay here forever, and I said no

In the restaurant of the "Hotel at the End of the Universe" (recommended). 

Where I retired to after several hours of Nepali folk singing around a fire

The walk

Misty prayer flags

At one comical moment on the walk, I felt myself to be lost in a maze of paths going through a very pretty woods when I came across the place pictured above. At the far end is that small house and I yelled out "Hello! Namaste!" and an old man who looked like a dream-vision of a hermit Indian guru (long beard, coloured rags as clothes) yelled NAMASTE back and kept on keeping on. I walked towards him, he didn't walk towards me and I had to climb all the way up to his house to ask him for directions to Dhulikhel. His directions were simple, he waved his arm vaguely in the direction of one of the paths and said "go!" beaming at me. So I did.

In Nagarkot a thick mist had obscured the supposedly splendid view of the mountains, but I didn't mind since it made the whole place feel spooky - and anyway, I sat up half the night with six Nepali mountain men, between about 17 and 85 in age, teaching me beautiful Nepali folk songs, playing guitar and feeding me freshly roasted potato slices off the fire. All in all, one of the truly most magical nights I could care to name.

NB: I don't think playing guitar at night or around a fire inherently makes for a magical night; the guitar needs to be played well and the company has to be interesting. Take note, American hippies.

In any case, I got to hang out with those badboys the Himalayas from the comfort of my bedroom in Dhulikhel, where the clouds cleared and I woke to find myself surrounded by this:

The mountains surrounding my room in Dhulikhel

Cave of Secrets, Sikkim

Sikkim has a total of four holy caves and the 'largest' of these caves is the Eastern cave called Pe Phu or the Cave of Secrets! I felt like Indiana Jones already. Learning absolutely nothing from our previous experience climbing Maenam, Karo and I set off from Ravangla with no water in the late afternoon thinking it would be a pleasant stroll to some large, easily accessible cave, clearly sign-posted. Ha. We had obviously been spoiled by the clean streets of Gangtok.

The walk to the cave naturally took much longer than expected, but it was super beautiful and adorable little twerps hassled us on the way. Once in 'Sangmoo', the 'village' (one house?) where the cave was supposed to be located, we wandered around like tired, lost people and got adopted by the cutest child to walk on this earth. She's about six, guessing, and her only English is "come!" So we did.

The entrance area to the cave (pictured below) was cavernous enough, but from then on it's tight, dusty squeezes, all guided (and goaded) on by our dear tour guide (pictured above): "come!"

At the end we all stood looking at the Himalayas, and Karo and I gave our tour guide a hand-made pendant and snow leopard badge respectively and she held both the gifts to her heart and beamed at us. She had scrambled around the caves and the cliffs surrounding them with such incredible confidence and ease - I shudder to think how far into the cave system she has ventured.

Information

The date gurus visited this cave: 6th Century AD.

We walked up Maenam so you don't have to!

I had this hilarious locally produced guide book on the region, stolen/ borrowed from my favourite guest house in Kalimpong. The author boasts that his maps display his passion for cartography and are made using "powerful graphic computer software." You can see the Maenam map here if you scroll down. Unluckily for us, he was actually right to boast as his maps appear to be the only maps of the region in known existence. At least, known to local hoteliers and guides. 

So, blissfully ignorant, off we marched - laden only with a tub of peanut butter, two litres of water for both of us, crackers and chocolate biscuits. The New Zealander in me made a worried face, but the (universalist) idiot said "come on! It's only a three hour walk. How hard can it be?!"  

So hard. So, so hard. One time, last year, I walked over 'Big Hill' near Arrowtown with a massive pack and a patient boyfriend during a rainstorm and I said, with true feeling, "this is the hardest thing I've ever done." Boyfriend cajoled me up the hill, but at points I really believed it was just not. physically. possible for me. Well, Big Hill, you better rename yourself 'Not so Big Anymore Hill' cos holy shit Maenam is the hardest thing I've ever done. From 2000m altitude to 3025 in three hours is NO JOKE you guys. I felt faint. I was dehydrated. I was cold. It was extremely beautiful (but, sometimes, I didn't even care). 

