Annabel up + about early, because she was getting ready to catch the bus to Kathmandu this morning, provided us with tea in bed, a true luxury. Soon after, Val was up + out to try + sell some more film on the direct approach, while we were still in a place that had plenty of wealthy Indian tourists. My task was to do the packing, a chore I managed with reasonable efficiency, despite one brief interval to give Annabel a hug + kiss goodbye, + after that, the close attention of the hotel management who stood in the room + watched me, I know not why. My packing complete, I lugged the bags all the way down those steps for the final time, + met Val in the Himalaya Café for an identical breakfast to yesterday’s. It was celebration time for Val, for after initial frustration + depression, has successfully unloaded all bar one of the films she had intended to sell. Rs 40 this time, all except 2 at Rs 45 (by mistake, one presumes) all to one large + rowdy group of young Indians.
Down to the market next to catch our own bus down the hill to Siliguri. There were only a couple of seats left, on the narrowest of benches immediately behind the driver’s seat, all but hanging over his neck indeed, but we decided to take it anyway rather than wait for the next bus. And we were soon grateful enough for that impossibly narrow perch, when we saw how crowded the bus became as we moved down the mtn. One man was sat on the engine cover right next to the windscreen, his legs dangling down into the driver’s compartment. Somehow or other the driver was able to operate the pedals, but tho’ this intruder must have hampered his movement, he gave no sign that he regarded the situation as at all unusual.
The journey was impossibly long. I had thought that as it was a downhill journey, it would be much faster than the uphill climb, but I hadn’t reckoned on the “Give Way” factor. Uphill had the right of way, + the road being so narrow + relatively busy that we had to stop every few yards… or so it seemed. I was able to see the mileage gauge quite clearly, yet the numbers ticked over so slowly. About the only consolation + entertainment were the road signs, all signed PW (Roads) Dept, painted onto the cliff walls themselves. There were 3 kinds: the Imperative (Blow Your Horn at Every Bend, Give Way, etc); the Informational (X number of metres above sea-level, the name of the stream we were crossing, etc); +, by far the most numerous, the jolly little preachings. These were all on the theme of safety in general, + consciousness of speed in particular. Stylistically, most involved some sort of punning. “Safety saves” was one of the pithiest; “If you want to see the hill, drive slow; if you want to see the hell drive fast”, one of the clumsiest; “It’s better to be late, Mr Motorist, than to be the late Mr Motorist,” the cleverest. My favourite, I think, was a sentence almost mystic in its complete irrelevance, ”Slow has 4 letters, + so does life; Speed has 5 letters, + so does Death.”
We arrived in Siliguri at a little after 2, to meet all the old gang – D + S, J + J, Annabel – all dumped off their bus at Siliguri to switch to a jeep to carry them to the border. It all seemed a bit of a con to me, but then it wasn’t my problem. It did give us a chance to say goodbye all over again. Our own onward travel was hardly going more smoothly, for we were told we could not book our seats, for the 1.30 am train, until 6.30 pm. So we found the waiting room, installed ourselves there, + prepared to wait. Indian Waiting Rooms are considerably more comfortable than their British counterparts, with a few hard wooden beds as well as chairs, + a shower. We also took advantage of the dining-room, which supplied an omelette, buttered toast, + a pot of tea for less than R6. At 6 o’clock, I went down to make the bookings, only to meet 2 different officials, who insisted that bookings were neither necessary nor possible. I became, understandably, irate, but they were adamant, + discovering that the man we had spoken to earlier would be returning shortly, I returned to the waiting-room, in a piteous state. Val left it until 6.30, then went down herself, spoke to the original man, + rec’d 2 bookings straight away. The people I had spoken to had only been right in the sense that we could not yet actually be assigned berths. That would have to be done by a platform guard before we got on. It didn’t sound very satisfactory, but we didn’t have a great deal of choice. We passed the evening merely waiting, filling in a crossword, reading + writing. We took it in turns to have a walk outside.
Really just a day of travel, and not particularly comfortable travel at that. However, we did at least get to enjoy some of the old-fashioned comfort provided by the Railway.
As for the others, we did continue to receive letters from Dave Ness for a while, and Annabel stayed with us over Christmas 85.
