Before launching into our latest adventure, it is necessary to explain a little of the politics in the region. Darjeeling borders Nepal and Sikkim and is inhabited almost entirely by ethnic Nepalis. However, the region falls into the state of West Bengal and so is run by Bengali speakers some 21 hours drive away in Kolkata. For the past 20 years or so this has led to tension in the hills with the Nepalis (Gorkhas) calling for the creation of a new state within the Indian federation – Gorkhaland.

The majority of these calls have been peaceful – prayer meetings, marches and strikes in shops and government offices. However, from time to time, particularly in the 1980s, pro and anti Gorkhaland parties have clashed in Darjeeling and security forces have imposed a state of emergency, imposing curfews and stopping all traffic coming in and out of the city for as much as 10 days. Tensions have simmered on throughout this summer, scaring away domestic tourists and limiting commerce.

Friday morning started completely normally. Faroukh and Mike headed off to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim, to meet with the tourist board there about some mountain shots, and Ioanna and I went down to the Margaret’s Hope estate to interview the estate manager about his management strategies.  The assistant manager met us at the factory gates, friendly chap that he is, and suggested we turned round and head straight back to Darjeeling.  He had received a call from this boss who was still in the town that there were problems on the streets and a risk the roads would all be shut. Not to be thwarted in our visit, we took a 15 minute dash around the factory, took some pictures and asked the assistant managers a few dozen questions before jumping back into the car to drive the hour back to town.

Darjeeling itself at first seemed normal. All of the shops had their shutters down but that is the case during regular strikes anyway. As we got closer to the centre more and more people were amassed where the pavements should be, just standing, waiting and watching. We pulled into the street by our hotel and were met by a car on its side and smouldering in the middle of the street, surrounded by a crowd of agitated men. I was glad to get back inside and find out what was going  on.

The hotel staff, bless them, told us that the house below belonged to a leading politician and would be please keep away from the windows on that side of the hotel. That’s not what you tell a film crew. Let’s just say that when I went downstairs I found everyone staring out the window, cameras at the ready and a mic already dangling. We watched entranced as the place was destroyed, tvs, clothes and a washing machine were hurled from the roof and everything that fell was set alight in the street. Elsewhere in Darjeeling the cars, homes and businesses of leading politicians were sacked.

I must say here that at no stage did we feel unsafe and also that the violence was very localised and targetted – this was not full scale looting. An afternoon protest had turned into a brawl and shots were fired, killing the aunt of one of the politicians.  Mayhem ensued, but only aimed at the politicians. The few other windows that were broken were as a result of ricochets. After about 2 hours the heavens opened and the rain came down, as it is want to do in teh monsoon. Everyone disappeared from the streets and did not reappear til morning, by which time everything was calm again.

This blog is here to explain a little of the politics but also is memoriam of Glenarys, our favourite bakery cum restaurant cum bar and a Darjeeling institution. No doubt the tourists will flock there again, but not before we leave. There are several months of repair work to do, not least replacing all of the Victorian panelled glass,  and breakfast times are sadder without Glenarys hot chocolate and pastries. We’ll have to stick with stale cornflakes.

If you ever visit the Happy Valley tea estate in Darjeeling, it is likely that Kusum will be the first person you meet. The path down from the road to the factory winds downhill so steeply that you wonder how on earth a jeep could negotiate the turns; going on foot seems the only sensible way down. Once you reach the factory, Kusum’s house and shop is to your left and before you can set foot down the path to the factory, she will surely have accosted you.

From a distance Kusum seems like any other old lady in Darjeeling. She’s 68, of Nepali origin, and trying to sell you tea. If you take the time to come inside her home, however, you are in for a surprise. Kusum is no ordinary estate worker. Now officially retired from estate labour, she runs her tea stall and informs tourists and other visitors about the working of the estate. Her English is flawless, she knows a smattering of German, and she also out shone us all in her knowledge of Japanese.