The dog above was escorting another group of local trekkers. They said "he's not my dog, but he is today." So cute. He kept running between us and making sure we all stayed in safe groups. I wanted to steal him, but I knew he would wilt away from the forest he clearly loves. 

This creepy place on the way to insane cliff of death

This hilarious piece of litter I found

 

Our saintly guide was cold so I let him wear this Palestinian scarf

After summiting the damn Maenam mountain and meeting the very shy monk who lives in the monastery on it, we re-grouped our energies and walked an extra half hour to this incredible cliff, where you stand on the edge of a 1500 metre drop down. Lots of offerings to the Gods are left here. 

Prime Red Panda territory

We asked our guide, who walks here all the time, if he's ever seen a red panda and he replied "yes, 2008." So, unsurprisingly, given those odds, red pandas did not choose to show their cute faces to us noobs. All the same, they sure choose a beautiful place to live; rhododendron and magnolia forests. 

 

Two good shepherds

Ravangla: Sikkim

We managed to drag ourselves away from the calm oasis of Gangtok and endured a terrifying three hour jeep trip to the mountain village of Ravangla. Like many places in India (and, indeed, in Asia in general) Ravangla/ Rabongla has alternate English spellings and the local 'best' restaurant follows in this style by having it's name as 'Kookie' on the menu and 'Kookay' on the signs. I have to wonder if it's deliberate. 

Ravangla town  isn't what you'd call especially beautiful, but it's comparatively quiet and the views on a clear day are really nice. As for the cold, foggy evenings, it was just the kind of weirdo David Lynch aesthetic I enjoy. It was seriously cold though.

'Kookay' Restaurant and '10zing Hotel' (our home)

Back in daylight and Ravangla is a charming, bright little town. With a fantastic Rabbit rubbish bin I want in my future kitchen. 

Sikkim: India for your MOM*

* And for me. 

I can't really speak for 'India', as I have only bummed around in one adorable village and the surrounds in North West Bengal. I went to Kolkata, the capital of West Bengal, and I guess it was kind of crowded and stuff, but not really. I found plenty of leafy avenues and the like. Anyway, my current travel pal Karo, a super tough, hilarious 19 year old Bavarian, has been all over this fair land and had her share of harassment, hassles, near misses with cars driving on the footpath, there not being a footpath, men grabbing her and touching her and all of those other more difficult experiences we associate with India. Especially as a woman. 

Sikkim isn't like that. Sikkim is India, lite. Or, as the people of Sikkim would have it, Sikkim isn't really India. The people are a bit shy, and super polite. If they want to take a photo they will say "if you wouldn't mind, I take photo?" or something equally unheard of in the rest of India, where I once woke up in general class on the train to find my new friend taking snaps of me asleep. The weather is cold. The main towns, such as Gangtok (pictured above), have pedestrian zones and in these zones people stroll leisurely around, there is no rubbish on the street, there are rubbish bins and benches and loads and loads of space. 

One small part of the reason for the difference of Sikkim is the fact that India invests so much in it - to court it and keep it from being drawn too close to China. Sikkim is semi-autonomous and actually voted to become part of India in the 1970s. So, they're in a strong relationship with India, but they're not beholden. 

Other reasons I've only read about very briefly, and which probably hold more weight, are to do with the huge cultural difference between, say, Bengalis, and the Nepali, Lepcha and Tibetan people who make up the Sikkim populace. You notice the different gender roles right away, with tough police women patrolling the streets. They march past in their very well tailored uniforms and never smile at me, and I'm glad they don't. 

In other news, as we were (sadly) leaving Gangtok, we happened to be crossing the footbridge when this happened: (Lord Rama's birthday)

NB: We also referred to Sikkim as the 'Bavaria of India', perhaps because of our Bavarian heritage, but perhaps because of the copious beer drinking (even by women), the mountains, the focus on tradition, the general 'quaintness' and the festivals.