Here is our poorly put together survey we would love you all to do.
http://bitURL.net/ad5c
It's about tea, and other such things.
Whoever completes it the fastest will receive a real treat! -
Mick Hucknall, doing the shake n vac.
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Survey Please!
Hello everybody.
Here is our poorly put together survey we would love you all to do.
http://bitURL.net/ad5c
It's about tea, and other such things.
Whoever completes it the fastest will receive a real treat! -
Mick Hucknall, doing the shake n vac.
Here is our poorly put together survey we would love you all to do.
http://bitURL.net/ad5c
It's about tea, and other such things.
Whoever completes it the fastest will receive a real treat! -
Mick Hucknall, doing the shake n vac.
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
Half of Day 8. Thorough.
Day 8
Our original plan for getting from Behora to Siliguri, the town at the base of the West Bengal Hills on the way to Darjo, was to get the 13 hour over night Rajdhani Express Train from Mariani Junction, a mere 10 km from the tea estate. On day one we went train ticket buying, and were informed that there was no way we would be able to get tickets for the journey from Mariani Junction to Siliguri, as you generally need to book months in advance. Now, here is a perfect place to slot some thoughts on the Indian Railway System.
Ok. Here is what we understand. A high percentage of the following information is probably inaccurate.
First of all, there are 8 classes. 1AC, 2AC, 3AC, First Class, Executive Chair, AC Chair, Sleeper, and finally 2nd class. AC stands for Air Conditioned, but it actually means more than that. It's a sign of quality and luxury, throughout India. Not all classes are available on all trains. For example, if the train goes over night there wont be a chair option. Sleeper class is the way most of the population travels long distance, thus making it the most insightful and fun. Windows are open, you can hang out of the doors whilst in motion, chai sellers and nibbley sellers are allowed on, it's noisy, often stinking hot, dirty, but bloody marvellous.
The coaches also have a habit of being infested with cockroaches and/or rodents (with rodents being preferable in my book, as they are, at least, cute), though we encountered none this trip. Sleeper tickets are ridiculously cheap by western standards (e.g 24hr train ride, travelling somewhere around 1400 km would cost around 6 pounds), and you sit 3 in a row on cushioned blue plasticy benches, that later get converted into your 3 bunk beds, by the well engineered, simple method of hinges and hooks. No food is included in the price, but you are always around food for sale on platforms or from official/unofficial sellery guys, and from the wonderfully generous and friendly co-passengers that you inevitably create a rapport with that often feed you whether you like it or not.
There is a real sense of being in touch with the landscape you travel through when travelling sleeper class. Because the wind rushes in your face, because you can jump off the train if it pauses in the middle of nowhere for 10 minutes, because you can smell the delights/horrors of what's around you, because you can stick your full body out of the train and feel the power of the locomotive as it whistles close by gawking youths, sincere looking adults, and wavey children, because the noise is in your ears, always. It's exhilarating. And like nothing you can experience in western europe train travel anymore, where you are disconnected as much as possible from everything. We enter our little silent travel pods, spend a while texting, eat our pre-bought packaged sterile chicken salad sandwich and our chocolate treat that we've been aching to open since the journey began, listen to our solid state illegally acquired pop music, play a mobile phone game or two, even do internetty things on our portable computer lapmachines, possibly exchange small talk with neighbours, maybe occasionally glance out of the window, read the paper, do a puzzle, nip to the loo (though not whilst at a station!), until we alight at our destination. Slightly better at freecell, and up to date with correspondence, but none the wiser on the little, important things that make the world interesting, eclectic, fascinating and generally brilliant. Trains are wonderful. Indian trains are wonderful-er. Ok, you might occasionally witness bathrooms with shit everywhere, a young girl vomming out of the window with gusto, men hocking up enthusiastically and phlegming on the floor, chai sellers alerting potential customers at an unreasonable 5 am with not entirely necessary ear splitting yells, cockroaches on your face in the dead of night, and other frustrations, but my god, it's great to have the CHOICE to travel in the slightly sterile AC classes or the living, breathing Sleeper Class. (the pomposity of personifying a train class. Apologies.) As opposed to only the sterile option in England.
Preaching travellers are seldom not annoying. Not only because what is being said is usually exaggerated or warped in some way or another, but because it is nearly always being said from an unrealistic perspective. Travellers by their very definition are travelling, which basically means they are on holiday, albeit a more 'hardcore' holiday, not living in the country of visitation. Things always have to be better or worse on holiday, just so when you return you can have an opinion and sound worldly. And just like a hoildayer can't wait to show photos and complain about the lack of chips, a certain kind of traveller cant wait to preach. So please, this is not a - 'you simply must experience train travel in india, it's an unforgettable kasldjnfkjsdf et la de da', this is a - 'it's nice to feel in charge of the choices you make and not have everything decided for you, nice to feel in touch with a small part of the world, nice to not have to rely on a mobile communication device for sensory stimulation, nice to experience different things'. That went on a bit longer than expected.
The ticketing of train travel. This is the most flummoxing aspect of the trainal system. So, different authorities receive a quota of tickets to sell. Some for online selling, some for selling at particular stations but not at other stations, some for tourist information shops, some for travel agencies, there's a tourist quota, an emergency quota, a reserve quota and heaps of other quotas(?).
Right. How do you get your hands on them? Well. We still don't fully know. BUT, generally what has worked in the past is we go to the chaotic reservation area in a large city station (usually separate from the station itself) and fill in a form after trying to locate said form for a good chunk of time.
The form asks for the train name and train number (which you can only find out after queueing for a good chunk of time), which station you will be getting on/off, date of travel, class of travel in order of preference, name, sex, date of birth of each passenger, whether you are a doctor, whether you want to be entitled to a free upgrade (?), address and phone in uk, address and phone in india (?) and finally signature, and date of signature. Then you queue for a good chunk of time, all the while battling for your position in the queue, and give in form. They then tell you one of a number of things:-
-'ok, that'll be xxx rupees' (ideal situation, but unfortunately quite rare)
-'there are no tickets in that class, i can give you another class' (expensive, but still a good comment to get)
-'there are no tickets, but i can give you a one on the waiting list' (there are always cancellations, so you get given a WL number, and find out if you've been successful on the day. Usually under 100 is a good position to be in. You could also in this case ask for a tadkal (emergency) ticket, which costs slightly more. Some trains dont have a tadkal quota though, and others sell out easily)
-'Full' (followed by shrug).
-'you have to pay for the whole journey if you want a ticket' (for example, if a popular train starts at point a and travels to point c, and you want to travel from point b to point c, you would have to pay from a to c, because that is how the quota is given to them)
-'go to counter number 94' (which could mean anything. Occasionally this has been wonderfully helpful, occasionally counter 94 doesn't exist)
-'Haha' (usually followed by something like 'you need to book 3 months in advance for this train')
Some mega-stations have a tourist counter, which is just froody. It lubricates the complex mission hugely, but still occasionally leads to a no ticket situation, especially if heading off the beaten path.
