Kalimpong

Dr Graham's school at Kalimpong



We came to this part of the Hills because of a couple of mysterious photos in the old collection. One was labelled "group at Kalimpong" and was taken around 1930 - we have been able to find out the names of several people and in one photo a group was centred around Dr John Graham who started a famous school up here in 1900. We went up to the school and they even have a museum, although any old visitor's books have been lost. We thought there may have been an entry from Grace. We trawled through copies of the school magazine from 1928-31 without luck, but it was fascinating time well spent. It seems the original students were orphans or Anglo-Indian children. They had a farm school to train boys for the colonies, in particular New Zealand. Those boys wrote back to the school from Otago, Wellington, Lower Hutt, etc. One had been gassed in WW1 but was back on the NZ farm working from 5:30am to 8:30pm. I was most interested to see both a girl and a boy with the surname Ochterlony who went from the school to NZ. Sir David Ochterlony lived near Delhi in the early 1800s with his 13 Indian wives and travelled with several elephants literally like a Maharaja. (Check out "White Mughals" by William Dalrymple). The school buildings are set on a ridge top a few kms from the main part of town (pop 177,000) on at least 100 acres, maybe more. Most of the buildings are British built - there are 24 "cottages" for boarders and each cottage is a huge 2 story mansion on acres of land, surrounded by small gardens and forest. It seems they were donated by sponsors, one of which was Sir Charles Bell, whose book I am reading on the 13th Dalai Lama, his close friend. Bell wrote the first English-Tibetan dictionary and grammar, lived in Tibet for most of the time from 1900-21. The ridge also has some of the only flat land for miles so there are large sporting areas and a sense of space not found elsewhere.
On the walk back down to the town, we suddenly heard sirens behind us: a Police vehicle was leading a convoy - the VIP was a Tibetan Lama. Since the traffic jam was so bad we walked past the motorcade and pranammed with folded hands to the Lama who replied likewise and smiled broadly. I still wonder who he was. I don't think it was the Karmapa.

...some postscripts.

Forest Dept. sign at Lachung North Sikkim.


I wrote that the newspaper article was in Nepali...so it was, but we were also told at our favourite sweet shop haunt that there was an article in The Telegraph from Calcutta. They rummaged around and found it for us; then the hotel where we were staying also gave us a copy of the article. They were quite chuffed I think. Cathy rather enjoyed noticing people noticing her too. Even when we arrived at Kalimpong today the hotel owner recognised her from the newspaper photo, and as we have some old photos taken at Kalimpong, he has arranged for an old friend to come and visit us this evening.
Since there were so few people in the Jeep, the guide brought his wife along as she had never been up into north Sikkim. At the first tea stop on our way north she was keen to see the photos we had, and when she came to the autographed photo of Hillary and Tenzing after they had climbed Everest, she said, pointing to Tenzing, "He is my grandfather".
A few more road signs that entertained us on the hilly roads: "Don't gossip, let him drive." "If you drive like hell you will be there". The most frequent was "Inconvenience regretted please", but some waxed poetic. "Keep your nerves on sharp curves". "Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky". "There are no passengers on spaceship Earth, only crew"

The journey to north Sikkim.

Kitchen at the house of the Tibetans where we stayed at Lachung.







