Day 59 - 60

I am now 2km in the sky and haven't been this high since the Supper Club, Amsterdam in 2006. 2200m up the side of a mountain. The climate is cold and wet and very Scottish. In fact with the weather and the scenery, it is a bit like Scotland. We are all very grateful to be out of hot and dusty Rajasthan and it is nice to see a different side to India. The journey was a stress - again! Up at 8am and were told that the toy train was 'not working'. We, being cynical Brits assume this is rubbish and order a taxi to the station. We find out the train is indeed 'not working' due to a landslide. s***, they were telling the truth. Rufus performed some tense negotiations with a local man who agreed to drive us in his jeep. The nice young bloke drove like the clappers up the treacherous mountain roads, overtaking on hairpin bends and skidding round corners. Fern shrieked and sobbed the whole way and had to sit in the boot with her face in her hands. I joined her. It was truly terrifying, as HRNDS as the snake. The guy (who am sure does this drive every day) seemed to be on a death wish. We made it in one piece, 2 hours later - which on reflection was a lot better than 9 hours on the little train. We can do a tourist version of the journey, 2 hours to a place called Ghoom. Or Gloom might be more apt, given the weather.

Our hotel is nice and Tibetan and we have HBO and room service. Always a plus when travelling with kids. Fern says she has altitude sickness and feels light headed and dizzy. It's entirely possible. I am full of the cold and Lungy is struggling. For the first time in 8 weeks I am back on my inhalers. Clover has her first real cry about missing Daddy who apparently is perfect and would find some things funny and other things not so funny and she has to suddenly organise all recent incidences into these categories. She is heavily indulged in her few minutes of how wonderful Daddy is and then the moment passes and she is back to normal. He is wonderful of course, and we talk about 'funny Daddy anecdotes' a lot on this trip.

We hang out in trendy regularly-bombed Westerner haunt 'Glenary's' which is uber cool and more importantly sells wine. It is a disappointment we can't see anything as you get the impression the views are amazing. In the main square mist pours through side streets - except it is not really mist and is actually cloud. Found a fabby bookshop and bought everything. Darjeeling is an interesting place - all full of little houses with potted plants on the window sills and chintzy net curtains. The people have lost their Indian look and the features on faces are Nepalese and Tibetan. The youth also proudly drink beer from old glass tankards, contrary to their real Indian cousins. In fact we feel so disorientated, it is all I can do to stop myself going up to locals and saying 'Are you still Indian?'. It feels completely different. Red phone and post boxes. The markets are good and there is no hassle or pressure. The girls had a pony ride in the main square for 50p. We met and photographed some lovely local children, gobsmacked at the technology of the digital camera. We spend many hours looking for hideous hand knitted dresses for cousin Clara who am not sure would appreciate any of them; I resist buying.

It is easy to find your way around - Darjeeling is a series of steep staircases and winding roads but all interconnect in one way or another. Or as Rufus says, go left out of our hotel, left again at the leper and you're at the main bit. The begging has tailed off a little bit and isn't as in-your-face as the rest of India but there are still visions of tragedy and disability. Stumps galore. We spend a whole afternoon in Joey's Pub, a local institution that suffered a landslide some months ago and has found rebuilding itself a challenge. It has resulted in a small wooden room with an outside squat toilet. We still order drinks and settle down for the afternoon with good books and cheap wine. Fern reads a novel. The local Nepalese owners teach Clover chess, marvel at her blue eyes and go out to get food for us. It is delightful. We love Joey's and leave them with the familiar expression 'same time tomorrow'. Unfortunately the place still has the ubiquitous ginger haired white tourist, resplendent with ethnic beads, dreads and flowing cheesecloth, reading 'Eat Pray Love' and other such trite and staring dreamily into the ether whilst finding themselves. I just want to find the bar, I found myself years ago. It's not necessarily what I hoped for, but over the years I have made do.