Day 10

With the help of our friendly neighbourhood cockerel, we woke early. From the balcony bit of our digs, the cliff side was also waking. Buddhist prayer bells, twittering birds, the flip flop of passing flip-flops as determined men with baskets three times their size containing foliage climbed the steep road, gentle chattering between neighbours, the endless one armed sweeping, a little 5ish year old nepalese boy clumsily found his way to the little shack shop to buy cigarettes for his dad, received a note in change, rolled it up as he walked, paused, looked around to see if anyone was watching then pretended to smoke it, men wearing fantastic vests and towels around their waists sat on their doorsteps with their morning chai, another small nepalese kid confidently came and talked to us-

Us - Hello
Him - Hello
Us - What is your name?
Him - Fine thankyou
Us - Oh, how are you?
Him - Fine thankyou
Us - How old are you?
Him - Fine thankyou. Ok, good bye.

and off he skiddadled.

Through all of this delightful morning-ness, every now and again, from a source unknown, there would be the sound of a cheap toy playing 'We wish you a merry christmas'.

We had the morning in the factory, processing the first flush teas. With the help of the fetching hygiene hats.



Withering had been done the night before. Again, in long trays that blow hot/cold air through the leaves to reduce moisture content so the leaves don't turn to slush when rolled.



So the withered leaves are then thrown into the rolling machines, for around half an hour. This bruises them, which in turn begins oxidation and develops the flavour.











There is a man at Makaibari. This man is essential for Makaibari brew makering. Using only the acute power of his unassuming nose, he knows exactly when the tea has peaked in flavour. To correctly estimate the time to stop oxidation, most mortals rely on science...




...but not this man.

Irreplaceable and mysterious.

He is known simply as 'THE BLOODHOUND'.



A formidable man.


In usual black tea processing, the leaves are then moved to fermentation trays, to allow further oxidation to take place. Darjeeling first flush teas, however, despite being classed as black, are actually more oolong by definition. Semi fermented.



The tea is moved to fermentation trays, but only for sorting and transportation.

Here we are getting knots out of the rolled leaves....







And here we are earning our keep...



Straight into the dryers, and out the other end as the finished article.

These dried tea leaves, the Makaibari Organic First Flush, make an incredible brew. Brew it gently, in not quite boiling water, for a couple of minutes, and you will be rewarded with a light, refreshing, flowery, uplifting concoction that will forever be your yardstick first flush tea.

We finished the tea day with a walk out to the plantation to say hello to the pickers. We just caught the end of their shift, and got some photos. They were very friendly again, just like at Behora.
















After the walk back up the hill, we sweatily went to the offices to organise our tea purchases. That done, we gave our thankyou gift to Mr Banerjee and headed to get our bags. One last meal with our lovely Kurseong family, Photos and good byes.




Took a taxi to Kurseong train station, to catch the famous toy train to Darjeeling.





There are 2 journey options when getting the toy train. You can take it from Siligiri, where we got the shared jeep 2 days previously. Or you can get it from Kurseong, when you are already half way up the mountainside. To get to Darjeeling from Siligiri takes about 12-14 hours. From Kurseong it takes a mere 3. And the scenery only gets truly wonderful after Kurseong. So, my advice is don't do the full whack. You may regret it. Plus it only uses a steam locomotive from Kurseong. A bloody beautiful train it is too. One of my favourite things to do in the world. It costs a whopping 10 rupees each to get to Darjo. That's 12 pence to us Sterling users. And they give you lovely stamped chunky cardboard tickets, like the olden days.



Unfortunately the younger of us had successfully contracted a little bug that was playing havoc with his digestive system. And a VERY SLOW train is not the best place to have such a problem. There was a look of intense concentration on his fizog for most of the journey, which was a shame as he was putting all of his energy into self control and had little left to enjoy the experience. There are numerous stops heading up the mountain. Chai stops, water refill stops, broken train stops, passenger stops and some inexplicable stops (none of which have toilet facilities, i hasten to add). So you can get off, have a wander. Pat even purchased a nice pair of velcro shoes on one of the stops. One stop, the daughter of the momo/chai stand came and sat down, and had a cute factor of 93.



Some over affectionate lads squeeeeezed into the seats next to us, and we had our knees squeezed and our egos inflated as they insisted repeatedly that they 'really, really liked us'. It got awkward, after a while.



The sun was setting as we approached darjeeling. The train whistled past the waving snotty kids and nonchalant shop keepers, whilst jubilance set in on my part to be back in Darjeeling. Even with the sooty nose hairs.

Getting off the train and walking through the steamy, sooty chaos in the misty twilight of Darjeeling, then clambering steeply upwards, past the very british looking post office, past the numerous candlelit warm clothing vendors, past the Big Bazaar, we made our way to Hotel Prestige. A favourite of mine, run by the most lovely family, that guarantees a good level of hygiene for a very respectable price.
The leccy was off in Darjo, so we were guided to our room by a candle, and had 2 candles in the room. We lay in the flickering semi darkness playing 'I went to the stupid things americans say shop' (…and bought some aluminum some basil some cilantro and a douchebag) until we felt hungry enough to venture outside to feast on Tibetan fare. We were joined for this atmospheric candlelit meal by 2 lovely people from Finland and America.
Momos and thukpas consumed, we headed to Joey's. A little slice of english pubbery in India. It was closed. So we went to bed. With our ridiculously thick duvets. And mountainy fatigue.