I think its time to bring this to a close. We've been home almost three weeks now and the blog has kept India alive for me for far longer than most holidays last, but everything has to end.
There are a few snippets of memories that I will leave with you before I close...
The Morris Oxford taxis in Kolkata, the design of which hadn't changed since the 1950's.
The schoolgirls in their school uniforms that looked as if they were straight out of Mallory Towers: pleated skirts, long socks and their hair so neat in little plaits tied with white ribbons.
The men and women who carry immense loads up steep hills on their backs, with straps over their heads - how do they do that?
The prayer flags everywhere - how I wanted to bring some home and hang them across the garden - but they wouldn't be right here, and are so right there.
The way the road would suddenly turn from being smooth tarmac to mud and rock, and how we had to hold on tight, our heads jolting from side to side as the driver negotiated rocks and potholes that would have a British driver suing the local council.
The way the foothills just went on and on and on, and how the shape of them was just so perfect.
We went to India, not only for a holiday, but also to make a connection with the past. We did that, and so much more. Kolkata was hugely interesting, but in the hills we met real kindness and friendliness. In Kurseong Mr Shixit who helped us find Lakshmi Cottage; the officials at the Raj Bhavan in Gangtok; the ladies in Kurseong who wanted to check we weren't lost; the children calling 'hello'; the drivers who safely negotiated traffic, people, trucks and appalling roads; Suvendu in Kolkata whose knowledge was astounding; and last, but by no means least, Sunil Pradhan, who, as well as taking us to tourist attractions also took a genuine interest in finding places that were of personal significance to us. It wouldn't have been the same experience without him. We owe him many thanks.
There are a few snippets of memories that I will leave with you before I close...
The Morris Oxford taxis in Kolkata, the design of which hadn't changed since the 1950's.
The schoolgirls in their school uniforms that looked as if they were straight out of Mallory Towers: pleated skirts, long socks and their hair so neat in little plaits tied with white ribbons.
The men and women who carry immense loads up steep hills on their backs, with straps over their heads - how do they do that?
The prayer flags everywhere - how I wanted to bring some home and hang them across the garden - but they wouldn't be right here, and are so right there.
The way the road would suddenly turn from being smooth tarmac to mud and rock, and how we had to hold on tight, our heads jolting from side to side as the driver negotiated rocks and potholes that would have a British driver suing the local council.
The way the foothills just went on and on and on, and how the shape of them was just so perfect.
We went to India, not only for a holiday, but also to make a connection with the past. We did that, and so much more. Kolkata was hugely interesting, but in the hills we met real kindness and friendliness. In Kurseong Mr Shixit who helped us find Lakshmi Cottage; the officials at the Raj Bhavan in Gangtok; the ladies in Kurseong who wanted to check we weren't lost; the children calling 'hello'; the drivers who safely negotiated traffic, people, trucks and appalling roads; Suvendu in Kolkata whose knowledge was astounding; and last, but by no means least, Sunil Pradhan, who, as well as taking us to tourist attractions also took a genuine interest in finding places that were of personal significance to us. It wouldn't have been the same experience without him. We owe him many thanks.
The End
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