One time we three were in Putrid Patna, and i shall indulge the ticket situation to you when we get there in a week. It was interesting, and we concluded that if you just HAPPEN to meet the right person, then it's possible to get any train ticket, even one that 'you need to book 3 months in advance'.
Also, on the subject of quota distribution, it is apparently used as a subtle method of weakening a population that appears to be revolting in some way or another. For example, where we are heading now there is the Gorkha movement, trying to create a separate state 'Gorkhaland'. So the government gives them a very small quota on the major trains leaving the area, meaning the population constantly feels repressed, trapped and helpless. Clever.
This is all very complicated. Just when i think it cant get more complicated, it does. But, it works, for better or for worse. 21 million seats a day around the country successfully distributed.
The reason for getting so deep into this isssss that although there were absolutely no tickets for the first leg to Guwahati, the helpful man we met in Kohora knew a man who knew someone who could get us 3 tickets on the second leg. So alls we needed to do was get to Guwahati. Now, the last night bus gets in too late to catch a 6 am train, and the bus before the night buses gets in at 1am. So we said 'Fuck It' over a decision making chai meeting and decided to get a car to Guwahati. The price difference was minimal, and it meant we could leave late in the evening, have more time at Behora, and arrive with enough time to meet our ticket tout. Also it meant we could avoid another bumpy bumpy bus ride.
So we did that.
After watching an intense cricket game, which was a huge community event. The usual serenity of cricket was disturbed by the ever so distracting generator BRRMMMMMM.
We stopped a few times for night time chai, whilst the driver had a nap.
Not going to lie, he might've had a tendency to break wind during sleep. Entering the car after the breaks was not pleasant. Sam created a catchy little tune, the only lyrics being 'This car smells of fart'.
Indeed.
One of the chai breaks we witnessed a very drunk 13ish year old play the fool once too often and piss off a strange older man. Who threw a big jug of water in a fit of rage (not sure if it was jocular rage or not) in the drunk kids general direction. It missed him, and hit another guy. It was entertaining.
We also stopped for a theatrical performance of a Hanuman Fable. Hanuman is the Hindu warrior monkey god. And there was a play on. At 00.30. For children. Not sure what the craic was with the time of showing. Surely a matinee would've been more suitable. But there you go. There we ran into a reporter for the Assam Spectator or something newspapery sounding. We did an interview before our driver suddenly decided it was time to go. So maybe we are in a newspaper article somewhere in Assam. That was a surreal stop.
Bloody hell, it's only 5am in this tale of Day 8. Perhaps a break is in order. Yes. Signing off.
Quilliam Bruvaz
Our original plan for getting from Behora to Siliguri, the town at the base of the West Bengal Hills on the way to Darjo, was to get the 13 hour over night Rajdhani Express Train from Mariani Junction, a mere 10 km from the tea estate. On day one we went train ticket buying, and were informed that there was no way we would be able to get tickets for the journey from Mariani Junction to Siliguri, as you generally need to book months in advance. Now, here is a perfect place to slot some thoughts on the Indian Railway System.
Ok. Here is what we understand. A high percentage of the following information is probably inaccurate.
First of all, there are 8 classes. 1AC, 2AC, 3AC, First Class, Executive Chair, AC Chair, Sleeper, and finally 2nd class. AC stands for Air Conditioned, but it actually means more than that. It's a sign of quality and luxury, throughout India. Not all classes are available on all trains. For example, if the train goes over night there wont be a chair option. Sleeper class is the way most of the population travels long distance, thus making it the most insightful and fun. Windows are open, you can hang out of the doors whilst in motion, chai sellers and nibbley sellers are allowed on, it's noisy, often stinking hot, dirty, but bloody marvellous.
The coaches also have a habit of being infested with cockroaches and/or rodents (with rodents being preferable in my book, as they are, at least, cute), though we encountered none this trip. Sleeper tickets are ridiculously cheap by western standards (e.g 24hr train ride, travelling somewhere around 1400 km would cost around 6 pounds), and you sit 3 in a row on cushioned blue plasticy benches, that later get converted into your 3 bunk beds, by the well engineered, simple method of hinges and hooks. No food is included in the price, but you are always around food for sale on platforms or from official/unofficial sellery guys, and from the wonderfully generous and friendly co-passengers that you inevitably create a rapport with that often feed you whether you like it or not.
There is a real sense of being in touch with the landscape you travel through when travelling sleeper class. Because the wind rushes in your face, because you can jump off the train if it pauses in the middle of nowhere for 10 minutes, because you can smell the delights/horrors of what's around you, because you can stick your full body out of the train and feel the power of the locomotive as it whistles close by gawking youths, sincere looking adults, and wavey children, because the noise is in your ears, always. It's exhilarating. And like nothing you can experience in western europe train travel anymore, where you are disconnected as much as possible from everything. We enter our little silent travel pods, spend a while texting, eat our pre-bought packaged sterile chicken salad sandwich and our chocolate treat that we've been aching to open since the journey began, listen to our solid state illegally acquired pop music, play a mobile phone game or two, even do internetty things on our portable computer lapmachines, possibly exchange small talk with neighbours, maybe occasionally glance out of the window, read the paper, do a puzzle, nip to the loo (though not whilst at a station!), until we alight at our destination. Slightly better at freecell, and up to date with correspondence, but none the wiser on the little, important things that make the world interesting, eclectic, fascinating and generally brilliant. Trains are wonderful. Indian trains are wonderful-er. Ok, you might occasionally witness bathrooms with shit everywhere, a young girl vomming out of the window with gusto, men hocking up enthusiastically and phlegming on the floor, chai sellers alerting potential customers at an unreasonable 5 am with not entirely necessary ear splitting yells, cockroaches on your face in the dead of night, and other frustrations, but my god, it's great to have the CHOICE to travel in the slightly sterile AC classes or the living, breathing Sleeper Class. (the pomposity of personifying a train class. Apologies.) As opposed to only the sterile option in England.
Preaching travellers are seldom not annoying. Not only because what is being said is usually exaggerated or warped in some way or another, but because it is nearly always being said from an unrealistic perspective. Travellers by their very definition are travelling, which basically means they are on holiday, albeit a more 'hardcore' holiday, not living in the country of visitation. Things always have to be better or worse on holiday, just so when you return you can have an opinion and sound worldly. And just like a hoildayer can't wait to show photos and complain about the lack of chips, a certain kind of traveller cant wait to preach. So please, this is not a - 'you simply must experience train travel in india, it's an unforgettable kasldjnfkjsdf et la de da', this is a - 'it's nice to feel in charge of the choices you make and not have everything decided for you, nice to feel in touch with a small part of the world, nice to not have to rely on a mobile communication device for sensory stimulation, nice to experience different things'. That went on a bit longer than expected.