We have a few photos, some labelled and some not, that we ascertained were taken in north Sikkim. We set off in steady rain which brought the temperature down and turned much of the road into slushy slippery mud (with precipitous drops - it would be a very long way down before the first bounce) but the old Mahindra (a Jeep copy) got through. One of the named photos was of Mangan Bazaar but the town of Mangan was a concrete jungle and unrecognisable although one of the people we spoke to knew that the photo had been taken in the "old bazaar" which we located on the way back and was by-passed by the new road. It had hardly changed at all, even with the same old buildings rusting away. One of them had 1903 written on it, although the photos were taken on a trip in 1950 and, we guess, in a Jeep (since ladies in the photo were wearing dresses). The next stop was 60 or so kms on at Changtung and a famous rock sacred to both Buddhists and Sikhs. The bare rock of the photo now has trees around it, a fence with Tibetan style prayer wheels, and a Sikh flagpole plonked in the middle with a Sikh temple adjacent. They reckoned their founder, Guru Nanak, had been there but local Buddhists aren't too happy about that. That photo had changed the most. Our destination for the day was Lachung about 125kms from Gangtok and took 7 hours - a lot of it on slippery gravel or mud in first gear. Although the Border Roads Organistaion had spent a lot of money on signs telling how wonderful they are, precious little had actually been done to the road which was no more than a rough track for a lot of the way. Some of the signs were quite entertaining, such as "No Harry, Be Happy" or "If Married Divorce Speed". We really liked Lachung and stayed with a Bhutia (Tibetan) family who fed us well and gave us their home brewed beer. In Tibet chang is made from barley but Sikkimese make it from millet. A bamboo flask about 4in wide and 8in deep is filled with fermented millet then filled with warm water the brew is drunk from a thin bamboo straw; when the flask is empty it is refilled with water - usually at least 6 times. It had a very pleasant taste and relatively mild effect.
Grace had taken a photo in Lachung which is still much the same, and although the local women were interested in the photo of a local chowkidar (guard), no-one in the town knew him. The town was surrounded by enormous snow covered massifs, which we saw little of due to mist and cloud. Next morning we headed further up the road for about an hour and a half to Yamtung where Grace had gone to the hot springs. We passed through forest of Silver Fir and rhododendron, past glaciers, grazing yak, and occasional fields of purple primula, multi coloured azalias and rhododendrons. Thick mist swirled in and stark old firs dissappeared into it. Snow covered the ground under the rhododenrons which were variously red, purple and pink, some with small leaves, others large. We reached the forest bungalow at Yatung which hadn't changed since the British built it in the exact style of buildings around lighthouses. After a short walk in bitingly cold wind, we went to the hot pools and enjoyed a hot bath with a few people including the forest officer we had spoken to that morning. We were back at friendly Lachung for lunch and chilled out for the wet afternoon, before more good food and chang. It was raining still as we left this morning, rained most of the way down and was rainingn as we arrived in Gangtok. We are assured this is most unseasonal. Tomorrow we head to Kalimpong for the last of Grace's photos. Incidentally, I mentioned the press at the school the other day. We we were shown Cathy's photo in the local paper, but it is all in Nepali so we don't have a clue what they said!

A remarkable day

Sikkimese archer.


Every day here has been remarkable, none moreso than today, and aunt Grace's photos along with her legacy in these parts has opened so many doors. Yesterday we finally caught up with Hope Leezum Namgyal, the daughter of the last King and his 2nd (American) wife. She also telephoned a friend of hers who is a curator of archives at the Institute of Tibetology, which was begun by the Dalai Lama in 1957 (with a lot of scrolls he brought out from Tibet then). We went straight up there and were shown an exhibition - with expert knowledgable commentary - of old photographs showing the relations between Sikkim and Bhutan. Time was short so we returned this afternoon, and they are keen to have some of Grace's photos for the country's official archive. However this morning was the highlight of the week. The school where Grace taught arranged for old students and teachers who knew her to come. The computer department had put some of the photos on a powerpoint presentation, and edited the DVD footage we had that had been done by TV NZ. One old lady, who spoke passionately about Grace, jumped up and named everyone in a large group photo - luckily it was being filmed at the time for future reference. Some of them were so excited they spoke in Nepali so we missed what was happening, but the man filming said he would give us a copy and put in subtitles. The computer man happened to recognise his grandfather in one photo. The principal was thrilled, and all present appreciated the connection with their past and their tradition. We were both felicitated with traditional Tibetan white scarves (kathas), and Cathy was presented with a superb volume on Sikkimese orchids; written by the nephew of the orchid specialist we had lunch with a couple of days ago. It was posted back this afternoon along with a rare volume of photographs taken by the first Englishman to come to these parts. Cathy was also interviewed by the local newspapers. It was a long day. The curator and the director of the Tibetology institute took us to the archery contest where a Bhutanese "sharpshooter" had been invited, and all including the Bhutanese guests were interested in the old photos. Rain threatened, we were tired so headed back to our hotel. Tomorrow morning we head up into North Sikkim for a few days. I hope we'll be warm enough.

High tea in Gangtok

Mr Prabhan in one of his greenhouses with orchid.


