Winding Through the Clouds on the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway
Tilak Haria/Getty
This story is part of Iconic Train Journeys, a spotlight on the world's most legendary railway adventures, from luxury trains that evoke old-world glamor to historic routes that have rebuilt nations and itineraries that reveal the hidden depths of our favorite destinations.
Kneeling up on their seats, a troop of school girls clapped as a popular Bollywood song played out from a phone. Plaited into loops, their matching hair swung to the rhythm of the train as it curled around a wide arc, the back end snaking out of a bamboo forest. I was on board the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway and the climb up West Bengal’s jungled slopes was alive with music, cheering, and hoots at every turn. From the open doorway I could smell the freshness of pine, its clean scent soon overpowered by skinny eucalyptus towering overhead. Leaning into the wind, I heard another favorite filmy number start up and ducked back inside to join in with the singalong.
That morning I had arrived at New Jalpaiguri station in Siliguri, one of the busiest junctions in northeast India, and the origin for the affectionately known ‘Toy Train’ to Darjeeling. Over seven and a half hours, the train would clatter uphill at 4.4 mph, arriving around 5:30 p.m. into the city famous for its tea. Barely two strides wide, the rickety little service has been a much-loved feature of the landscape since the late nineteenth century when British colonizers first set it to work. At the time there was a huge discrepancy—between Darjeeling and Siliguri—in the cost of daily commodities like rice and potatoes owing to the need to transport them up and down the hillside. To solve the problem, the governing East India Company decided that a steam railway was the answer, one that would also alleviate increasing traffic on the single road and facilitate the production and sale of tea.
Steam Locomotive hauled Darjeeling Himalayan Railway at Batasia Loop, Darjeeling, Eastern Himalayas, West Bengal
Locomotives arrived from Manchester in the UK and in 1881, the railway officially opened—the 2-foot narrow-gauge steam train embarking upon an incredible journey, one that would be filled with literal twists and turns and figurative ones too, as a result of physical challenges, increases in tourism, and natural disasters including earthquakes and cyclones that would continually damage the tracks. But this was a railway with resolve, and more than 140 years after it first puffed its way through low-hanging cloud, I was already in thrall to the string of blue carriages as they clanked their way north.
What you should know
Who this train journey is for: Heritage railway fans and large groups of friends
Length of the journey: 7 hours
Towns you pass by: Siliguri, Tindharia, Kurseong, Ghoom
Cost of a ticket: Rs.1105 ($13) one way
What to eat on board: Bring a packed lunch of pakoras, samosas, and tea as there is no catering on board
Where to stay in Darjeeling: The Elgin Darjeeling; doubles from Rs.9000 ($110) per night including breakfast
For the first half of the journey the train wound around forests and tiny townships, solo riders jumping on for a stop or two. Passengers braced against the damp air, many of whom were wrapped in scarves and wearing gloves, earmuffs strapped around their heads. It didn’t take long for the Tupperware and Thermos flasks to come out, the aroma of warm samosas and masala chai drifting around the carriage while packets of savory snacks were shaken into palms and shared. Over the din of commentary from elders, chattering students, and large families on weekend breaks, I listened to the hiss of pistons as the coal-fired engine pulled us along, black smoke trailing behind. Outside, tea plantations flowed down the stepped hillside, bushes green and ready to be plucked. Women dotted in between, bent-backed with baskets strapped across their foreheads, and bright clothes coloring the landscape like rosebuds in bloom. They sang, waved, and giggled, hands over mouths as we waved from the windows, hooting as we passed.
By mid-afternoon the train was in its stride, the sun warming my cheeks as it cracked through the clouds. I’d settled into the ride, half-heartedly thumbing a book while eavesdropping on the excitement of rail fans and the gossip of friends. A seasoned Indian Railways traveler, I’d had my fair share of passengers squeezed onto my seat, movies on full blast, and megacities rushing by the window; here it was calm. Butterflies dipped and dived, dragonflies buzzing from one wet flower to another. It was a tonic, meandering so far from the urban sprawls.
And then, with a wail and a squeak, the train performed a Z-reverse, backing up the road as cyclists and walkers stood idle, an arm’s reach from the windows. It paused in a siding, before revving up through creepers and branches, leaves thwacking against the doorway, twigs breaking off inside. Carts and cars slowed as we appeared around corners, the road narrowing until the train was held up in a single line of traffic behind trucks, vans and bikes. On the approach to Ghum, the highest station in India, passengers grabbed their phones and cameras in preparation for the Batasia Loop where the train spiraled around manicured gardens before plunging into a tunnel, an engineering marvel that lessened the gradient to the top. And there, rippling across the skyline were the snow-capped crags of Mount Kanchenjunga turning pink in the softening light.
The Darjeeling Toy Train approaching
Darjeeling rose out of the haze, a city strewn across the slopes and curves of the Himalayan foothills. A patchwork of corrugated iron rooftops in pinks, reds, and green, the scene was one of mess and fun and joy, prayer flags fluttering in the breeze, restaurants already aglow. Now, as we turned onto Hill Cart Road, the train sounded exhausted, hissing and panting as residents walked alongside, so used to the sight of their old friend that they ducked and moved around us with practiced ease. Backs against the wall, they stilled themselves as the train squeezed against markets stacked with eggs, sacks of rice, and packets of betel nut hanging in strips, all the while whistling a warning as passengers pulled in hands and heads. On the final stretch into the town, fruit sellers latched onto the sides, vendors perched in the doorways, and school kids rode a few meters before slipping down and slinking off towards their homes. One person’s bucket-list adventure was another’s short commute. And for me? It was the journey of a lifetime.
As the train drew into the station, dogs scampered alongside, pink-cheeked children waved, and tourists lined up to witness the grand arrival, breaking into applause. With one final hoot and a hiss the train came to rest, and I hopped down onto the platform to make my way into town for a much-needed cup of Darjeeling tea.
Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler
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