The ticketing of train travel. This is the most flummoxing aspect of the trainal system. So, different authorities receive a quota of tickets to sell. Some for online selling, some for selling at particular stations but not at other stations, some for tourist information shops, some for travel agencies, there's a tourist quota, an emergency quota, a reserve quota and heaps of other quotas(?).
Right. How do you get your hands on them? Well. We still don't fully know. BUT, generally what has worked in the past is we go to the chaotic reservation area in a large city station (usually separate from the station itself) and fill in a form after trying to locate said form for a good chunk of time.
The form asks for the train name and train number (which you can only find out after queueing for a good chunk of time), which station you will be getting on/off, date of travel, class of travel in order of preference, name, sex, date of birth of each passenger, whether you are a doctor, whether you want to be entitled to a free upgrade (?), address and phone in uk, address and phone in india (?) and finally signature, and date of signature. Then you queue for a good chunk of time, all the while battling for your position in the queue, and give in form. They then tell you one of a number of things:-
-'ok, that'll be xxx rupees' (ideal situation, but unfortunately quite rare)
-'there are no tickets in that class, i can give you another class' (expensive, but still a good comment to get)
-'there are no tickets, but i can give you a one on the waiting list' (there are always cancellations, so you get given a WL number, and find out if you've been successful on the day. Usually under 100 is a good position to be in. You could also in this case ask for a tadkal (emergency) ticket, which costs slightly more. Some trains dont have a tadkal quota though, and others sell out easily)
-'Full' (followed by shrug).
-'you have to pay for the whole journey if you want a ticket' (for example, if a popular train starts at point a and travels to point c, and you want to travel from point b to point c, you would have to pay from a to c, because that is how the quota is given to them)
-'go to counter number 94' (which could mean anything. Occasionally this has been wonderfully helpful, occasionally counter 94 doesn't exist)
-'Haha' (usually followed by something like 'you need to book 3 months in advance for this train')
Some mega-stations have a tourist counter, which is just froody. It lubricates the complex mission hugely, but still occasionally leads to a no ticket situation, especially if heading off the beaten path.
One time we three were in Putrid Patna, and i shall indulge the ticket situation to you when we get there in a week. It was interesting, and we concluded that if you just HAPPEN to meet the right person, then it's possible to get any train ticket, even one that 'you need to book 3 months in advance'.
Also, on the subject of quota distribution, it is apparently used as a subtle method of weakening a population that appears to be revolting in some way or another. For example, where we are heading now there is the Gorkha movement, trying to create a separate state 'Gorkhaland'. So the government gives them a very small quota on the major trains leaving the area, meaning the population constantly feels repressed, trapped and helpless. Clever.
This is all very complicated. Just when i think it cant get more complicated, it does. But, it works, for better or for worse. 21 million seats a day around the country successfully distributed.
The reason for getting so deep into this isssss that although there were absolutely no tickets for the first leg to Guwahati, the helpful man we met in Kohora knew a man who knew someone who could get us 3 tickets on the second leg. So alls we needed to do was get to Guwahati. Now, the last night bus gets in too late to catch a 6 am train, and the bus before the night buses gets in at 1am. So we said 'Fuck It' over a decision making chai meeting and decided to get a car to Guwahati. The price difference was minimal, and it meant we could leave late in the evening, have more time at Behora, and arrive with enough time to meet our ticket tout. Also it meant we could avoid another bumpy bumpy bus ride.
So we did that.
After watching an intense cricket game, which was a huge community event. The usual serenity of cricket was disturbed by the ever so distracting generator BRRMMMMMM.
We stopped a few times for night time chai, whilst the driver had a nap.
Not going to lie, he might've had a tendency to break wind during sleep. Entering the car after the breaks was not pleasant. Sam created a catchy little tune, the only lyrics being 'This car smells of fart'.
Indeed.
One of the chai breaks we witnessed a very drunk 13ish year old play the fool once too often and piss off a strange older man. Who threw a big jug of water in a fit of rage (not sure if it was jocular rage or not) in the drunk kids general direction. It missed him, and hit another guy. It was entertaining.
We also stopped for a theatrical performance of a Hanuman Fable. Hanuman is the Hindu warrior monkey god. And there was a play on. At 00.30. For children. Not sure what the craic was with the time of showing. Surely a matinee would've been more suitable. But there you go. There we ran into a reporter for the Assam Spectator or something newspapery sounding. We did an interview before our driver suddenly decided it was time to go. So maybe we are in a newspaper article somewhere in Assam. That was a surreal stop.
Bloody hell, it's only 5am in this tale of Day 8. Perhaps a break is in order. Yes. Signing off.
Quilliam Bruvaz
Monday, 2 August 2010
Website officially official
Today was lovely. So many nice people everywhere. Molto Thankyou Evereebodee.
Mega Cake Selection:
Ma's Fruit cake
Chocolate Brownies
Weener's Rocky Road
Tina's Heinous Chocolate Cake
Courgette Cake (Zucchini to all you funny speakers)
Chocolate Cookies
Sharon's Banana Cake
Bev's Mega Scones
Lemon Tart
Apricot Cake
Rocky Road won the 'most ridiculous cake' award, with it's fantastic combination of mars bars, maltesers, marshmallows and apricots. So well done there. And as ever, Sharon's Banana Cake delivered the goods. Thanks so much everyone who baked.
And that was all washed down with litres and litres of Brew. Pats lemon and ginger iced tea was on offer, as was a big vat of chai.
We broadcasted every minute of the NoN sToP action via LIVE VIDOCULAR STREAMS (not the wet kind) so thanks for watching, those who did. At one point we had a massive 6 (yes, 6!) viewers.
So, indeed, whoop dee doo, the website is running.
www.quilliambrothers.com is now open for trade, and those UK-ers amongst can purchase to your hearts content. You foreigners will be able to purchase in the future. So stay tuned. Or, nip to another channel for a bit, but set a reminder to come back a bit later on. But please don't get engrossed in another, better programme/show and forget about us.
Thankyou for your kind words, thankyou for your wonderful cards, thankyou for your support, and thankyou Miss S H for the bubbly.
Spread the word, please.
The furry mouthed, sugar high-ed, savoury craving, Quilliam Siblings.
P.S Click here for wonderful-ness
Mega Cake Selection:
Ma's Fruit cake
Chocolate Brownies
Weener's Rocky Road
Tina's Heinous Chocolate Cake
Courgette Cake (Zucchini to all you funny speakers)
Chocolate Cookies
Sharon's Banana Cake
Bev's Mega Scones
Lemon Tart
Apricot Cake
Rocky Road won the 'most ridiculous cake' award, with it's fantastic combination of mars bars, maltesers, marshmallows and apricots. So well done there. And as ever, Sharon's Banana Cake delivered the goods. Thanks so much everyone who baked.