We had been invited to see someone who knew aunt Grace at 4pm. He doesn't want us to publish any names apparently, but he was private secretary to the late Chogyal (King), as his father was to the previous king, and his father to the one before that. He told me he went to school in Darjeeling before going to Bishopcotton school in Simla and then university in England. To say his English is impeccable is an understatement. He had also invited a friend of his who also knew Grace - Mr Pradhan was the Chief Secretary of Sikkim, probably the 2nd most powerful office in the land. They were greatly interested in the photos we had, could name a number of people in them, and we had much to talk about over pastries, sandwiches (with crusts removed of course), cream cakes and muffins and several cups of the finest tea. Mr Pradhan said he initiated a local tea estate which he said has the 2nd best tea in India (the best being somewhere near Darjeeling). This was enjoyed in a lovely old house that appeared to be of British colonial design and construction. Beautiful timber lined walls, wide timber floorboards, very old photos of Sikkim royalty on the walls. He also had a rare old photo of the Englishman Charles Bell with the 13th Dalai Lama, the King of Sikkim, and numerous other high lamas from Tibet.
Mr Pradhan gave us a copy of a newspaper clipping from New Zealand where he met up with Grace in 1990 while investigating orchids - he is first and foremost a horticulturalist with a special interest in cultivating from Sikkim's 540 native orchids. This morning we went over the valley to the Rumtek monastery, the seat of the Karmapa, head of the Kagyu lineage. The 17th Karmapa has not yet been to his monastery here, due I think to political reasons after he escaped from Tibet in recent years. The monastery is a replica of his old seat at Tsurphu in Tibet, and the room housing the relics of the last Karmapa is very powerfully peaceful, armed guards with Kalashnikovs and Uzi machineguns notwithstanding.
We could not delay too long as we had a lunch invitation with Mr Pradhan half way back to Gangtok. He has a magnificent terraced garden about 2000 feet below Gangtok making it a bit more suitable for his thousands of orchids. I lost count of the hothouses, shadehouses, and propagating sheds. They also specialise in grafting as many varieties of citrus (there must have been hundreds of rootstocks alone) as they can obtain from around the world to find suitable species to begin commercial citrus industry in Sikkim. He has an open permit to import anything he desires. We had a sumptuous home cooked meal, and Mrs Pradhan identified several women in our photos after lunch. Cathy is now at the school working on their computer for the presentation on Thursday. Although the temp here is a delightful 24 or so, it is 42 at Varanasi rising to 45 on Friday and getting hotter. That is our destination next week - gasp! But we plan to go to north Sikkim in a few days which will take us to high altitude and cold weather.

Gangtok 21st

Weaving traditional patterns on traditional looms.


We have taken a number of photos here, and in India generally we have taken photos of a number of interesting signs - usually interesting for the spelling, but here there was one that says "Plastic bags are illegal in Sikkim" and another that declares Sikkim to be an "organic" state - all produce here is grown organically, including tea. Part of our project here is to take photos of the same things that aunt Grace photographed many years ago - some of her photos date back to her journey through here en route to Tibet in 1930. There is an old photo of traditional archers, and while we walked over the other side of the top ridge, we came across the National archery championships. We were given seats under cover by the head of the National archery association, who we were told was also a former government minister - around here that spells important. He gave us tea and was very interested in the old photos, and knew some of the people in them. So Cathy took photos of modern archers using high tech American bows and arrows. The target was so far away as to be hardly visible, the larger circle 8 inches across, the bullseye 4 inches but they managed to hit it despite a slight cross wind. We later headed up a hill (wherever we go here it is either up a steep hill or down a steep hill) to a handicrafts institute to find a carved table like the one she has which aunt Grace brought back from Sikkim years ago. They didn't have any, but a senior person there said they would love to have a photo of it as so much of the old designs have now been lost. On our way out we went past an open door and noticed weavers inside, using looms identical to one in one of the photos we have. So Cathy took more photos there. Some of the old photos just cannot be taken again due to 6 storey buildings where open ground used to be, but some of the old shots are quite recognisable.
We are enjoying Gangtok. Darjeeling is 2000 feet higher up and was a bit of a shock after the heat of Kolkata - the climate here is a bit more agreeable, although, like Darjeeling it has rained every night bar one. Mornings are clear, clouds roll in, then thunder and rain. Today we meet an old man who said aunt Grace was his late sister's friend and colleague.

Arrived in Gangtok

Mazong House in Gangtok where Miss Scott began the Palgor Namgyal Girls High School at which Cathy's great aunt Grace was principal from 1949 to 1961. The school moved to other premises shortly after. Grace visited this house in 1931.


