Darjeeling [Darjiling], Woodlands Hotel Feb 14. Dearest Mother. Thursday morning, when I got up in Calcutta, I found my room full of a sticky mist, hot and dank, and everything on my dressing table was damp when I touched it, and the air heavy and close, even at dawn. It was real Calcutta weather and we congratulated ourselves that we were off that day. We spent the morning packing and getting little odds and ends (for who knows when we shall next be in civilization?) lunched with the dear Muirs, where we met Mr Hensman, and went off through the sticky[?] heat to the station. The train was hot and full; however, we got places in a big saloon and travelled through The Plains (you in England can scarcely understand the significance of that word, one doesn't realize it till one sees that half India is as flat as a ball room.) Very stuffy plains, with rice fields, palm trees, marshy ponds and equally marshy thatched villages. At 8 we reached the unbridged Ganges [Ganga], got out of our train onto a river steamer and ferried across, dining on board as we went. It's immensely big, the Ganges. At the other side, we found our train waiting for us, packed ourselves into sleeping carriages (I had 2 women in mine) and slept peacefully through the night. I woke about 6, looked out of window half an hour later and saw, far far up in the sky, the peaks of Kinchinjunga [Kangchenjunga], a white dream suspended between earth and heaven. All other mountains are of the earth, one sees the ramparts of them and the bastions and buttresses that support them, but Kinchinjunga is so high that its feet are lost in the mists of space and the unBellievable white vision rests on thin air. That was all we saw of it that day, for as we approached the foothills, they rose up and hid it, and when we reached Darjeeling, it had retired into its midday palace of cloud. The line stops 7 miles from the foot of the hills. There we got out and breakfasted at 7 o'clock. From thence a light railway, perhaps the nicest railway in the world, goes up to Darjeeling, and you rise 7000 ft in 45 miles. 7 miles of plain, but {with} of plain leading to the hills, set with bouquets of bamboo and swept over by air filled with Alpine freshness and fragrance; then we plunged into the great woods and mounted up and up, round loops and turns, reversing and reversing in sidings, climbing and climbing, often with 3 and 4 lines of our trail Bellow us, and the stupendous wooded valleys of the foothills growing deeper and deeper as we climbed. It would be worth while to come to Darjeeling only to see the foothills; they are on so colossal a scale that if you didn't know what lay before you, you would make a guess at the gigantic heights to which they must inevitably lead. All the hill people are Tartar people - we have struck the Far East. Charming people, with cheerful flat faces, flat set eyes wrinkled up by much laughter (I should say - they're always joking) and flat, splayed out noses. With which, I must add, that they're most attractive and some of the young women very pretty. Their clothes have a Chinese cut and, when they are not barefoot, they wear the Chinese shoe. The women run a ring, set with a turquoise or two, through one nostril - not a good plan - and they wear beautiful ornaments of rough turquoise set in silver and silver gilt, chains and chains of coral with turquoises hanging from them and heavy silver bracelets on their wrists and ankles. The men wear a delicious little Chinese cap, tweaked up roguishly behind, and nearly everyone has a long pigtail. The upper slopes of the hills were all terraced with tea gardens - my heart will go pit a pat next time I see an advertisement of delicious Darjeeling teas. We breakfasted (again!) at Kurseong [Karsiyang], which is a name frequently to be seen in advertisements, if I am not mistaken. The heavy hot wind of the plains blew the damp air against the hills sides and sent long fingers of cloud reaching out along the mountains, so that when we got to Darjeeling the opposite heights were a mass of rolling swirling mists. We put on more and more clothes as we rose - the air 7500 ft up is very different from the air of Calcutta. We found the Russells here and established ourselves in delicious rooms (with bright fires in them). From our balcony we look straight to the peaks - or the clouds. Hugo lunched; I felt I really couldn't have a third square meal! We then walked off along the town, which is on the top of a ridge between two fabulous valleys to a native quarter, the village of the Bhutia tribe, where