And that was all washed down with litres and litres of Brew. Pats lemon and ginger iced tea was on offer, as was a big vat of chai.
We broadcasted every minute of the NoN sToP action via LIVE VIDOCULAR STREAMS (not the wet kind) so thanks for watching, those who did. At one point we had a massive 6 (yes, 6!) viewers.
So, indeed, whoop dee doo, the website is running.
www.quilliambrothers.com is now open for trade, and those UK-ers amongst can purchase to your hearts content. You foreigners will be able to purchase in the future. So stay tuned. Or, nip to another channel for a bit, but set a reminder to come back a bit later on. But please don't get engrossed in another, better programme/show and forget about us.
Thankyou for your kind words, thankyou for your wonderful cards, thankyou for your support, and thankyou Miss S H for the bubbly.
Spread the word, please.
The furry mouthed, sugar high-ed, savoury craving, Quilliam Siblings.
P.S Click here for wonderful-ness
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Day 7 in the never ending story, of us doing tea things.
Day 7
At 7 am, the work siren sounds at Behora signalling the beginning of the working day. Pickers gather to receive their instructions from their Squadron Leaders. Throughout the day these sirens wail for meal times and breaks etc, as most of the workers are not entirely sure what a watch is or does. The noise very much resembles what i have been led to believe is an air raid siren. Most disconcerting. I woke, at 7, to this siren, and after drowsy frowsty confusion had dispersed, and i had had my morning wee, i left my quarters. Into the reception room. The big one, with the mozzie nets and open space, remember? One of the highlights of the trip. The scene -
Air that was hot, with a breeze that cooled it perfectly, flirty tree-pies frolicked in a nearby tree with their surprisingly bright orange plumage, i sat and was silently approached by the kind servant. I said yes to the generous offer of chai. And sat in the obscene tranquility with my little note book - the one i am now reading from in an effort to recall events. Somewhat of a journal, though it isn't at all.
About 20 minutes of this heavenly lull in life, Laura the wife of the Tea Estate Manager came, and we chatted for nearly an hour. This was a lovely little bonding session, and the feeling of being strangers completely left. I felt very comfortable in her presence from then on. Pat and Sam came through after the chai man had decided it was time for them to get up and made a delivery. Sam was mega lethargic, and stayed that way for most of the day. One of those times where you just cannot wake up, no matter how much you want to.
Breakfast included hilariously dry toast, that we nibbled on self consciously....
...crunch.....
......crunch....
....Papaya, Sausages, Baked Beans and bizarre chicken sausage things. All of which tasted almost, but not quite, entirely unlike the real thing. Apart from the Papaya. That tasted like papaya. Which we dont love. It's ok. I mean, we'll eat it, but we won't go out of our way to eat it.
We were leaving in the evening, so a tour of the general area was on the cards. Picked up at 10.30 by the lovely chap who ferried us yesterday, and went for a cruise. Drove through villages (willages), past the oil refinery that they are very proud of, and passed LOTS OF TEA, and visited a 10th century Hindu temple that was in the middle of restoration. It was VERY HOT, and the workers had just felled a muckle tree. They were sitting on/around it like kittens do whenever you bring a large foreign object into the room. I'd feel bloody proud, having nearly passed out digging up a small plum tree recently. The site was littered with beautifully carved stones, which they seemed to be slowly putting together like a HUMONGOUS 3D jigsaw puzzle to form the old Temple. It was wonderful.
We stopped for chai and milk sweets on the way back to the estate. Milk sweets are a big deal all over india. Made with a base mix of sugar, milk and a ground nut of sorts. My mind is not made up over them. They are delicious. Then you take another bite, and want to throw up, then you take another bite, then they are delicious again, ad infin. So every time we finished one kind of these funny things, they bought us another one, each time served on a pointless plastic plate. Very wasteful. Bloody nice people there though, and another simply lovely point in time that, whilst sitting in this horrible weatherspoons (with great cheap dirty fry-ups and free internet. Ok, i love you really), is hard to believe happened, that it still exists, and people are there. Right now. Eating milk sweets. Drinking chai. Throwing away their pointless plastic plates. Hmmm, we miss you, Assam.
We got to the estate and asked for a bit of a photo sesh. The pickers were delightful, and enjoyed posing. They showed us exactly how to work a sector so that it can be efficiently plucked, and enlightened us with all the tips (that is officially a tea pun) of the plucking trade. I love Assamese plantations. You can just walk and walk through the gently rolling hills, and never ever get bored of the repetitive scenery. It's gorgeous.
To end our excursion, we visited the estate hospital, and saw a few projects that WM was running to help the workers' community and their Rainforest Alliance certification.
We also saw a lizard with a red head.
And another wonderful Kingfisher.
And tables made of dead tea bushes. Sam got delirious with joy over the tables, and made all sorts of plans to import them.
(the table is kind of showing to the left there)
Back to the Bungalow. Sit, read in garden. Mozzied. Eat delish Indian food with a slightly censored spice level. Snooze. Wake. Samosas. Pack. Goodbyes, and Thankyous.
Conclusion.
During our short time at Behora we were treated like kings. I cannot express our gratitude enough towards the Williamson Magor Group, and more specifically Mr and Mrs Rajkhowa. Our time on Behora was insightful, delightful and showed generosity at its purist. And to be gifted a big chunk of tea just before we left, was the icing on the ridiculously kind cake. Assam is a fantastic area of India. And, for the most part, it is without the hordes of foreign visitors that make India less Indian. So it was with a great fondness for the area that we left, on our way to our next destination. Darjeeling.....
At 7 am, the work siren sounds at Behora signalling the beginning of the working day. Pickers gather to receive their instructions from their Squadron Leaders. Throughout the day these sirens wail for meal times and breaks etc, as most of the workers are not entirely sure what a watch is or does. The noise very much resembles what i have been led to believe is an air raid siren. Most disconcerting. I woke, at 7, to this siren, and after drowsy frowsty confusion had dispersed, and i had had my morning wee, i left my quarters. Into the reception room. The big one, with the mozzie nets and open space, remember? One of the highlights of the trip. The scene -
Air that was hot, with a breeze that cooled it perfectly, flirty tree-pies frolicked in a nearby tree with their surprisingly bright orange plumage, i sat and was silently approached by the kind servant. I said yes to the generous offer of chai. And sat in the obscene tranquility with my little note book - the one i am now reading from in an effort to recall events. Somewhat of a journal, though it isn't at all.