The morning we left Darjeeling the cloud and mist finally lifted to reveal the majesty of Kanchendzonga, the 3rd highest mountain in the world. We passed by and crossed the Teesta river and photographed the old bridge there that auntie Grace had photographed many years ago. We took a jeep taxi (not shared so we could spend some time at the border getting the necessary permits) and it pulled in to a taxi stand at a multi level car park, after I had written in the previous blog that I hadn't seen one in India. In fact there are several here. Gangtok is well organised; there are also footpaths with rails (less pedestrians on the roads means less horns tooting - well, a little less anyway), and most noticably in the main mall in town each shop has a small rubbish bin outside for litter, so it is the ONLY place in India which isn't covered by rubbish. That is the subject for another blog.
This morning we set about finding places that Grace had photographed (and copies of which we have with us). First we needed a map and were advised to go to a certain bookshop. After walking some time we never found the bookshop but I thought to grab a newspaper from a small shop. I bought a "Sikkim Mail" with a view to finding the journalists there and maybe have them print some of our photos etc. By "coincidence" I happened to be standing next to the editor! He called to his father who owned the shop and he knew Grace and said she was the first person in Gangtok to drive a jeep (so that's who started it!!). We also showed him a copy of an old letter from the Maharaja to Grace 20 years after she left here, telling the story of the death of his son (in a car accident) - it turned out the old man we were talking to was the son's close friend and was supposed to be in the vehicle that morning that went over the edge and killed him. He also told us the old cemetery photo we have is in Kalimpong.
We then walked up to an old stone house dated 1931 and a couple of our photos were taken there - one is entitled "From Miss Scott's garden". It was in fact Miss Scott's house, and Miss Scott started the school aunt Grace taught at. We were given biscuits and coffee by the owners who were most interested in our photo collection.
We then set off for the school and found it without much trouble. The principal and others were most interested in our archival material and recognised some of the people in the photographs - former students and teachers. They plan to contact them and get together next week.
I have just lost connection here so will try and save this.

An observation on Indian traffic

I read in the paper the other day that an official from the automotive industry was bemoaning that auto sales were down on last year. From ten and a half million the year before to only nine and a half million last year. That's 100 million vehicles every decade. And all the old ones are still on the road. While walking in Calcutta we noticed that the old Dalhousie Square in the city was being turned into a car park - the first one I've seen in India. Bad narrow roads, few new ones and nowhere to park. Gridlock cannot be far away and still no-one seems to have thought about planning. Now they are about to release for sale small cars for only a few thousand dollars so sales are expected to explode. Up in the hills here the roads are jammed with jeeps belching diesel - it has just about reached capacity here. And they want to cram more in over the coming decades. I shake my head.

Dorje-ling

Sign at Darjeeling...just so you don't get confused.


I wrote previously that the quiet room at the railway station was only disturbed by the occasional train - not so as it turned out. A big storm even by Himalayan standards came through at night, and I read in the paper that 70km winds took down many trees, killed one, and stopped 65% of all electricity in the region. The room we were in was large and our bags were a good 15 feet from the door, but so much rain blew under that our bags were still dampened - luckily the camera, lenses and related manuals were all in plastic bags inside. We took a crowded jeep taxi over the worst roads I've seen in India - worse than any of the bush tracks in Eastern Victoria, and then climbed...and climbed. Darjeeling is 7400 feet, higher than any land point in Australia, and quite chilly, felt even more so after the heat of Kokata. The Anglicised name Darjeeling came from the Tibetan name of this post, and we woke this morning to the sounds of long horns, cymbals and drums from the nearby Tibetan Gompa...then of course the constant sound of tooting car horns which does not let up until late at night. Darjeeling has 350,000 people which makes it larger than either Hobart or Wellington as I understand it. Perched up on a ridge top it was never designed for traffic of any sort much less the totally unregulated shambles so characteristic of India. Yesterday afternoon we walked a lot and have identified where one of aunt Grace's photos was taken from - it is some distance so we will walk there this afternoon. All government offices (as well as such things as the 150 year old "toy" train) are indefinitely closed from today - including Sir Ed's Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. Weather is cloudy and I do not expect we will see anything of Kanchenjunga until we are in Sikkim - clouds and mist swirl around the ridges here. If you are reading this Pete, I thought of you when checking out the Darjeeling tea shops - there is some fine looking leaf here. Incidentally, the botanist among us here spotted some fine looking leaf growing at the last town too.

