So after the 'events' of the previous evening and the subsequent delay in the train we finally arrived at New Jalpaiguri station just in time to see a mental woman kicking a dog before an uncomfortably packed jeep share took us the remaining 4 hour journey up the mountain to Darjeeling itself. With all the delays on the train it was around 10.30pm before we arrived and with the entire town tucked up in bed, finding somewhere to rest our weary heads took some time.

We awoke early the next morning to make the most of our time in the town but the mist had decended across the valley meaning the spectacular views atop the 2500m peak were completely obscured. This however would not stop us from sampling copious quantities of Darjeeling tea that is grown in abundance amongst the local mountainsides. We pottered about the town until nightfall before enjoying a meal and a beer in one of the local 'hotspots' before heading to the very 'Englishly-styled' Joey's pub. This was a lovely little establishment with very friendly and well-spoken owners who, despite calling last orders, still let us sneak in the back door for a last nightcap.

We had heard about an opportunity to visit a local tea plantation and pick and process our own leaves so the plan was to get up early the next morning, pick some tea then take the affectionately named 'Toy Train' back up the mountain to Darjeeling. True to form we woke up late and had to pay a fortune to rush down the mountain to the plantation. We were given a brief,very brief tour of the factory and that was that...mission failed. It transpires that we had arrived at the very end of picking season and because we were late, it was almost lunchtime for the workers so our valiant endevours had yet again proved fruitless. Dejected, hungry and hungover we set about the ardous climb back up the mountain to Kurseong under the unrelenting heat of the midday sun. The clear skies at least gave us some truly magnificent views of the valley, tea plantations cast swathes of fresh greenery amongst the dark solidity of the forest and stretched so far into the horizon that they began to slowly merge into the crisp blue sky. After hours of exhaustion (and the inconspicous theft of a single tea-leaf from a plant overhanging the road) we finally reached Kurseong. There was nothing here at all, just a very small town with little or nothing in the way of cafe's, restaraunts or bars. Our plan was to grab some eats and hang around until the toy train at 3pm. A voyage on the train is considerered one of the quintisential experiences of a trip through the himalayas. Its tracks stray little over a foot wide and so only allow the train to slowly amble up the mountainside at little greater than walking pace but is held in great esteem in the hearts of the regions inhabitants. However, in our current state and with nowhere remotely appetising we decided to jump in a jeep share up the mountain and take a toy train tour later in the day.

Sitting down for a brew and a meal in Darjeeling we noticed that various wooden planks and 2x4's were being carted towards the front doors. Weird stuff happens like this in India so ya know...no biggie. After walking outside we were further perplexed to see every shop, stall or guest house being fortified with utmost haste. After wandering around somewhat perturbed for an hour or so we were approached by a very friendly and well educated young local man who's name I have shamefully forgotten. He preceeded to explain the series of political upheavals and protests that had dogged the region in the recent past, that was rooted in the occupation of the East Indian trading company. Before travelling we were aware of the potential for protests to hamper travel but these largely peaceful demonstrations had ended several weeks before we visited so shouldn't have been a problem.

To put some perspective on the following events here's a quick summary of the current situation in the region. Darjeeling sits in the northeastern corner of the main bulk of India by the border to Nepal. Its population is primarily of Nepalese descent and thus have the physical appearance, culture and language of the Nepalese people. However, the area comes under the jurisdiction of the state of West Bengal. This is a tricky one, because unlike the majority of India (although this majority is still only around 50%) the people of West Bengal speak Bengali and not Hindi, therefore for any problems such as social welfare, elections, court appearances and political administration the people of Darjeeling and the surrounding areas must travel at least 12-15 hours to Kolkata where, upon arrival, they must attempt to explain complex issues in a vastly different language to officals that are growing tired of their persistant disobediance. The people of the Darjeeling have been protesting for many years for the formation of a new state called Gorkhaland (initially they wanted a completely separate country) that would still answer to the federal governance of India but allow them a greater degree of self-governance by having a state capital at Darjeeling. Although it is unquestionably the jewel of the Gorkhaland region, the logicstics of establishing a state capital 2500m up a mountain isn't exactly ideal.

To achieve their goals the people of the region recently undertook a 40 day 'sit-in' protest. All shops, schools and roads were barricaded effectively creating a self-imposed curfew and leaving a ghost-town through the day. Those pushing for this movement have set a date of October 25th 2013 for talks to progress, after which they have stated that violent protest may in sue. Throughout my time here I took the opportunity to speak to the people of the town and find out if this is solely political propaganda or whether a change of governance would impact on the day to day lives of the people of Gorkhaland....

