When the British colonised Australia, their culture and agriculture were imposed on a country that was in many cases unsuited for it. Seasons were six months out of phase, and the soil, climate, and weather patterns were so different, that by the end of the year, those who had come with the First Fleet were in danger of starvation. Some introduced species including rabbits, cane toads, cats, carp, lantana, and prickly pear, which all thrived in Australia, quickly had a negative effect on native species. The farming (eventually highly successful) of other introduced species such as cattle, sheep, wheat, cotton, and rice caused some longer-term problems including water shortages [agriculture contributes 3% of GDP but consumes 70% of Australia's stored water], topsoil degradation/loss, salinisation, and other ecosystem damage and destruction. Hindsight is 20/20, though; the introduction of all the species mentioned above was done with good intentions and no idea that the conditions in Australia would produce so different a result from overseas. Prior experience and habits can be very difficult to give up, after all.
So, too, with cultural traditions. Well after World War II, Australian Christmases were still thoroughly British, with Roast Dinners and Hot Pudding served in the blazing heat of Australian midsummer. Modern Australian Christmases are generally more sensible, with cold cuts of turkey and ham, seafood, salads, and room-temperature or frozen desserts followed perhaps by bushwalking or a swim, but traditional notions of Christmas still remain. Christmas cards often have the standard tropes (snowy window ledges, snow-laden trees, snowy cottages, and a fur-trimmed Santa Claus with his reindeer and sleigh) and though there are some very nice Australian Christmas carols, which reflect more of Australia than traditional snow-bound carols, those traditional snow-bound carols are as difficult to uproot from Australia as lantana. I'm not even Christian, and haven't been one in half a life, but there is a certain magic to the idea of a White Christmas, a subtle indoctrination that has taken place all my life through stories, art, music, movies, TV, and games. Prior experience and habits can be very difficult to give up, after all.
You might think of India as being a hot country (one blonde correspondent responded with great bemusement) but it borders the Himalayas in the north, and winters in its mountainous regions can be bitterly cold. It thus seemed like one of a Good Idea to head for somewhere vaguely Indian, vaguely northern, and vaguely mountainous; in other words "Darjeeling". Darjeeling is situated at about 2000 metres height in the part of West Bengal above the "Chicken's Neck" (the isthmus between Bangladesh and Nepal). It's a former British hill station, and is considered rather un-Indian in character, being cool, not particularly crowded, and having Nepali as its major language. Darjeeling does get snow but mainly in January and the state of Sikkim was more-northerly, more-mountainous, and even-more-vaguely Indian, so I went there with a couple of others who were staying there - Richard from the UK and Ronen from Israel.
Indian bureaucracy appears in need of reform. It seems to be worse, surprisingly, than that of the communist countries I've visited. For instance to get a visa to China, I collected a form at the door, filled it in, stood in line, and submitted my passport and paperwork to the clerk. That afternoon, I came back, stood in line, paid the processing fee, and got my passport complete with visa sticker back. Laotion visas could be granted at the border. Vietnam's was granted by posting things off in a registered envelope. India's required me to stand in a line to get an embassy-checking form, fill it in, stand in a line to submit it, come back three business days later, stand in line, collect the approval, stand in another line, submit my visa application form with payment, come back later, stand in line and collect my passport complete with visa sticker back.
Getting a Sikkim permit, free and now pretty much a formality, was similarly arduous. We'd intended to get it on the Thursday, but that was a strike day. The strike was not a 1980s Australian-style one where buses, trains, and government employees don't work, but otherwise life can go on as normal. This was a complete shutdown, with hardly a vehicle on the street, and every shop and restaurant closed (or in some cases "closed" if they pretended to comply but left their door enticingly ajar to attract passing starving tourists). On Friday, then, we walked a couple of kilometres to the Office of the District Magistrate to show our passports and collect a stamped application form, walked back into town to the Foreigner Registration Office to have an approval done there, and returned to the Office of the District Magistrate to have the permit finalised. Combining the roles into one office, co-locating the offices, or even shortening the process so that it starts at the FRO and only requires one visit to the ODM are not new ideas, but seem unlikely to be implemented in the near future.
A permit is required for Sikkim, as it is for a number of other northern states, because of separatist rumblings and their proximity to China, which up until last year claimed sovereignty over it. Claims of sovereignty were relinquished in return for India's recognition of Tibet as part of China; ah, realpolitik, how I do love thee. Since July this year trade has started to open up over the Nathula pass, though the region requires an extra permit to visit since it's a military area with a large contingent of goodwill stationed there in tin-roofed huts. In recent years, Sikkim has received masses of funds for public works. Everywhere you go, you see concrete slabs with project information including the budget. All over, there are bridges and roads in various states of completion (not before time, either, since the roadway of an older-model suspension bridge north of Pelling had partially collapsed). In a few years the state of Sikkim's roads should be rather impressive.