En route to the hills

Thousands marched for a new state of Gorkhland.




The train from Kolkata was clean and comfortable, except for the passengers: a woman had 2 small children which she was plying with sugar and caffeine - when she ran out of coke, she gave them sweet tea. The younger was still in nappies. So, predictably they squealed, screamed, shouted, cried, climbed, ran, jumped on the seats and made themselves a considerable irritant to all the passengers until they finally gave out after 11pm. We ordered dinner, but gave up at 10:30 and went to bed without. Unfortunately in Kolkata I picked up an unwelcome hitchhiker in my gut and remained awake all night. A passenger gave us some invaluable advice and suggested we stay at the retiring rooms at the railway station at Siliguri. Enormous room with 15 foot ceilings and very clean - $3 each. The only down side is the occasional VERY loud locos tooting from very close proximity. Our plans here are so fluid that they are sploshing about. We read in the paper the other day (you could check Times of India website) about some agitation at Darjeeling; riots, teargas, lathi charges (that means the cops mercilessly beating people with bamboo sticks) and a lock down of businesses. Hmmm, maybe we should go to Plan B. So we arrived at Siliguri and checked the place to obtain permits for Sikkim; ah, closes every second Saturday for some reason, maybe (this is India after all), as well as Sunday. So now we are thinking to go back to Plan A and go to Darjeeling anyway although there is more agitation planned for Monday apparently. We can just keep out of the way, and I read the ATMs will still function. I don't know if we are at higher altitude here - the train didn't seem to climb, but the weather is far more agreeable than Kolkata. I would have liked to have gone to Belur Math and Dakshineshwar up river a short distance, but it was just a bit too hot to do that. Another time.

Oh Calcutta

The entrance courtyard of the Howrah Hotel in Kolkata.


After a brief stopover in Chennai we already had our tickets for the train to Kolkata. Comfortable and effortless - we decided to go for the 3 tier air conditioned sleeper option (a little cheaper than 2 tier). It was clean, comfortable and a little more costly than the bus from Hastings to Wellington for a 30 hour journey. One of our fellow travellers runs a shop selling items from Sikkim at Siliguri, the destination of our next train. We just secured the last 2 berths on the train for tomorrow night - it is an 11 hour journey and arrives about 7am. The a/c trains provide clean (usually) linen, pillows and blankets. Incidentally, the temperature for Kolkata today is 36 degrees with 92% humidity. Another advantage of a/c trains is that the usual endless parade of beggars in different forms does not occur (I think there is a guard posted at the end of the carriages). There is no limit, however, to the parade of welcome chai, coffee, cool drinks, water, snacks (too numerous to list) and vendors of utterly useless junk and trash, although that does have a certain fascination.
We took a hotel quite near to the station which was built in the mid 1800s. It really would have looked elegant in those days, but is now only just holding together (incidentally behind the hotel counter is a photo of a bearded old man who looks English but with Hindu ash markings etc whose name was Shiv Shankar Shaw - when I asked about him they proudly explained he was their father, and also added that I looked like him!); although the area is probably the grimiest and grubbiest I've come across in India. Having said that we took a ferry across the Hooghly (that's NOT a Gerry and the Pacemakers song) avoiding the busiest bridge in the world, and have come to an utterly delightful city. The old slightly crumbling grand magnificence of old Calcutta. It seems the heritage buildings here are actually looked after unlike parts of Bangalore for instance which has been eager to demolish its built heritage. The trams still rumble along although not quite as crisp as Melbourne trams but it adds to a public transport system that would be the envy of many cities in India. We have just enjoyed strolling and observing. Calcutta still maintains a grandeur that few cities in the world could match.

Chennai formerly known as Madras

The old colonial mansion where the outdoor reggae gig was held. Next to the ocean, warm tropical sea breeze, great music, rustling palms, aaah, la vie tough!


