Day 63-66

It is difficult to marvel at India when it is closed. Spiritual enlightenment today, not possible. And then the next day.....Hurrah! The strike is temporarily over and we're not sure whether they caught the bloke or not, but who cares. I try raising the subject with some locals but they are not prepared to discuss it - it only makes us think something fishy is still going on. We go straight out after breakfast and send the girls on more pony rides and they get to gallop this time - alarmingly, without riding hats. We return to Glenary's for lunch and get chatting to an older French couple. People we would normally run a mile from - compass-bearing, Gore-tex clad ramblers - especially French ones - but this lovely friendly couple are in their 50's and are here for the trekking and have done the same route as us - Agra, Varanasi and besides, we are desperate for adult company. In fact after a short while, I am so overwhelmed to meet interesting people that I am practically at their table before long and my intelligent conversation rapidly drifts from our respective cultural observations on the Hindu cycle of life onto what on earth has Carla Bruni done to her face? They were great and as pleased to have found wine in India as we were. They explained the income tax system in France (paid a year in advance) and were very proud of their 50 day annual leave allowance which had permitted them this trip. The sun came out and our spirits soared.

Alas I receive an absurd email from my dad claiming with some confidence that I am making an arse of my life and his way is in fact the correct and only way to live. This from a man who invented the yum yum and succeeded in life by bringing saturated fat to the streets of an already cardiacally (sp) challenged nation. I must rush to tell the Dalai Lama to down tools and ditch the prayer wheels... there is an old bloke in Eaglesham who has found the way! His followers are few but he might catch on with his uniqe brand of angry, bitter philosophy.

News of the recent Nepal plane crash is praying heavily on our minds and we are feeling uneasy about our Himalayan flight on Monday. We are currently considering flying separately with a child each to maximise the chances of survival. I am struggling to find other ways to get off this bloody mountain, but with our new found calm and tolerance, we are trying to accept that what will be will be.

Spent some time at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute which was brilliant. Mallory's clothes (tweed suit, string vest and canvas socks), his letters, Hillary's equipment and diaries all on display. I love the story of Mallory and Irvine and desperately want to believe they made it. I really really hope they find that damn camera which will prove the truth one way or another; Rufus says he will look for it when he goes in April to climb Base Camp - more than halfway up (although I doubt they dropped it there). I also love that Hillary, when he made it all the way in 1953 let sherpa Tenzing Norgay go first as a mark of respect - Norgay had attempted it three times before. Norgay, who was from Darjeeling is something of a national hero and there are statues to him and tributes galore. Even his house is a little museum.

We return to the hotel and find a package has landed from paradise - or from my lovely friend Gillian. A parcel full of such treats we actually all stared at it for hours before actually feeling able to open it. And out spilled untold joys - friendship bracelets for the girls, embroidery thread, coloured pencils with BLING, Chinese jump ropes, stickers, a necklace for mummy, a hairband for mummy, another hairband for mummy... but most joyous of all joyous things.... a giant tub of Flake Away by Soap & Glory, a product only Lady Gillian introduced me to nearly three years ago and I have never been disloyal to since. Actually I lie - my lovely friend Lisa once bought me something from this range and I was vaguely converted - but only more so from when Lady G and I marvelled over their lip glosses several years later. The girls couldn't be moved for several minutes as they obsessed over the package and we all nearly wept tears of joy at the thoughtfulness, kindness and expense of receiving such gorgeous stuff.

All the walking about and the steep hills is like managing some kind of high altitude training course. Lungy is furious with me but I am still managing to breathe. We all cough and splutter a bit, as a result from sleeping in a damp room. Had a lovely dinner in Lemon Grass, the local Thai restaurant where Rufus and I marvelled at how well Fern and Clover have managed this extraordinary trip and how as a little family unit we have bonded so well and have so many shared experiences. Tears flowed as did wine and cocktails. Fern got very melancholy over death, specifically her grandfather and life's most tricky messages had to be discussed over a Mojito. The simple message of Buddhism - one of the main tenets being 'death is inevitable' is possibly too much for a 10 year old to comprehend and I worry I am giving her too much information. Still, I think I handled it quite well and it was a very touchy feely honest mummy and daughter moment. She is wonderful and never ceases to amaze me with her complex insights, questions and wisdom. Clover spent the evening ignoring Fern's tears and photorgraphing everyone in the restaurant, hence the accompanying pictures to this blog. She thrilled most restaurant patrons with her charm and photographic skill and we were very proud of her initiative. We have returned to Lemon Grass many times since, mainly due to our love of the heavily tattooed-cowboy-hat clad owner who adores Clover and the fact they make the best Mojito's in town - for £1.50!

The next day we get up early, Rufus rushes to the train station for 8am to buy tickets for the toy train but they have sold no tickets so far and need to sell 15 before the journey is viable - so they send him away despondently. We turn up anyway at 10am and stare anxiously at other Westerners and surprisingly many locals, willing them to buy tickets. And they do! We enjoy a fabulous trip on the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, an Unesco World Heritage Site - another highlight of our adventure. Wonderful little steam train which meanders up another 1000 feet or so, taking us to Ghoom and a height of 7407 feet. We all stuck our heads out the window (it only moves at about 8km an hour) and marvelled at the views of the valley below. The clouds cleared, just for us and we briefly get to see the whole of West Bengal. It blows its whistle and bellows steam constantly. The little train, only 3 carriages long was made in Glasgow and despite our best attempts to share this information with the driver, he remained completely disinterested. I think of my Dad and my nephew Riley who would both love the story of this train, the history and the journey.

PS. They have found the errant terrorist! He was dead.

PPS. We now have a permanent address for our flat if anyone feels like sending stuff - Motchhe Marg , House Number 12, Sukedhara, Dhumbarahi ,Kathmandu, Nepal.