RSS

Contact us

Monday 7 July 2008

Sacred heights

Simon Courtauld pays homage to one of the world’s great sights

‘Road is hilly, Don’t be silly’ was the advice by the roadside as our Nepali driver safely negotiated yet another hairpin bend and yet another pothole on the way up to the old Himalayan hill station of Darjeeling. Its tea gardens are still flourishing, its Planters Club is still there (though not flourishing), the air is fresh at 7,000 feet and for India relatively clean.

We had come here principally in the hope of seeing the great Himalayan peaks at sunrise, and in particular Mount Kanchenjunga, at more than 28,000 feet India’s highest mountain. Having arrived in Darjeeling in a cloudburst, we wondered whether a prayer to a Hindu god (which one?) might increase the prospects of clear weather at dawn the following morning. Meanwhile, it was time for tea.

In Daisy’s music room at the Windamere Hotel (endearingly so spelt), there are cucumber sandwiches for tea. The bread, of course, is white, crusts cut off, and the cucumber peeled and thinly sliced, with a little white pepper added. We are also offered homemade muffins and a lemon sponge cake. Around the walls of the music room are framed photographs of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, and a picture of Rupert Brooke with his words about a foreign field that is for ever England.

For ever English the Windamere may be, but it is now run by a Tibetan family who, among other accomplishments, have perfected the art of making cucumber sandwiches — the equal, at least, of any to be found at the other Windermere in the Lake District. In case any uncouth European or American travellers should decide to take tea at the Windamere, a notice on the mantelpiece asks visitors ‘not to take off their footwear, or put up their feet on the furniture, or lie supine on the hearth, or sleep behind the settees, lest unintended offence be given to others’. Quite so.

Fires were lit in the bedrooms before dinner (vegetable soup and roast chicken), hot water bottles put in the beds, and we were woken with what in India is called ‘bed tea’ at 3.15 the following morning. A 20-minute drive in a jeep brought us up to Tiger Hill, above the village of Ghoom, where we hoped to see the mountain reveal itself at around 5.30. There was a sharp frost and a starry sky; but would there be cloud covering the high tops?

More articles from: Simon Courtauld | this section

Print this article  |  Email to a friend  |  Permalink  |   Comment

Post this entry to:   del.icio.us | Digg | Newsvine | NowPublic | Reddit

Advertisement

Spectator Business | Apollo Magazine

Corporate | Advertising | Privacy | Terms

Spectator, 22 Old Queen Street, London, SW1H 9HP

All Articles and Content Copyright ©2008 by The Spectator | All Rights Reserved