TEA GARDENS
Tea Gardens - Luxury Travel Magazine
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Tea Gardens | |||||
| By: Jill Mullens, Issue 28 – Spring 2006 | |||||
| (Kolkata, India) | |||||
| THE PLANTATIONS OF NORTH EAST INDIA OFFER A LUSH AND LUXURIOUS ESCAPE FROM THE HEAT. | |||||
| There’s an Indian legend telling of a Holy man who vowed to keep awake for the rest of his life so that every hour could be spent praising his Lord. Unfortunately he one day dropped off to sleep, and on waking, so horrified was he to have broken his vow of permanent wakefulness, he cut off his eyelids so he could never close his eyes again. Where these eyelids fell, a tea bush grew. Well, that’s the way they tell it round Darjeeling in North Eastern India where the tea gardens blanket every gentle slope and valley. One of them, Glenburn, is possibly the most beautiful tea estate in the world. It is just an hour or two drive away from Darjeeling itself, the former hill station known as Queen of Hills to members of the British Raj who greatly fancied spending the Summer there to escape the heat of the plains. You approach Glenburn by navigating a truly dreadful road – 4WD obligatory. It’s a 10 kilometre white-knuckle ride down the side of a mountain, where the track is potholed, broken, dusty, rocky and downright perilous, but it’s worth the discomfort, for at the end of the track, all is calm. Glenburn lies in a gently sloping valley ringed by the Himalayan Mountains. Each morning dawn creeps along the massive range illuminating each summit in turn, till Glenburn is encircled by snow-lit light. The tea bushes, glossy and sun-buttered, are planted in long orderly rows, attended by an army of pickers whose families have lived and worked on the estate for three and four generations. Glenburn has its own school, communal hall and health clinic available to all (its workers are provided with pensions and housing for life). Set in the centre of all this beauty lies Glenburn itself, home to a celebrated family of ‘Chai Wallahs’ or tea planters, who have turned their classic Indian bungalow into the most luxurious of lodges. Just four suites open to wide colonial verandahs where one can sit and watch an old world go by. One 1858 photograph on the verandah of a family group is captioned, ‘I took the view one morning when we were starting for a picnic, the ponies are ready saddled and the men are waiting to take up the sedan chair’. Each suite has dressing rooms, modern bathrooms, sitting areas and mind-blowing views. Three chefs are at the disposal of you and just 11 fellow guests, and you’ll feast on vegetables, fruit, salads and herbs freshly picked from Glenburn’s extensive gardens. The chefs are skilled in Indian, Indonesian and Italian cuisine. One pre-lunch fantasy they presented to us was nasturtium flowers enclosed in a light tempura batter then deep fried, served with icecold wine. Bliss. If lolling about is not your bag there’s plenty of action to occupy you – Glenburn stretches down approximately 1200 metres to two Himalayan Rivers – the Rungeet and the Rung Dung where you can raft on the waters, fish or hike, by way of a spectacular suspension footbridge, the forests and villages of the old royal kingdom of Sikkim. Glenburn is also the proverbial bird watchers ‘paradise’ much sought after by ‘twitchers’ from all round the world. Even if you don’t know your eagle from your roller you’ll enjoy the orchestra of birdcalls that waken you each morning. You might also feel like a change of scenery from the main bungalow, and then staff will arrange for you to spend the night in Glenburn’s own river lodge. You can also take a lavish picnic or barbecue down to the River for a daytrip. Ask Sanjay, Glenburn’s manager, to show you the plantation too, because one is, after all, on a tea estate. Whatever you decide, Glenburn offers to travellers the extraordinary luxury of exclusivity and privacy coupled with downright sybaritic experiences. Most guests stay for three or four days, but some become so seduced they’ve extended their stay to a month. This I totally understand, but next time, rather than motor down, I’ll take the helicopter that one can charter on request from Bagdogra airport. (Tatler magazine included Glenburn Tea Estate in its list of ‘101 Best Hotels’.) After the delights of Glenburn, and remembering my last difficult visit there eons ago, I expected our stay in Kolkata to be something to be endured rather than fun. I couldn’t have been more misguided, for Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) doesn’t just have a new name, it has a new, enterprising and modern spirit. Even the hotel choices are now much wider, the updated Oberoi Grand positively shines after a recent glamorous makeover. The Heritage wing of The Kenilworth (ask for suite 115) is also excellent, all wooden floors, huge beds and elderly grandeur, opening onto a communal reading room come-salon, which resembles a set for The Yeoman of the Guard – very courtlike. The Kenilworth’s Marble Room restaurant is excellent and very popular. Another option is the seriously dotty Fairlawn, a small hotel run by an Irish couple for six decades, where Mrs Violet Smith, now in her 80’s is still about making sure everything runs to schedule. The Fairlawn played home to Dominique La Pierre when he was writing City of Joy, and Felicity Kendall is another regular. Its eccentric cosiness may not attract everyone, though its terraces and gardens will. The stuffy old Tollygunge Club is another Kolkata option. Still run along the lines of Victorian Gentleman’s Club, the ‘Tolly’ with its creaking attendants and club servants is a haven of calm. The only hazard here is collecting a stray golf ball from the Club’s 18-hole course as you wander down the drive. There are swimming pools, tennis courts and riding available too. Apart from the obvious Queen Victoria Memorial, good museums and Kolkata’s splendid Imperial buildings, (the Marble Palace is a must-look for the Rubens) it’s worth visiting the flower markets round daybreak – baskets of tuber roses, ropes of marigold, garlands of hibiscus, cornflowers lie in your path. One can stroll through this maze of colour down to the river in time to see the Hooghley Bridge emerging from the smokey, pearly mist of dawn, while the languid waters of the sluggish river beneath raft floating garlands, logs, rubbish and old godly offerings. On the steps of the Ganges the devout perform their ablutions, washing both themselves and their clothes. That these emerge from the river looking pristine, is something of a miracle itself. Pilgrims, Holy men with wild dreadlocks, and barbers shaving the heads of those who sacrifice their black locks for recently deceased family members, mingle with tea sellers and beautiful youthful wrestlers from the temple. It’s a celebration of life itself, and one Kolkata, with its indomitable spirit, does better than any other city on earth. | |||||
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