We're on the other side of the suspension bridge now, having crossed further upstream. Around us, thick virgin jungle, although the path is a well maintained track. Regular stones augmented by concrete reinforcement where necessary, moss covered bridges and in places seemingly elevated from the steep wet jungle floor like a causeway, it's testament to local endeavour to maintain communication between remote villages which still in the 21st century don't have road access. It's also clear that tourists almost never use it, and the locals only rarely.
We find ourselves distracted momentarily by four or five monkeys who fearlessly leap through the canopy below us to our left. Suddenly, Ajay stops, surveys the mossy rocks and then frantically, almost panicked, flaps his arms around, seemingly to ward off some invisible foe. The aggressor is in fact a two inch flying bug, which he reassuringly informs us can kill with its bite. His reaction leaves me surprisingly shaky, but we yomp on, considering the raw wildness of where we are. As we near our final stop, Rimbik, Kanchenjunga's icy peak bids us farewell through a deep wooded valley to the North. We sidle around a 2 foot poisonous snake and emerge from the jungle into pretty terraces of maize plantations. From there, on to a bowl of particularly welcome Momos in Rimbik itself, which looks surprisingly like a frontier post in the wild west...
Afternoon:
The journey back to Darjeeling, as with all activities involving Indian transport, is tortuous, breathtaking, and eventful. Winding our way along the never ending bends of the Himalayan 'foothills' West of Darjeeling, we climb and drop thousands of metres through stunning tea terraces, run down villages and deep gorges. Every 100 yards for four hours we negotiate drainage gullies (there to cope with monsoon rains), and between them bump through the ironically juxtaposed sleeping policemen and huge potholes. We cross one rickety suspension bridge so narrow that our wing mirrors clip every single one of the uprighht supports. The structure creaks, groans and sways, and the tell-tale chunks of missing concrete where numerous vehicles before have misjudged the entrance to the bridge speak volumes of the way things are just done out here.
Sarah and I ride seatbeltless shotgun in the front, enjoying the ride but certainly not relaxing as we skim past vehicles coming the other way on a route clearly designed for pack horses.
As I look through the windscreen, I notice, stuck to the inside, the image of the Dalai Lama. I rest more comfortably in the knowledge that if we are catapulted forwards to an untimely end, it will at least be in the best possible company!
Pictures:
The wild wild west: Rimbik...
Suspension bridge time. Who needs structural engineers anyway?
A mossy bridge in the jungle. Sarah is putting her trouser legs on after advice from Ajay!
Morning tea before trekking... There were two in the bed...
The Dalai Lama seems nonplussed by traffic problems as we return to Darjeeling.
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