About 20 minutes of this heavenly lull in life, Laura the wife of the Tea Estate Manager came, and we chatted for nearly an hour. This was a lovely little bonding session, and the feeling of being strangers completely left. I felt very comfortable in her presence from then on. Pat and Sam came through after the chai man had decided it was time for them to get up and made a delivery. Sam was mega lethargic, and stayed that way for most of the day. One of those times where you just cannot wake up, no matter how much you want to.
Breakfast included hilariously dry toast, that we nibbled on self consciously....
...crunch.....
......crunch....
....Papaya, Sausages, Baked Beans and bizarre chicken sausage things. All of which tasted almost, but not quite, entirely unlike the real thing. Apart from the Papaya. That tasted like papaya. Which we dont love. It's ok. I mean, we'll eat it, but we won't go out of our way to eat it.
We were leaving in the evening, so a tour of the general area was on the cards. Picked up at 10.30 by the lovely chap who ferried us yesterday, and went for a cruise. Drove through villages (willages), past the oil refinery that they are very proud of, and passed LOTS OF TEA, and visited a 10th century Hindu temple that was in the middle of restoration. It was VERY HOT, and the workers had just felled a muckle tree. They were sitting on/around it like kittens do whenever you bring a large foreign object into the room. I'd feel bloody proud, having nearly passed out digging up a small plum tree recently. The site was littered with beautifully carved stones, which they seemed to be slowly putting together like a HUMONGOUS 3D jigsaw puzzle to form the old Temple. It was wonderful.
We stopped for chai and milk sweets on the way back to the estate. Milk sweets are a big deal all over india. Made with a base mix of sugar, milk and a ground nut of sorts. My mind is not made up over them. They are delicious. Then you take another bite, and want to throw up, then you take another bite, then they are delicious again, ad infin. So every time we finished one kind of these funny things, they bought us another one, each time served on a pointless plastic plate. Very wasteful. Bloody nice people there though, and another simply lovely point in time that, whilst sitting in this horrible weatherspoons (with great cheap dirty fry-ups and free internet. Ok, i love you really), is hard to believe happened, that it still exists, and people are there. Right now. Eating milk sweets. Drinking chai. Throwing away their pointless plastic plates. Hmmm, we miss you, Assam.
We got to the estate and asked for a bit of a photo sesh. The pickers were delightful, and enjoyed posing. They showed us exactly how to work a sector so that it can be efficiently plucked, and enlightened us with all the tips (that is officially a tea pun) of the plucking trade. I love Assamese plantations. You can just walk and walk through the gently rolling hills, and never ever get bored of the repetitive scenery. It's gorgeous.
To end our excursion, we visited the estate hospital, and saw a few projects that WM was running to help the workers' community and their Rainforest Alliance certification.
We also saw a lizard with a red head.
And another wonderful Kingfisher.
And tables made of dead tea bushes. Sam got delirious with joy over the tables, and made all sorts of plans to import them.
(the table is kind of showing to the left there)
Back to the Bungalow. Sit, read in garden. Mozzied. Eat delish Indian food with a slightly censored spice level. Snooze. Wake. Samosas. Pack. Goodbyes, and Thankyous.
Conclusion.
During our short time at Behora we were treated like kings. I cannot express our gratitude enough towards the Williamson Magor Group, and more specifically Mr and Mrs Rajkhowa. Our time on Behora was insightful, delightful and showed generosity at its purist. And to be gifted a big chunk of tea just before we left, was the icing on the ridiculously kind cake. Assam is a fantastic area of India. And, for the most part, it is without the hordes of foreign visitors that make India less Indian. So it was with a great fondness for the area that we left, on our way to our next destination. Darjeeling.....
Celebrate good tea-imes, c'mon.
Hello Ya'll.
Well, the day has finally come.
The WEBSITE/WEBSHOP OPENING PARTY WILL BE A WEEK TODAY! Can you believe it? I can't.
We are having a wee celebration to kick it all off, at our rents house, in the lovely semi-countryside.
There will be beaucoup de cake and beaucoup de tea (of course).
You are all welcome to come, but please send us an email to enquiries@quilliambrothers.com just so we know who's a comin'.
There will be a live video broadcasting of the event, and a couple other technological wizardries. But more on that in the soony future.
It's a struggle to refrain from weeing ourselves with excitement.
Hurray for brew and the internet!
Quizzle Brizzles. xxx
Well, the day has finally come.
The WEBSITE/WEBSHOP OPENING PARTY WILL BE A WEEK TODAY! Can you believe it? I can't.
We are having a wee celebration to kick it all off, at our rents house, in the lovely semi-countryside.
There will be beaucoup de cake and beaucoup de tea (of course).
You are all welcome to come, but please send us an email to enquiries@quilliambrothers.com just so we know who's a comin'.
There will be a live video broadcasting of the event, and a couple other technological wizardries. But more on that in the soony future.
It's a struggle to refrain from weeing ourselves with excitement.
Hurray for brew and the internet!
Quizzle Brizzles. xxx
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
BREAKING WEBSITE WOTSITS
Hello Peoples.
Just to let you know we are finishing off the website!
Woooo.
It'll be live within a fortnight. And this time no over zealousness with the announcement. Promise.
You will be able to purchase to your hearts content, or just have fun clicking on things.
SCREENSHOTS RAAAA!
We are now united after a few months apart, and things are going to PROCEED with HASTE.
Tea is being consumed as we work. An Oolong for me, a Quilliam Brothers Breakfast Blend for Pat, A Yorkshire Gold for Sam.
Yip yip.
Just to let you know we are finishing off the website!
Woooo.
It'll be live within a fortnight. And this time no over zealousness with the announcement. Promise.
You will be able to purchase to your hearts content, or just have fun clicking on things.
SCREENSHOTS RAAAA!
We are now united after a few months apart, and things are going to PROCEED with HASTE.
Tea is being consumed as we work. An Oolong for me, a Quilliam Brothers Breakfast Blend for Pat, A Yorkshire Gold for Sam.
Yip yip.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Day 5 cont.
First things first. Whilst walking in a torrential downpour through the amazingly picturesque town of Cesky Krumlov today, my Taksun Illuminator illuminated for the last time due to the large amounts of water in it. I would have a two minute silence, but i don't know how long to be silent for.
Now for some good stuff. Not more laboriously detailed wittering about a bus being late.
So, we tittered around the Kaziranga Complex for the day. Snoozing, Showering. Eating. Organising transport through the most helpful person in the world. India is full of these gems. Fantastically generous, lovely people who know someone in every field of work. Also organised our Rhino Experience for the following day (much delight was taken due to the fact that the Rhino Man pronounced it 'rhino-saurus'. I think this will stick in our vocab for the foreseeable future) Saw our first real life tea. A touch disappointing. But it wasn't officially the season, and there was a drought of sorts. And the bushes had just been pruned.
But, Exciting Nonetheless.