Kusum is adamant that she is known across at least 4 continents as the 5 second lady – if you have heard of her do please let us know! And why, I hear you ask is she the 5 second lady? (At least she’s not the 5 second man…) Well, it’s all down to the tea she brews. Her speciality is…wait for it… Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe Number 1. This first flush (spring picking) organic tea, the finest tea produced on the Happy Valley estate, takes just 5 seconds to make a perfect, golden brew. Kusum uses a t-spoon of tea per cup, puts the tea in a sieve, and pours the water straight through it for a very-fast-the-way-she-counts 5 seconds. It’s delicious. What is more, as the leaves have not stewed in the water, they can be used in the same way twice more. Clever.  The tea is sweet, Kusum a fabulous sales woman, and you’re unlikely to escape her clutches without her 5 second method ingrained on your mind and a rucksack full of her special tea.

First off, an apology. From my frightfully enthusiastic first day blog i’ve been somewhat lacklustre with my online updating, and for that, humble tea fans, I throw myself prostrate at your feet and beg for mercy.

I have got a reason, though. About a week ago (time is already blurring) we headed up to Darjeeling from Calcutta. I wasn’t supposed to be going but after suffering from a bit of a man flu it was decided that I would probably complain less if I was out of the city, so I got loaded aboard a jeep with Mike and Amelia and shipped off to Darjeeling. Now, Darjeeling doesn’t look that far from Calcutta on a map. It is, however, a very, very, very, very long way. 21 hours total to be precise, 17 of which I didn’t move for, and therefore couldn’t feel my legs the next day and ended up walking like a constipated cowboy. After the heat and hecti-city (that’s not a real word I know) of Calcutta, it’s well worth it though. Darjeeling was the summer retreat of the British during the days of the Raj. And it’s lovely- stuck up at the top of a mountain looking out over the Himalayas and surrounded by Darjeeling Tea Estates. The architecture is a glorious crumbling mix of Tibetan and European Ski-chalet, and the clouds and mist roll into the city on a daily basis, giving the impression that you’re actually floating around in the clouds. I like Darjeeling. I like Darjeeling a lot. Plus the tea estates are geographically protected- which preserves the area’s special tea for ever more. I kind of like that- Darjeeling isn’t allowed to change, and is stuck wonderfully in the past. It’s especially nice because the output of all the 86 tea estates in Darjeeling is less than 10% of the output of ONE of the big Assam estates. That’s some seriously exclusive tea.

Unfortunately, no sooner had I arrived and decided that I wanted to go and see the zoo and the Tiger mountain and ride the steam train (which wasn’t running anyway) than I got called away to Mumbai. Yes, such is the life of a budding TV starlet, bollywood came ‘a calling, and who was I to refuse?

So. Here we are two days later, in a sweaty internet cafe in a sweaty street in Bombay. I actually quite like it here despite the heat- the streets are clean and there’s something fairly European about it (by which I don’t mean the offers of ‘coffee shop mister? Just like Amsterdam, not Starbucks’- I can only assume he was referring to their excellent ham and cheese toasties). You get the same scammers you get everywhere else, but there’s just something more… loveable about it. On the other hand, i’ve not had to deal with the Mumbai port authorities to try and wrestle the Tracing Tea team trucks (try saying that after a couple of Kingfishers) off them yet, so watch this space.

Oh, and no joking, i’ve had three offers of Bollywood extras work already. They come up to you at the hotel desk and offer you 800rs (about 10 quid) to be a shopper/ lost tourist for the day. Shopping/ looking lost? I’m not a professional actor, but even I can do that. If only my loyalties weren’t with Tracing Tea…

Sam

So anyway, the other day I visited the church of St. John.  The church was built by the British in 1787 and holds the resting remains of Jobus Charnock, who founded this city in 1686.  It is a peaceful place, a fairly standard piece of East India Company era architecture , but to me at least its value is more than the sum of its stones. (1)

Today the symbol of Kolkata is the Victoria Monument, the iconic white dome that stands imperiously at the head of the maidan, but I found that small church summed up the history and charm of this place so much better.(2)  You see the Victoria Monument, finished only in 1921, is a product of the late Raj a time of bombast and grandiosity that belongs properly to New Delhi, which was then the new capital.  The ministrys and palaces to be found in that city are, as the Victoria Monument, impressive indeed, but to my mind they speak as much of the decline of the Raj as of its obvious wealth.