In the Nathula Pass area, the roadworks are the responsibility of the Building Road Organisation's Project Dantak, and everywhere there are signs. Some of the signs are exhortations to safe driving, which you see a lot of on the way to Darjeeling as well: "No Need for Over Speed", "Donate Blood at the Blood Bank not on the Road", "Slow Drive, Long Live", "Three Enemies of Road: Speed, Liquor and Overload", and "Speed Thrills But Kills" among others. Others promote the work done: "Faster, Higher, Further with Project Dantak", "East or West, BRO is the Best", "BRO Men Cut Through the Hills But Join the Heart". Others seem attempts at projecting an aura of confidence: "Dantak - Strengthening Relations Between Countries", "BRO - Not Only Road Builders But Nation Builders", "Kashmir to Kannyakumari India is One", and "BRO and People of Sikkim in Harmony".
I've little doubt that the development funds pouring into Sikkim is beneficial to the Sikkimese, but my favourite sign, for its wonderful if inadvertent colonialist sensibility, is "BRO - Flagbearers of Prosperity and Civilisation". So many, including China in Tibet, Spain in South America, France in Africa, the British and their descendants in North America and Australia, some even with the best of intentions, have attempted to bring prosperity and civilisation to the natives. And since I'm here, I shouldn't forget the British Raj in India, where the costs and benefits of a century of British-style prosperity and civilisation are still a matter of debate. What isn't a matter of debate, however, is that Britain bequeathed India its system of Civil (Public) Service, without which gaining a visa or a Sikkim permit might not be such an interesting use of a traveller's time.
With permit finally awarded, our first destination in Sikkim was Pelling, which has a couple of Buddhist monasteries and the ruins of one of Sikkim's capitals back when it was still an independent kingdom; though the British exercised control in Sikkim, it wasn't part of the British Raj, and has only been an Indian State for thirty years. Signs on the way to the ruins exhorted us to "Keep up the spirit. The day is yours" and "Do not get tired. Great excitement is awaiting". The ruins were pleasant for their outlook but were otherwise nothing special, being no more pleasant than Pemayangtse monastery which overlooks them. Lonely Planet, with delicate understatement, describes them as being "over-restored". Pelling is worth visiting not for its structures, though, but for its fantastic panoramic view of the five snowy peaks of Kanchendzonga, the world's third-highest mountain. From Pelling we trekked to the holy lake of Khecheopalri (not really worth visiting) and from there to the trailhead of Yuksam (again not really worth visiting unless you are trekking further). Richard and I broke the journey from Yuksam to Gangtok, the capital of Sikkim, at Rabongla, staying at the Hotel Silver Fir, where inefficiency was revealed as not only a trait of government employees: finalising the bill took an hour..
I know, by the way, that a number of you have requested start taking and posting photos. To sum up my arguments against this:
* I'm lazy. If I take lots of photos I'll probably never write another word again... which may well be the reason that a number of you have requested that I start taking and posting photos. Sorry.
* Photos really do convey a different experience to text. I know that a picture is meant to be worth a thousand words, but it's the rare photo that conveys anything close to the right thousand words
* Photos taken on a cheap digital camera can achieve great results under optimal conditions but if there's any haze about, forget about getting a decent shot of (eg) that fantastic panoramic view of the five distant snowy peaks of the world's third-highest mountain.
* A camera is just another thing to get broken, stolen, lost, damaged, arrested over, etc. Life is less stressful without portable electronics.
* If you really need to see what the fantastic panoramic view of the five snowy peaks of the world's third-highest mountain looks like, either Google it for someone else's blurry digital photos, or go to Pelling and take blurry digital photos yourself.
* Prior experience and/or habits die hard.
But since it's almost New Year, and flexibility and change is a good thing, I promise that I'll post a picture Real Soon Now; it might even convey something resembling the Correct Thousand Words.
Richard and I are spending Christmas 2006 in Gangtok (Ronen having headed down to Kalimpong yesterday); I've even splurged and treated myself to a Room Of My Own with private bathroom, hot water, and cable television. There's not much here but (despite it being Just Another Day) neither of us feel like travelling on Christmas, and it's a pleasant enough town that (much like Darjeeling) spills down the hillside. The weather here is sunny with not a skerrick of snow to chill the slopes; I'm in a t-shirt today. There's a cable car ("ropeway") to ride, and a zoo, some lookouts, some temples, and the usual assortment of other things to visit. To the east of Gangtok, the Nathula pass area is but a short jeep-ride away, but tourists travel there to see Tsango (aka Chomgo) lake. If you went there now you could enjoy a swim in its waters, indulge in some bushwalking on the slopes around it, or partake in a Christmas picnic, though momos (a Tibetan/Nepali dumpling) are more readily available than delicatessen items.
Anyway, may your celebration of the winter solstice and the (re)birth of Sol Invictus, or whichever other (semi)mythical figure you happen to be worshipping this year, be a great one.
Merry Festivus to all.
And to all a very good night.