The last post I wrote disappeared into the ether somewhere. It was from Puducherry formerly known as Pondicherry. I mentioned that although the primary drive to go there was the fact that the great seer, spiritual giant and home rule agitator Sri Aurobindo had made his home there in 1910 (we arrived 98 years to the day after) after being sought for sedition by the British - a hanging offence. As he was also fluent in French the French governor thought it best he stay, and he had a considerable impact until his death in 1950. We enjoyed the brief stay there, and Cathy had only just said to Saskia that she felt like some dancing, and lo and behold a French reggae band was playing next door on Saturday night. A good French reggae band! It was in the grounds of the old colonial mansion which houses Alliance Francais - huge double story whitewashed building with enormous columns and wide verandahs. The band set up in the courtyard on the lawn under the palms swaying in the cool evening sea breeze - it was right next to the beach. After a lot of walking during the day, our legs had given out by a reasonable hour, and to the chagrin of the guest house proprietor, the music was clearly audible even in our room. I quite enjoyed sitting on the balcony listening to both the waves lapping the shore, and the beat of the music. The unexpected has been popping up at every turn. We catch the train tomorrow morning for Kolkata formerly known as Calcutta. This trip has so far been revisiting places I have known, and tomorrow we venture into new territory for both of us. Quite exciting. At the place we had some meals in Puducherry, there was a map of Sikkim and Gangtok on the wall, which also showed aunt Grace's school; and the woman at the next table had just come down from there and gave us some accomodation info. I think it will come together nicely.

Coromandel!

The esplanade at Pondicherry. The beach sand was put there after the tsunami, but is already completely covered with litter. The only few inches not covered with litter was literally inside the empty litter bin.


Neither Cathy nor I have yet been to Coromandel in New Zealand, but we are here at the coast from which it has been named. We effortlessly caught the bus from Tiruvannamalai; a 3 hour journey for 1nz dollar. The breeze was quite pleasant and cool at first, but by the time we arrived at Pondicherry (now called Puducherry) the familiar feeling of sweat trickling down the hollow of the back had resumed. For some reason Indian politicians love renaming places, presumably to attract the locally nationalistic vote, so they can then spend even more money on the ubiquitous billboards proclaiming their own greatness while potholes grow in the roads and garbage continues to accumulate everywhere. So with Puducherry there is Bengaluru, formerly known as Bangalore, and we just yesterday bought our train tickets to Kolkata. The streets in this town have uncharacteristic (for India) kerb and channel gutters and some degree of tidiness, such as 2 squillion parked motorcycles will allow. Just around the corner from our guest house (overlooking the Bay of Bengal) we noticed that tonight at the Alliance Francais in Rue Dumas there is a reggae concert - guess who is a happy girl! Although it is only 34 or so degrees, it feels much hotter here by the coast as the humidity is very high. It probably won't be much different until we are up in the hills at Darjeeling.

Our last full day at Arunachala

The "special" rice meal at a hotel in Tiruvannamalai town. For an a/c room and some extra dishes, it cost a total of a whole dollar.



I confess to a twinge of guilt as I have introduced Cathy to a habit forming drug - of sorts. It is the infamous Chikki - a habit forming delicious South Indian peanut toffee. I knew an American once who went by taxi out from his hotel in Bangalore to see Sai Baba every day at Whitefield, about 20kms. Every day he was ignored, and every day he went out to the bazaar afterward and bought a piece of Chikki before returning to his hotel. Then one day Sai Baba stopped and seemed about to materialise some ash from his fingers which he did several times daily for someone or other, and when he waved his hand for the American, out popped a piece of Chikki! We called in to see Wendell Field a couple of days ago. Wendell has lived here for most of the past 40 years and is a painter of exception talent; he can hardly keep up with the commissions. He often said his best friend here was the remarkable beggar saint Yogi Ramsuratkumar. One day I noticed a sadhu at a small roadside temple who had a real Light about him. I slipped him some rupees for food and thought later it was just not enough. I later saw him at the Ramanashram and slipped him enough to buy food for a good while. There are many around here who wear the orange cloth which Narikutti Swami derisively called the beggars' uniform. Maybe one in a hundred is one like the one I saw. Later on he saw me a smiled a wonderful smile of deep happiness, then a few minutes later I came upon him at the corner of our road - how did he do that? Anyway, he gestured to me to put out my arm and he tied a small red woven cotton band around it, then gestured to ask Cathy's whereabouts (she was in the room) - I went and brought her down and he gave her one also, as well as a Rudraksha bead around the neck. Expect the unexpected around here. It has been a strange time of reconnecting with people I know. This morning we again walked around the hill and checked the bus timings on the way past. Tomorrow morning we will catch the bus to Pondicherry. It has been a wonderful time at this holy place and Cathy has said she can't wait to come back here. Talk about a duck taking to water.