The Church of St. John on the other hand, hails from a deeper past, when Kolkata (then Calcutta) was the capital of British India and accounted with her Bengali hinterlands for over half the wealth of the country.  The Raj at that time was a simpler and more precarious thing, barely thirty years before the Church of St. John was built Calcutta itself had been captured by Siraj-ud-Daula, and 146 of its people thrown in the infamous ‘black hole.’  Service in the East India Company was still a dangerous way for young men to make their fortune and like as not meet an early demise, one need only read the memorial stones at the chuch to have testament to that.  Necessity drove a spirit of enterprise, adventure, commerce and co-operation that made Britain rich without recourse to the provocative pomposity of later years.

That same spirit flows still and it is at the heart of this city’s charm, for though not overburdened with ‘must-see’ landmarks it is a friendly and relaxed place where almost everone has time for almost  everyone else, in marked contrast to the current capital.  That the people here have elected a state communist government,one of only two so chosen in the world, gives you as good an idea of the city as anything else, it is a testament to the enduring community spirit in this crowded megalopolis. (3)  I can’t help but feel that, when the British moved the capital from here in 1911 to build their ministrys and monuments it may have shocked this proud city to its core, but it may also have been the saving of this place. 

Anyhow, point is there are probably worse places to be stuck waiting around.  Not that I am anymore, I’m flying to Mumbai (Bombay) tommorow to argue with some different customs officials about some different vehicles, I’ll be back next week though, musing into the rain from my little covered balcony.

(1)  British India was controlled by the, ‘British East India Company,’ until the 1857 Indian Mutiny, after which it was taken under the direct control of the crown.

(2)  The maidans: swampland, drained by the British and now Kolkata’s answer to Hyde Park.

(3)  The other is Kerala State government

Andrew

Well our escape from the heat, dust and noise of Kolkata, to the green, leafy, misty mountain hop of Darjeeling has been reviving. It has revived the senses, the creativity, and revived the material for the blog!

After spending a morning painting pictures of stray dogs and streets lined with prayer flags, Duncan and I thought we’d head out for some tea and a spot of shopping. After dashing in for a steaming pot of Darjeeling tea to escape yet another monsoon down pour, we hit the shops. We were rather taken with a toy shop and eventually settled on scrabble and little bald baby doll for Mike. Our friendly shop assistant wrapped them up (bearing in mind there is a ban on plastic bags here for the sake of the environment) in happy little newspaper bundles tied together with string.

Wandering up to the main square we saw locals mingling, saddled ponies ready to take the little ones for a joy ride, stray dogs easing in the middle of the street, fazed by nothing, and finally… Monkeys!!

This was my first ‘wild’ encounter with these funny little creatures. We saw a very grand and tough old Major monkey swaggering along with a mouth full of biscuits he had clearly just pilfered from an unsuspecting picnic party. Following jovially behind was his prodigy Private, who hoisted himself up a pole, and with the precision and grace of an Olympic gymnast, swung down with arm outstretched, grabbed his loot out of the rubbish bin, then smugly wandered along trying to get the last drips out of his fruit juice carton.

By now I had managed to get my camera out and followed them around the corner. To my joy they had met up with the rest of the troops, Mum, Grannie, Aunts, new born babies one, two and three, a few spotty faced youths and even a spinster. This was a monkey patrol on its’ afternoon out! They started to move along the fence and so Duncan and I, completely taken by the spectacle followed after. Baby One was clinging for dear life as Mum zipped along the fence line. One of the spotty faced youths took to the ropes and branches showing off his new skills and amazingly quickly the Patrol moved on. Following a metre or two behind we were right in the action. We had babies testing out their new legs; Aunts raising there posteriors to the sky to stop to drink from a puddle, a happy family time. This was, until Spinster, feeling a touch jealous thought she would nab herself Mums baby. There was a big scuffle, Baby Two went rolling along the ground, Aunts came in from all directions for support; pure monkey mayhem.

Before we could say rabies, we were surrounded by them and what do you know? Major the old sly dog had been hanging back (secretly) and saw his opening. With the baby snatching decoy holding our attention, Duncan and I were sitting ducks for Major and the promising Private. Executing his deepest and most terrifyingly serious growl, Major locked us in his sights and hurtled full steam ahead to a momentarily frozen Duncan and me. With the reflexes of cats… albeit well-fed, lazy, house cats, we spun on our heels and pegged it! I have to say that most of my energy went on squeals, but somehow Majors razor like, rabid teeth didn’t find our ankles.