Went to bed early, ready for our 5 am pick up.
Day 6.
Woke up at 3. Annoyingly. Chai delivery at 4. Nothing like a nice sugar hit of a morning. Then made our way to the gates to await the pick up. Sleepy monkeys joined us. My lord they are entertaining. Nonchalant bonky bonky was the order of the day. Along with enthusiastic branch shaking, so twigs would fall on our heads. Driven to the Elephant Mounting Station, where we mounted elephants.
And off we silently plodded into the thick grasses as the sun rose and the mist cleared. We saw some swamp deer (the rarest deer in the world, oh yes. The rhinos steal all of their thunder though. Poor chaps. Just because they dont weigh 2 tons, have a horn and armour, and look WIKID), wild boar, a roasted turtle, and of course the much talked about rhinos. It takes about half an hour of appreciating the serenity atop your Trunked Beast before you hit Rhino Zone. And then suddenly there it is. About 2 metres away. Staring at you. Probably thinking-
'hmmm, what on earth is that? It kind of looks like an elephant. But there are funny things on its back. Maybe he's deformed. Yes, bizarre warty growth things. Poor chap. I shan't bring it up.'
They are incredible animals. Such power. 2-3 tons of muscular nails-ness, that can run nearly 50 km/h apparently. Though i don't quite believe it. And so gentle, docile and friendly looking (presumably when sex/baby protecting isn't involved).
We saw oodles more of those horny mammals in the apres-breakfast jeep safari. Probably our tally was at 30-40 by the end of the day, and you get to the point where your thought process goes 'oo, what's that? A Buffalo? A Boar? A wild elephant? oh. it's just another rhino.' Upsetting how quickly one starts taking things for granted. There are around 3000 Asiatic one horned rhinos left in the world. And 2 thirds of them are in and around Kaziranga. This is a 'Conservation Success Story!'. As a century ago there were only 100 left in the world. The fact that only 3000 of these wonderful things exist all under the watchful eye's of the same animals that nearly completely destroyed them is a 'success story' seems to just be horribly depressing. Almost as depressing as McDonalds Kiddy Parties. Not a reason to pat ourselves on our evil, evil backs.
We also saw some kingfishers. Kingfishers are my favourite living things on the planet. Just your common kingfisher.
Give me a common kingfisher, and i'll be happy as larry. Sam and Pat are more Pied Kingfisher-ly inclined. Because of their hovering skills, and tuftiness. The kingfishers hovering skills and tuftiness. Not Pat and Sams. But we all agree in giving kudos to the Vulture, Indian Roller, Bee Eater, various birds of prey, Hoopoe, and Tree Pie, along with the other fantastic Indian birds that we witnessed.
Saw no tigers. Rats.
Or Rats. Tigers.
As soon as we returned we got picked up by the Welfare Manager from Behora Tea Estate. Finally, TEA! Took our sweet time about it, but we got there in the end. Behora is one of the most reputable Assamese tea estates. It has worked hard to get rainforest alliance certification, and it's quality is renowned worldwide. So, after a 10 minute, repetitive argument with the hotel manager over whether or not we should pay full price for our 4 hour use of the dorm, we jumped in the wheels and shot off in an easterly direction. Behora Bound.
For those interested click here for a elevated look down upon the Behora Tea Estate. You can even make out the name on the factory roof.
It was the building next to the factory that we entered first, after being welcomed by numerous armed guards. There we met the acting manager Mr Diganto Rajkhowa. He welcomed us sincerely, and we discussed tea related whotsits for a long period of time. Not going to lie, there were moments of awkwardness. He is a thoroughly nice chap. We had a cup of tea during this chat, which was sweet and milky, malty and generally very nice. After the chat we jumped in a jeep, regimentally joined by 2 more armed guards, and were whisked off to the Managers Bungalow. Armed guards were fantastically suited to their guns. Like owners that start to look like their dogs, thus-
So. Tea estates in Assam are still running pretty much as the British started them. Hierarchy plays an important roll in the smooth running of things. There is so much respect shown towards the Estate Manager, and indeed any senior member of staff. This results in a seemingly very well organised, harmonious, operation.
Production hadn't started on sight for the season, as they weren't picking enough to warrant cranking up the factory. So they sent it to their neighbouring tea estate for processing. Williamson Magor is the largest tea company in the world. They own 25 gardens in Assam and numerous others in other parts of India, Ceylon and now Africa.
Behora Tea Estate produces mainly CTC tea. CTC stands for crush, tear, curl, which refers to the action of the CTC machines. As said before, CTC tea is the kind of tea you would use in Chai makering, and it also makes up the majority of your tea bag tea. If you ever have enough curiosity to rip open a tea bag, you will see little balls of tea. That is CTC tea. The production method makes brewing quicker and cheaper, makes bagging the tea possible, and gives a deeper colour, but the flavour of the tea is sacrificed. Of course it still tasted wonderful, but nothing compared to loose leaf Orthodox tea (we will look in to Orthodox tea when we get to Darjeeling, in 2 days time)
Most tea processing begins with withering. This reduces the amount of water in the leaf, so when cut/rolled it doesnt just turn into a slushy mush, or a mushy slush. So here, they reduce the moisture content by 30ish% by blowing hot and cold air through the leaves in long trays, before a conveyor takes it to the CTC machines. After it is crushed, torn and curled, it is emptied in to the fermentation trays (misuse of the word fermentation, it is actually oxidation, but fermentation stuck), and you will witness a colour transformation from green to reddy brown. In the space of 45 minutes, there-abouts. Just as a bruised apple slowly turns brown. This is the chemical reaction of the chlorophyll breaking down and tannins being released and develops the flavour and forms the caffeine. From there the tea gets loaded into dryers which stops the oxidation and leaves you with tea. Unorganised tea. But tea. Finally it is sorted in to various grades using juddery sorting machines.
So, the managers bungalow.
We were greeted by the beautifully kept grounds of the bungalow, and all the wonderful smells and noises that are attracted by ridiculously lush gardenage.
Escorted into the building. The reception area is a roomy room that takes up the majority of the house, with mozzie netted windows, but no glass. This gives a wonderful breeze, and the feeling of being not entirely outside, not entirely in. Lovely furniture, with nik naks everywhere. It was there that we were introduced to Laura the wife. She was a sweet, chatty lady, who had grown up deep in the Eastern states. It was clear from the beginning that there was a definite role to play as a managers wife. Hosting. Tea estates are constantly having guests. From tea estates, tea companies world wide and various other tea enthusiasts. And keeping these people entertained is a full time job. She was lovely, and easy to natter with, and never stopped the flow of liquid/solid treats. Some of them great, some of them questionable. For example, little nibbley samosas - great, parsley ice tea - questionable. There were 2 servants and a child minder on all the time, and a chef when cheffy things needed to be done. Cheffy things needed to be done for our afternoon meal. Which was 'British Food', learnt after Chubs awkwardly questioned what we were eating. Awkward. Also awkward was our apparent ignorance on topics such as politics and generally anything vaguely intellectual. Pat carried the torch as much as he could. But they are SO fascinated with the government, schooling, employment opportunities, health care etc etc, that our knowledge was sapped dry pretty speedily, and we were left, spot light on, shriveled, shrugging. Oh, to then have moved on to topics that we knew a lot about. Like ermmmm, ermmmmm, ermmm, ah -commies, Mr Rubiks and poker.
