Mussorie
Monday, September 27th
I read about
this old, funky hotel called The Savoy. I decided to check in here for
one night just to snoop about and see what it was really like. It was
decrepit. Definitely in its glory in about 1897, not a thing has changed
there. Talk about Raj leftovers! It was a bit depressing when I arrived:
the hotel is a huge old mansion, very empty.
And with the fog swirling in around the mountains, I could barely see
five feet in front of me. I was given a mammoth corner suite (dressing
room, fireplace, turret sitting area looking out towards the couldn’t-see
mountains) for less than $10. And I was cold, really, really cold. Somehow
in a last minute panic I had remembered to pack thermal undies in San
Francisco. But, the porter brought me some tea and agreed to light my
fireplace at 8pm and so things decidedly improved.
I walked around trying to open closed doors. Down one dark walkway outside I bumped into an elderly Sikh. When I told him I was a guest, he said, "God bless you." I replied "You, too." Maybe that wasn’t so appropriate. I found a huge billiards room. And lots of old and tattered deer heads that had gone all bitty with age. I wonder how one cares for them. Perhaps they sell a moth deterrent spray just for hunting lodges. If you know, tell me so I’ll stop wondering. According to the Lonely Planet guide, the hotel’s resident ghost, Lady Gore Ormsby, provided the inspiration for Agatha Christie’s first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I didn’t feel any ghost. But, come evening, the hotel definitely became a lovely place to stay. Darkness and dim lighting do wonders for old buildings. Honestly, if you’re wondering what to do for New Year’s, I’d get in touch with this place and have a grand party. They have over 100 rooms, a ballroom, a bar with lots of scotch and brandy, a swish restaurant, etc. Their phone number is (0135) 632010. Phones here are often busy, though, because there are only a limited number of lines into the town. At least, that’s what I was told.
This morning, I came over to Chicky’s hotel, The Brentwood. My room looks out over the mountain range. Except, I can’t see it because the fog is swirling around. Sure enough, Mr. Sunny, Chicky’s friend, couldn’t be more hospitable. Turns out they own another hotel which is more of a retreat out in the country and they offered to take me there this weekend. But I think I'll have had enough of Mussorie by then.
Mussorie
is a sweet town. It centers around one street called The Mall. The Mall
is filled with Indian tourists, cycle rickshaws, taxi horses and local
school boys and girls. (There are a number of private boarding schools
here. Fresh air and all.) The boys laugh at me. And they try to walk behind
me. Rather than in front of me. And they spit: see a female, collect your
spit and then hurl it. Creeping vine flowers grow up an d down the hillsides.
All the stores sell super cheap cashmere sweaters and those trendy shawls
that keep springing up at society do’s in the States. You can buy one
for $350 at Sarah Shaw on Sacramento Street at Baker. Though, I don’t
think you’ll find the ones there have the beautiful embroidery that I
keep seeing here.
This evening, I went on a long walk around the edge of town. Out of nowhere it got dark really quickly. I forgot my flashlight and dreaded walking in my sandals into a pile of horse shit. I didn’t. Looking back towards the town, I could see a long trail of twinkling lights. They were moving. I was so confused; surely there wasn’t THAT much traffic coming into town. And if there was, you can guarantee that they’d not have their lights on. Then I heard singing. Eventually I made it back to town and found that it was an evening vigil organized by the Regional Tibetan Youth Congress, Tibetan Freedom Movement and Tibetan Women Association. It’s the only time since I’ve been in India that I haven’t heard a car horn. The town was peaceful as hundreds walked along the Mall. There are a number of Tibetans here in Mussorie. And here’s something I haven’t figured out yet: making a generalization, the Tibetans here tend to look very Western. The kids are trendy in a 1999 sort of way. Take an Indian teenager of the same age and he’s dressed like a dandy cowboy with tight jeans and pouffed hair.
Tomorrow, I’m going super early down to Dehra Dun to meet the parents of the fellow from Wondersoft. They live in Dehra Dun.
Wednesday, September 29th:
It’s only when I’m travelling that I realize how much I miss having my home to go to in the evening. Somewhere that doesn’t smell musty and fusty. A place to sit down and read a book. A table where I can sit and type. Visiting Mr. and Mrs. Sharma down in Dehra Dun yesterday morning gave me a home fix.
Such hospitality. Mrs. Sharma had organized a huge breakfast spread. She was never content that I had had enough despite my protests. No wonder there are so many billboard ads and television ads regarding diabetes care. It seems like all of the food here is deep fried. Sweety stores (which seem to sell mostly deep fried anything---veggies, potatoes, etc. plus the odd sweet) are on every corner. Mrs. Sharma said this was not a normal occasion; usually they have healthy cornflakes. But I wasn’t complaining. And, tea from a gingko tree. Good for one’s health. I swore to myself that evening to look into alternative medicine more seriously.
Mr. Sharma is an authority on orchids and has written a book specifically on Himalayan orchids. Mrs. Sharma has the largest collection of bonsai trees I’ve ever seen and that’s including going down to the San Francisco Flower Market. Their garden was amazing. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. Mammoth orchids hanging from trees. Huge bamboo trees a few stories high. I didn’t want to leave.
I told Mrs. Sharma that the horns from all the cars and bikes and rickshaws took a bit of getting used to. Ha! To say the least. She pointed out, how on earth is anyone supposed to know that a car is approaching from behind unless you honk. She made it seem so sensible. And reasonable. You see, I’m fairly confident that mirrors aren’t a common accessory on moving vehicles here. And certainly not on the cattle.
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