With adrenalin pumping and our legs not quite so pumping, we finally eased our sprint and burst out laughing at how ridiculous we must have looked. Not one other person on the footpath had moved a muscle, and not one had even batted an eye lid. Why did Major have a personal vendetta against us? A very sweet young girl and her mother, stifling giggles, kindly informed us that it wasn’t us, it was in fact our happy little newspaper bundles. Apparently they resemble food packages in Monkey Land. If he had just asked nicely…

 Amelia

I am still in Kolkata. The reason I am still in Kolkata is that the rickshaws are still in Columbo, a disasterous situation that K-Line shipping has not yet adequately explained to me, and that does not look like ending any time soon. So it was that yesterday faced with this persistent position of being in Kolkata, I got sufficiently desperate to attend a meditaion class. It makes for a poor joke: something along the lines of it helping me to realise that however bored I got, it could be worse, I could be meditating. If I’m honest though, to begin with at least it was fairly compelling.

Meditation was presented to us as a simple thing that was very difficult to achieve: total singular concentration without disruption or deviation. It is possible, we were told, to ease the learning process by taking certain basic notions with us in our daily lives, goodness, friendliness, tolerance etc. all very attractive and commendable. It was only towards the end of the sessision, as we were told of the need for ambivolence to wrong or right action, that I remembered what it was that makes me so uneasy about Hinduism.

The good Hindu is indifferent to wrong or right action becuase he knows that all actions come from God, and that moral judgements are merely men’s interpretations of pre-destined events.

Earlier in the day I had visited the temple of Kali. Again i felt the same unease as I watched the pilgrims processing, prostrating, chanting and sacrificing, touching the holy spots as they did so. Any visitor to such a place cannot help but be moved by the level of spirituality that seems through this place and its people, but I find the idolatrous, ritualistic, almost slavish nature of the religion very difficult, especially when connected to such brutal notions as Dharma, Karma and the cast system.

The good Hindu fullfills the role of his cast acting out his station to which he was born. In so doing he fullfills his Dharma and earns the Kharma that will see him re-incarnated to a better life.

There is an extent to which all religion is a form of control, a means of influencing peoples’ actions through control of the mind. Nowhere though is it so developed as in Hinduism, the religion is a perfect system that prevents social movement and personal betterment by divorcing actions from motivations and improvement from religious merit. Of all the religions I have encountered or studied, it is the one I find most difficult to accept.

Those who have heard me wax lyrical about the serenity of mosques and the friendly and fascinating conversation to be found within will know that I have never had the same doubts about Islam, and I find myself now looking forward to entering the Islamic world in a month or so’s time. Islam like all religions suffers at the hands of extremists, but I have always found it tollerant, accepting and peaceful, my presence in a mosque a focus not for aggression but for conversation and religious debate. The bible is a sacred book in Islam and as a (fairly lapsed) Christian I have found myself regarded simply as a fellow child of Abraham, albeit a polytheistic one with a funny idea about prophets. And the more I sit here still in this multicultural metropolis of Kolkata, staring at the rain and not doing my meditation, I can’t help wonder if there isn’t something in the notion, that we really are all children of the one Abrahamic God in whose shared worship there is to be found a commonality, a unity, which counterbalances our separate scriptures and traditions.

Is that why I don’t like Hinduism?

Andrew

Whether you enjoy jumping over kids to get from the path of a speeding bus path or trying on every pair of shoes in a shop before you are allowed to leave, Jaipur has it all. Although now I have been here for a few days all is well and it only took a couple of days training to get used to it all.
 
Training in mind, it was only yesterday that I was thinking about how it seemed like only yesterday that Andrew and I threw our syringes in the air in celebration completing the “World Challenge Far From Help Wilderness Medical Training”. Over the 5 day course we had learnt many things that we will hopefully not have to use, but will definitely be crucial if we do. Aside from CPR and relocating bones in deepest darkest Buxton. In Oxford, we also learnt how stitch up a pig and give each other injections, first into muscles and then into veins. The latter leaving Andrew a couple of little ml lighter, a (liquid) part of him now resting on a faculty table, and also on the carpet. However, we both of us left confident that we could carry out all we had learnt if needed to.  