After eating or British fare we jumped in the jeep once more, and drove around the tea estate. We saw the tea in various stages of maturity, which was very interesting. We saw sectors under nutrient regeneration, where they plant grasses to make the soil fertile once more. We saw irrigation in progress. We saw the nursery, where they are constantly bringing up clones of Tea Board sanctioned bushes, the air strip where tea tasters are hastily flown in, and generally had a lovely drive, getting out every now and again to inspect/discuss things like pest infested bushes and planting techniques. Tea estates are wonderfully kept, satisfying places. When there is a sector of fully flushed (dense, uniform new growth) bushes, it looks spectacular. Just wonderful. The glossy green leaves glistening in the sun appear like some fantastic blanket with the occasional shepherding shade tree poking through.
We then took a tour of the not working factory,
and had some tea tasting.
I had only previously properly tasted teas in Darjeeling, where the tea is lighter, and not mixed with milk. So tasting here was very different. You get a very, very brewed tea (6 minutes is how long they brew all teas for tasting in the official world) without milk. The astringent tannins were too much to bear, and ones lips started resembling a sphincter pretty quickly. Tasting from then on was not an option. There was no taste, only shriveled mouths. But we soldiered on, making pseudo knowledgeable comments. Learning a bit. Not much. But a bit. Tasting is an area that we really need to spend some time getting a tad better at. Separating flavours, then assessing each of those flavours. We not so good nope.
So we headed back to the luxurious bungalow, were greeted with Indian nibbles, and shown our ridiculous rooms. Massive, beautiful.
Chai. More chai. Sam and Pat in one room, Tom in the other. Had snooze. Woke up confused. Then remembered. Had a smile. Then evening meal. More Brit Classics. Conversation flowed a little easier - there were witticisms exchanged, and everything was just more relaxed. I guess that happens whenever you're getting to know people.
We retired after food. And the day ended like this:
I went into the guys' room to say good night. And in popped a kind servant, who spoke only Assamese. He said something, and grinned expectantly, wide eyed. We said every variation of pardon, what, excuse me, could you repeat yourself etc, and he just stood there for a good 6-7 minutes, still grinning expectantly, wide eyed. It got a little strange. As we were attempting to communicate, but he just wasnt comprehending that we were trying to get him to try again. It went from being funny to just plain weird. As we smiled at each other sheepishly. Eventually he gave up on whatever task he was meant to complete, and hastily retreated. Strange. We shall never know what his goal was. But i expect he was asking if we wanted a cup of tea.
Night night.
Now for some good stuff. Not more laboriously detailed wittering about a bus being late.
So, we tittered around the Kaziranga Complex for the day. Snoozing, Showering. Eating. Organising transport through the most helpful person in the world. India is full of these gems. Fantastically generous, lovely people who know someone in every field of work. Also organised our Rhino Experience for the following day (much delight was taken due to the fact that the Rhino Man pronounced it 'rhino-saurus'. I think this will stick in our vocab for the foreseeable future) Saw our first real life tea. A touch disappointing. But it wasn't officially the season, and there was a drought of sorts. And the bushes had just been pruned.
But, Exciting Nonetheless.
Went to bed early, ready for our 5 am pick up.
Day 6.
Woke up at 3. Annoyingly. Chai delivery at 4. Nothing like a nice sugar hit of a morning. Then made our way to the gates to await the pick up. Sleepy monkeys joined us. My lord they are entertaining. Nonchalant bonky bonky was the order of the day. Along with enthusiastic branch shaking, so twigs would fall on our heads. Driven to the Elephant Mounting Station, where we mounted elephants.
And off we silently plodded into the thick grasses as the sun rose and the mist cleared. We saw some swamp deer (the rarest deer in the world, oh yes. The rhinos steal all of their thunder though. Poor chaps. Just because they dont weigh 2 tons, have a horn and armour, and look WIKID), wild boar, a roasted turtle, and of course the much talked about rhinos. It takes about half an hour of appreciating the serenity atop your Trunked Beast before you hit Rhino Zone. And then suddenly there it is. About 2 metres away. Staring at you. Probably thinking-
'hmmm, what on earth is that? It kind of looks like an elephant. But there are funny things on its back. Maybe he's deformed. Yes, bizarre warty growth things. Poor chap. I shan't bring it up.'
They are incredible animals. Such power. 2-3 tons of muscular nails-ness, that can run nearly 50 km/h apparently. Though i don't quite believe it. And so gentle, docile and friendly looking (presumably when sex/baby protecting isn't involved).
We saw oodles more of those horny mammals in the apres-breakfast jeep safari. Probably our tally was at 30-40 by the end of the day, and you get to the point where your thought process goes 'oo, what's that? A Buffalo? A Boar? A wild elephant? oh. it's just another rhino.' Upsetting how quickly one starts taking things for granted. There are around 3000 Asiatic one horned rhinos left in the world. And 2 thirds of them are in and around Kaziranga. This is a 'Conservation Success Story!'. As a century ago there were only 100 left in the world. The fact that only 3000 of these wonderful things exist all under the watchful eye's of the same animals that nearly completely destroyed them is a 'success story' seems to just be horribly depressing. Almost as depressing as McDonalds Kiddy Parties. Not a reason to pat ourselves on our evil, evil backs.
We also saw some kingfishers. Kingfishers are my favourite living things on the planet. Just your common kingfisher.
Give me a common kingfisher, and i'll be happy as larry. Sam and Pat are more Pied Kingfisher-ly inclined. Because of their hovering skills, and tuftiness. The kingfishers hovering skills and tuftiness. Not Pat and Sams. But we all agree in giving kudos to the Vulture, Indian Roller, Bee Eater, various birds of prey, Hoopoe, and Tree Pie, along with the other fantastic Indian birds that we witnessed.
Saw no tigers. Rats.
Or Rats. Tigers.
As soon as we returned we got picked up by the Welfare Manager from Behora Tea Estate. Finally, TEA! Took our sweet time about it, but we got there in the end. Behora is one of the most reputable Assamese tea estates. It has worked hard to get rainforest alliance certification, and it's quality is renowned worldwide. So, after a 10 minute, repetitive argument with the hotel manager over whether or not we should pay full price for our 4 hour use of the dorm, we jumped in the wheels and shot off in an easterly direction. Behora Bound.