So anyway, this charming young gentleman began to explain the situation and offered to take us to a part of the town where the local announcements were made because at this point he was also unsure why the town was shutting shop. We walked for several minutes towards an area of the market swarming with locals under the watchful gaze of the heavily armed West Bengal police. The locals gazed at the wall of a building covered in old, weathered posters. A few seconds later a chap carrying a large rolled up piece of paper ran through the crowd, up the stairs to a platform in front of the notice board and pasted up a large poster that invited the fury of the locals. This was, it transpires, how news is spread across the town. Our new companion explained that the poster said that in one of the towns further down the mountain, a member of the West Bengal police had attempted to sexually assault a young girl. After the initial violent protests further down the mountain during which a public bus had been set alight on the roof of a house (God knows how) the people of the region then returned to their indoor process of civil disorder. That evening, after hours of searching, we managed to find a single small street vendor selling crisps and biscuits so that provided our evening meal and subsequent three or four meals.

Our plan for the next day was to get up at 4am to get the jeep up to Tiger Hill, a further 500m up the mountain on the Western frontier. From here the views of the Himalayas, including Mt Everest is renowned as one of the most spectacular in Asia. Because of the protests the jeeps, and I suspect the viewpoint from the mountain top were closed. I got up anyway, albeit already in a state of inevitable dejection. Fortunately however, the view from the hotel rooftop was enough to melt away all the engst that had acrued through the frustration of the past 36 hours. We had got up early every morning but due to the heavy rain each evening, the mountains were muddied by the jet-white mist that rose to envelop the splendour of the crisp snow covered mountain tops. Not today. As I sat in total darkness, a glint of effervescent gold crept cautiously from the east and cast a glow that instigatesd the gentle parting of the clouds in front of the mountains. Kapechua's four-teared summits peered strikingly over the mist with it's snow capped faces mirrorring the golden-red glow into the effervescent fog before it. It was truly awe-inspiring. Lazy b******s however, was still in bed and despite my repeated attempts to encourage him to make the 10 foot trip to the rooftop to witness a once in a lifetime oppertunity, he refused to budge. I sat for several hours as the light gradually enveloped the mountain tops until the sun reached a satisfactory peak and the mist slowly began to re-ascend and hide the beauty that it had kept secret for all but those short few moments.

Just before I retired to bed to catch up on some Zzzz's before check-out the landlady of the guest-house arrived on the roof to hang out some washing. Both she and her husband were local school teachers and were very balanced in their opinions on the current political situation. I discussed the situation at length with her during which she explained the general perseption of the people was that the formation of Gorkhaland was the only way to end tensions in the region. It was fairly apparent from all the addresses on shops and homes that stated, for example, 'Darjeeling Post Office, No 16, Mountain Road, Darjeeling, Gorkhaland!' alongside the abundant propaganda pasted to pretty much every spare piece of wall or concrete in the town that this was the will of the people. At this point she still didn't fully understand what the day would bring in terms of the protest but was fairly confident that the jeeps off the mountain would still be running.

Later that morning after sleeping beauty finally awoke from her slumber, both she and I stalked the town for any sign of food or a way off the mountain. With only a single milk, a stall selling biscuits and water and no sign of any jeepshares and a flight from Kolkatta becomming ever more apparent we returned to the hotel to try and decifer any further information. With the protest happily coinciding with an electrical blackout in the town we also had no way of getting online and finding any sort of reliable news stories or completing our online check-in for the flight, let alone finding the T's & C's if we had to postpone! To be fair to the owners, they were very curteous and helpful. The hotel allowed us to keep the room for the day and upon hearing about our impending flight and train booked for that evening, the manager made a few frantic phone calls and managed to get a private driver to sneak us down the mountain via the backroads. This however would cost almost 10x the price of the original price, albeit this was still only 25 quid, and we were hiring the vehicle itself so the more people we could cram in the cheaper it would be. Problem solved.

Relieved but still hanking, we walked to the far side of the mountain in the hope that one of the more illustrious, lesser-spotted hotels may be able to fix us up with only our 3rd meal in 3 days!! On the way we bumped into a fantastically interesting German chap whom we had shared a beer a few days prior. He too needed a way down the mountain to catch a train to Kolkatta and so agreed to share the cost of the jeep and so off we headed with fascinating stories of his time working for the United Nations, working for NGO's and his 4 year travel plan following which his diaries would be published. Really great guy. After a long wait at the station and it's (rather oddly placed) guinea pig sanctuary' we had a pretty awful meal at the station where I'm fairly certain I had a mouthful of genuine faecal matter and jumped on the sleeper for our final pitstop in India.