Meanwhile a month or so later in Jaipur, I have spent the past week seeing many beautiful palaces and historical sites, visited a  school for underprivelidged kids where I got to play some music very badly and be ridiculed at a airhockey/pool boardgame. I have also eaten some amazing food, but tragically have only seen 2 monkeys, this however is a minor annoyance and already I want to return. All that aside, the reason behind my trip to the pink city has been to meet the little brother of our 50ft CamMate crane. At 25ft it is still quite a beast and have spent the best part of 2 days assembling and deassembling in rain and shine. It has been a breeze to learn and I look forward to having a go on one double the size. The shots will nothing short of epic.

On Monday I’ll being joining the rest the crew up north which will be great. I will still be sad to leave, everyone one I have met has gone to any length to help me, none more than my hosts Mr & Mrs Singh of the Nana Ki Haveli who have made me feel right at home. Duncan.

Never mind the rain in Kolkata, what on earth has happened in England? In one day alone this week we had a month’s rainfall, and today appears to be no different. Wimbledon is finished and, as a result, the sun is allowed to come out, but still it pours and pours. At least the absence of a summer in Cambridge makes the flight out to India all the more appealing.

This week has primarily involved dashing from one camera shop to another in pursuit of elusive wires and filters, and waiting expectantly while Fedex, UPS and co. make half-hearted attempts to deliver last-minute supplies. The porters at Clare College have seemingly unending patience as day after day their lodge is filled with yet more Tracing Tea packages. Once it has all arrived, the out of stock/lost in transit/never materialised/evaporated items have been traced or replaced we will, I think be set.

The airlines themselve may, however, have different ideas. I’m more than happy to name and shame Etihad airways, who recently tried to charge Duncan £2000 in excess baggage, and Lufthansa, who tried a similar trick with me, suggesting I might like to pay £24 a kilo. When you are lugging half a truck load of filming equipment around with, in my case, an estimated weight of 150-200 kg, that’s not very funny. Fortunately, and yes I am really saying this, BA have come to our rescue. If you have loads of kit, fly British Airways. Yes the flights are a little more expensive, yes the stewards are a little on the grumpy side and yes terminal 5 at Heathrow was a disaster, but they’ll take excess bags weighing up to 32kg for £60 a piece. £1.87 a kilo is rather more doable than £24 a kilo. Lufthansa and Etihad – get it sorted. I cancelled my Lufthansa flight in its entirety and we’ll remember the baggage catch for the future.

On a more cheery note, several good things have happened on the UK end of Tracing Tea this week. The Pakistani embassy in London issued press visas for Max and me (thank you!) and they have a delightful marquee in their garden for visa-collection and samosa-eating. Fab.  Megan and Esme have started working in our Cambridge office and will be keeping things rolling nicely while the technical crew are out in the field. Finally, Tracing Tea has been doing what it does best – talking tea.

This week we’ve had 3 tea tastings, the most popular of which were at ‘Tea at the Top’, a delightful cafe above the antiques market on Catherine Street in Salisbury. Run by mother and daughter team, Brenda and Jessica, the cafe serves a wide selection of loose leaf teas (including our very own Tracing Tea teas), freshly prepared sandwiches and homemade cakes. Perfect. The funky antique furniture and interesting prints on the wall give the cafe a really nice atmosphere and it’s a good place to take a breakfromshopping or work. In the tea tasting we tried and talked about 12 different teas, including the rare Snowbud white tea, the ever-popular Japanese Sencha, and the rather-pungent-but-not-as-bad-as-it-smells Pu Erh. Accompanied by homemade madeira cake to soak up the tea,  morning and afternoon groups of tea fans eagerly drank their Tracing Tea samples and became a little better acquainted with the fascinating world of tea.

We Set out (Sam, Andrew and I) on a warm and humid afternoon to see first hand the glory and permanent reminder of the British rule; the Victoria Monument, and the hoards of romantics it attracts to cuddle under its’ majesty. In order to get to the old girl, we had to cross through the park. Well I was pleasantly surprised with the contrast from the hot, dusty and swarming streets. Vast open green space broken up by blocks of trees. There were bodies scattered under the leaves escaping the heat; keen young cricketers padded up belting sixes; uniformed teams competitively booting a soccer ball around; oh and of course mobs of goats and sheep and the odd horse dotted about casually grazing the lush fodder. A very smart use of the communal plot I thought!