Unforgettable Memories of Darjeeling……

The past and continuing problems in the Darjeeling District have served to bring back some fond memories from a visit in 2006. One wonders how long it will be before politics and ethnic splits will drive to oblivion the precious essence of what is good in Darjeeling.

The Windamere Hotel, Darjeeling

“An oasis of old-fashioned comfort and friendly service; the perfect recuperation from a strenuous trek.” The Earl of Limerick, London, England- (The Guest book at the Windamere Hotel). It is "One of the three Jewels of the Raj", said a celebrated travel writer of The Windamere Hotel. Established in the 19th century as a cozy boarding house for bachelor English and Scottish tea planters, it was converted into a hotel just before the outbreak of the Second World War. Well known to sophisticated travelers the world over, the Windamere is famous for its unique ambience and charm, and has been the subject of many leading stories in the international media. Windamere is the original "Heritage House of the Himalayas". It is situated on Observatory Hill, a Darjeeling landmark, believed to be the focus and repository of life-enhancing cosmic energies.

After many strenuous hours of jeeps, buses and trains to get to Darjeeling, one finds The Windamere an oasis. In the early Sixties, a 21-year-old socialite from New York called Hope Cooke met the Crown Prince of Sikkim at the bar, and the ensuing engagement party was held at the hotel by it's owner Mrs Tenduf-La. The photos of that night can still be found in the albums that are piled up on the piano in the sitting room with its red velvet chairs. There are all the guests, frozen in time: a 60's minx in a miniskirt surrounded by matrons whose clothes are trapped in the Fifties; Seventies hikers in fluffy alpaca jumpers; women sitting in a row against the wall in full taffeta skirts wearing silly party hats; Mrs. Tenduf-La's recent 95th birthday; and, startlingly, an elderly Peter Ustinov holding court.

Anecdotes, a hotel booklet called 'Bliss in a Swirling Haze' and perusing the guest book informs one that former special guests have included Queen Elizabeth, Sir Edmund Hillary, Henrich Harrier of “Seven Years in Tibet” fame and the bloke who discovered Lawrence of Arabia. The Windamere has a library called the “Snuggery” which is filled with English thrillers and books on Darjeeling's Toy Train. The office and dining hall are lined with the photos of West End stars that come out from London to perform, among other pieces, "The Songs & Dances of the Hills", in an outdoor setting. On other walls are images more than 70 years old of explorers like Alexander David-Neel, and the Tenduf-La family.

The buildings are buttercup yellow surrounded by flower gardens. The rooms are Victorian in style, kind of chintzy, with fluffy quilts and towels, clawed baths, and beautiful views. Most look over the mountains, including the Mall on which, in the old days, a brass band played every day, and children went on pony rides. The Windamere is set in old world charm with coal fires every evening, hot water bottles tucked under the blankets when you return from dinner, “traditional entertainment” in the gardens, a beautiful and well-stocked bar, staff in turbans, high tea every afternoon (yes, cucumber sandwiches) and three meals a day. All food is included in the price under what is known, for reasons that sound military, as 'The American Plan'. Each mealtime you are offered 'either' western food 'or' Indian. What this really means is 'both' and the uninitiated end up with a peculiar mixture of roast beef, potatoes, pappadums and fish curry on the same plate.

The Darjeeling mist traps the coal smoke, which hangs heavy in the air. On a night of full moon, the smoke outlines the shape of the clouds, and occasionally, gives a hint of the Himalayas around Darjeeling. Like the food, the whole experience is delicious, if a bit hallucinogenic. While it costs compared to other Indian hotels, you need to think of the Windamere as a destination, a country in itself.

A kind of Shangri-la in which hospitality and good manners make you forget why it is that the days of the Raj are long gone, that the country of Sikkim, a couple of hours down the road, is part of India and the real Darjeeling is at a constant tug-of-war with the state and central authorities, for an identity of its own.

(Adapted from an article in “The Age” and appropriately modified).