For those interested click here for a elevated look down upon the Behora Tea Estate. You can even make out the name on the factory roof.
It was the building next to the factory that we entered first, after being welcomed by numerous armed guards. There we met the acting manager Mr Diganto Rajkhowa. He welcomed us sincerely, and we discussed tea related whotsits for a long period of time. Not going to lie, there were moments of awkwardness. He is a thoroughly nice chap. We had a cup of tea during this chat, which was sweet and milky, malty and generally very nice. After the chat we jumped in a jeep, regimentally joined by 2 more armed guards, and were whisked off to the Managers Bungalow. Armed guards were fantastically suited to their guns. Like owners that start to look like their dogs, thus-
So. Tea estates in Assam are still running pretty much as the British started them. Hierarchy plays an important roll in the smooth running of things. There is so much respect shown towards the Estate Manager, and indeed any senior member of staff. This results in a seemingly very well organised, harmonious, operation.
Production hadn't started on sight for the season, as they weren't picking enough to warrant cranking up the factory. So they sent it to their neighbouring tea estate for processing. Williamson Magor is the largest tea company in the world. They own 25 gardens in Assam and numerous others in other parts of India, Ceylon and now Africa.
Behora Tea Estate produces mainly CTC tea. CTC stands for crush, tear, curl, which refers to the action of the CTC machines. As said before, CTC tea is the kind of tea you would use in Chai makering, and it also makes up the majority of your tea bag tea. If you ever have enough curiosity to rip open a tea bag, you will see little balls of tea. That is CTC tea. The production method makes brewing quicker and cheaper, makes bagging the tea possible, and gives a deeper colour, but the flavour of the tea is sacrificed. Of course it still tasted wonderful, but nothing compared to loose leaf Orthodox tea (we will look in to Orthodox tea when we get to Darjeeling, in 2 days time)
Most tea processing begins with withering. This reduces the amount of water in the leaf, so when cut/rolled it doesnt just turn into a slushy mush, or a mushy slush. So here, they reduce the moisture content by 30ish% by blowing hot and cold air through the leaves in long trays, before a conveyor takes it to the CTC machines. After it is crushed, torn and curled, it is emptied in to the fermentation trays (misuse of the word fermentation, it is actually oxidation, but fermentation stuck), and you will witness a colour transformation from green to reddy brown. In the space of 45 minutes, there-abouts. Just as a bruised apple slowly turns brown. This is the chemical reaction of the chlorophyll breaking down and tannins being released and develops the flavour and forms the caffeine. From there the tea gets loaded into dryers which stops the oxidation and leaves you with tea. Unorganised tea. But tea. Finally it is sorted in to various grades using juddery sorting machines.
So, the managers bungalow.
We were greeted by the beautifully kept grounds of the bungalow, and all the wonderful smells and noises that are attracted by ridiculously lush gardenage.
Escorted into the building. The reception area is a roomy room that takes up the majority of the house, with mozzie netted windows, but no glass. This gives a wonderful breeze, and the feeling of being not entirely outside, not entirely in. Lovely furniture, with nik naks everywhere. It was there that we were introduced to Laura the wife. She was a sweet, chatty lady, who had grown up deep in the Eastern states. It was clear from the beginning that there was a definite role to play as a managers wife. Hosting. Tea estates are constantly having guests. From tea estates, tea companies world wide and various other tea enthusiasts. And keeping these people entertained is a full time job. She was lovely, and easy to natter with, and never stopped the flow of liquid/solid treats. Some of them great, some of them questionable. For example, little nibbley samosas - great, parsley ice tea - questionable. There were 2 servants and a child minder on all the time, and a chef when cheffy things needed to be done. Cheffy things needed to be done for our afternoon meal. Which was 'British Food', learnt after Chubs awkwardly questioned what we were eating. Awkward. Also awkward was our apparent ignorance on topics such as politics and generally anything vaguely intellectual. Pat carried the torch as much as he could. But they are SO fascinated with the government, schooling, employment opportunities, health care etc etc, that our knowledge was sapped dry pretty speedily, and we were left, spot light on, shriveled, shrugging. Oh, to then have moved on to topics that we knew a lot about. Like ermmmm, ermmmmm, ermmm, ah -commies, Mr Rubiks and poker.
After eating or British fare we jumped in the jeep once more, and drove around the tea estate. We saw the tea in various stages of maturity, which was very interesting. We saw sectors under nutrient regeneration, where they plant grasses to make the soil fertile once more. We saw irrigation in progress. We saw the nursery, where they are constantly bringing up clones of Tea Board sanctioned bushes, the air strip where tea tasters are hastily flown in, and generally had a lovely drive, getting out every now and again to inspect/discuss things like pest infested bushes and planting techniques. Tea estates are wonderfully kept, satisfying places. When there is a sector of fully flushed (dense, uniform new growth) bushes, it looks spectacular. Just wonderful. The glossy green leaves glistening in the sun appear like some fantastic blanket with the occasional shepherding shade tree poking through.
We then took a tour of the not working factory,
and had some tea tasting.
I had only previously properly tasted teas in Darjeeling, where the tea is lighter, and not mixed with milk. So tasting here was very different. You get a very, very brewed tea (6 minutes is how long they brew all teas for tasting in the official world) without milk. The astringent tannins were too much to bear, and ones lips started resembling a sphincter pretty quickly. Tasting from then on was not an option. There was no taste, only shriveled mouths. But we soldiered on, making pseudo knowledgeable comments. Learning a bit. Not much. But a bit. Tasting is an area that we really need to spend some time getting a tad better at. Separating flavours, then assessing each of those flavours. We not so good nope.
So we headed back to the luxurious bungalow, were greeted with Indian nibbles, and shown our ridiculous rooms. Massive, beautiful.
Chai. More chai. Sam and Pat in one room, Tom in the other. Had snooze. Woke up confused. Then remembered. Had a smile. Then evening meal. More Brit Classics. Conversation flowed a little easier - there were witticisms exchanged, and everything was just more relaxed. I guess that happens whenever you're getting to know people.
We retired after food. And the day ended like this:
I went into the guys' room to say good night. And in popped a kind servant, who spoke only Assamese. He said something, and grinned expectantly, wide eyed. We said every variation of pardon, what, excuse me, could you repeat yourself etc, and he just stood there for a good 6-7 minutes, still grinning expectantly, wide eyed. It got a little strange. As we were attempting to communicate, but he just wasnt comprehending that we were trying to get him to try again. It went from being funny to just plain weird. As we smiled at each other sheepishly. Eventually he gave up on whatever task he was meant to complete, and hastily retreated. Strange. We shall never know what his goal was. But i expect he was asking if we wanted a cup of tea.
Night night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)