DARJEELING AND THE HIMALAYAS

... It's four o'clock in the afternoon and we're steaming northwards; Calcutta is already disappearing into the distance and the sun is getting lower and lower, lighting up only the tops of the tall palm trees through which the track passes. Then it's night, falling fast, as a thick mist rises from the ground, barely pierced by the indistinct glow of the nearby fires. We stop, it's the Ganges. The river is very low, leaving a long sandy bank that we cross to reach the end of a wharf where a small steamer is waiting for us. Amid the shouts of the coolies and the to-ing and fro-ing of the luggage, we boarded the boat and found ourselves sitting round a table, commenting on the early days of the journey, recalling the unfortunate predictions about the weather and the disenchantment of all our globe-trotting friends on their return from Darjeeling.
Don't go," we were told from all sides" you'll spend twice 24 hours on the railway, 36 hours in the fog and you won't see the Himalayas... It's true, you'll get a good chest cold and you'll spend most of your time rummaging around in your suitcase looking in vain for the winter overcoat that you should have brought with you and that you've well and truly forgotten... Don't go to Darjeeling!
But to go to India without seeing the Himalayas would be to sin against the laws that have hitherto governed the perfect tourist, and that is why we have decided, this evening, to contemplate Everest, to interview Tibetans, and even to brave the most terrible coryza. What's more, we have faith in our star and one of our companions, leaning against the rail, is already imagining himself, a new Christopher Columbus, seeing the sparkling summit of the white mountain shining among the stars.