High concourse in the Himalayas

A Darjeeling driver and a guide, both wrapped in dark winter clothes and woollen hats pulled down hard over their heads, picked me up at the hotel. Both looked like rogues, especially when they grinned.  It was an extremely cold day but they were happy to take me on a tour of the fertile slopes of the tea plantations.

Acres and acres of tea bushes stretched as far as the eye could see. They were in ordered, clipped rows of almost military precision and stood inert as if it were too cold to put forth a rebellious twig. The guide joked that no one could get a decent cup of tea in Darjeeling because all the best tea was exported. But he was more than willing to have his photograph taken…