2 Nights in Siliguri

The last stop on the Darjeeling Mail is about 3km from Siliguri, a mini-Kolkata with a population of 1.5 million. Siliguri is known as the crossroads town of northeast India with trains, buses and taxis coming in from all directions. Typically, we would just hire a taxi or take the Toy Train directly to Darjeeling, but the recent political unrest and subsequent police killing of two protestors has prompted a general strike in “the Hills” and all transport going north have been cancelled. All, that is, except government-owned buses going north past Darjeeling to the state of Sikkim. So we booked the Hotel Manila for its central location in Siliguri and started looking around. What we saw was more dirt, grime, poverty, smog, and the constant honking of horns – just like in Kolkata, but this time in close-up. A walk through the shanty town next to the train station was heart-breaking. But even among all the extreme poverty, we saw plenty of smiles and glimmers of happiness. It just so happens that I’m currently reading the novel Shantaram where the slums of Mumbai were vividly described. But even so, I was not totally prepared for this experience.

If Siliguri was a nice place, we would have just hung out and waited out the strike. But we just got out of Kolkata to escape this urban madness, so Siliguri was the last place we wanted to be. We quickly changed our plans and decided to head to Gangtok in the state of Sikkim instead. We went to the Sikkim bus station to get our permits and to buy bus tickets. Permits were not a problem (and they’re free). But bus tickets would be a different story. There were hundreds of other people at the bus station (almost all locals except for us and a few odd tourists) also trying to get on the 15 or so daily buses going north. We asked around and those lucky few to score tickets have been in line since 5am. Not very good news, indeed.

Then I got lucky. While asking about buses going to other cities besides Gangtok, I accidently ran into the bus station’s general manager. He told me to come see him at 9am the next morning and pointed to his office upstairs. He then took my name and made sure I already had a permit. When I showed up the next day, he had already reserved two seats for us on “bus number two,” a bus that apparently only he can sell tickets to. While I was in his office, there was a constant stream of other people who somehow also knew about this alternative ticketing system. We felt really sorry for all the other people downstairs who had to stand in line for hours, but we were also ecstatic that we somehow managed to score tickets on the “VIP” bus.

With tickets in hand, we went to the Internet Café and booked a room in Gangtok and then boarded the standing-room-only bus for a 4-hour climb up to 4,000 ft above sea-level on twisted mountain roads. All the north-bounded buses left together and traveled caravan-style, complete with police escort. About halfway there, we crossed into the state of Sikkim, and made a pit stop in the border town of Rangpo where we snacked on momos and fresh orange juice. It was dark by the time we arrived in Gangtok, so we have no idea what this town really looks like. I guess we’ll find out in the morning.

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