we inspected a Buddhist temple. A Lama temple, I ought to say, for this is not real Buddhism. There were praying wheels intil't, and praying rolls, and prayer flags praying merrily to a stiff breeze, - every possible contrivance for getting your devotions done by proxy. And there were Lamas dressed in red, and gongs and images - and a very tinky smell of rancid oil and Lama, I fancy. We loved it. Then we wandered home up and down beautiful terraces, till it became too cold to stay out any longer. We had a cheerful dinner with the Russells and went straight to bed. No hills visible. But at 4.30 Hugo came into my room and said "Get up, get up! the moon's shining on all the snows!" And I jumped out of bed and into a fur coat - for it was bitter cold - and there they were, white, evanescent, mysterious and limitlessly high - dream mountains under the moon. We ought to have been called at 4, it was most lucky Hugo woke; however we set ourselves to it with some purpose, got into riding clothes, bolted 2 eggs (I eat my first with sugar, which they had brought in instead of salt, in the hurry of the moment!) and some tea, had our horses saddled, and at 5 we were dashing up the road behind the hotel, with two Nepalese saises panting behind us. That was a ride! Up and up through pine trees, over a ridge and along the sides of an enormous valley, half full of shadow, huge depths of blackness, and half of moonlight, exquisite half revealing moonlight which made the hill sides look bigger than ever. Here we saw a first faint flush of dawn behind eastern clouds shot through and through with summer lightning. The flush faded and left the east quite white till we crossed a ridge and turned up a steep wooded path, and here we suddenly realized that the real rose red dawn was beginning, and looking round, we saw, what had been hidden till then by the ridge we had crossed, Kinchinjunga pink with dawn. We set our ponies to a gallop and dashed up through the woods (capital little square built, sure footed hill ponies they are) and as we cleared the trees we found ourselves on the ridge of Tiger Hill and face to face with 28,000 ft of mountain. There were 3 men there; one was Lord Crewe, one a Mr Bird, who lives just opposite us in Cadogan Place, and a third whose name I don't know. We all dashed on together to the top of Tiger Hill, which is about 9000 ft high. Just as we got to the top, I saw the first sun beam strike the very highest point of Kinchinjunga. Nunc dimittis - there can be no such sight in the world. Away to the west, and 120 miles from us, Everest put his white head over the folded lines of mountains - nearly twice as high as Mont Blanc, just think of it! and Kinchinjunga is not 1000 ft lower. And they look as high as they are. Kinchinjunga was 47 miles from us; one could see every arête of the great white amphitheatre which is the summit, every rock, every slope of golden snow. To right and left of it stretches a wonderful wall of white peaks, each one of them high above all our alps. But where the snow line ceased, you could see no more and the gleaming company of mountains hung suspended over depths of blue and misty nothingness across which drifted an occasional little puff of cloud. It's an effect I've often noticed in Switzerland, but never on such a scale or in such perfection. The tiniest, thinnest cloud wreath formed and melted against the summits, formed and melted again, like a delicate blown veil against the sky. Far away to the right, the long line of mountains vanished into long lines of cloud blowing up from the hot plain - you could not see where earth ended and heaven began. But in front and Bellow was the sunlit ridge of Darjeeling. So we rode home through the sunshine and were very glad of it, for the white frost was lying thick on the ground; and as we topped the Darjeeling ridge we saw again the splendour of Kinchinjunga. At 9 the mists began to roll up and half an hour later the topmost peak was hidden. And we have seen it no more. After breakfast I went down to the bazaar and spent the whole morning talking and bargaining with the people - they talk Urdu to me, but a different speech to each other. They are the merriest people. They tried to sell me turquoises made in Germany, but fortunately I knew the game. At that they only laughed the more, and one woman offered me green bean pods which she was wearing on her ears instead of earrings - we made excruciatingly funny jokes over that, of a simple nature! I saw the nicest dogs I ever saw in my life, larger than collies, with very fine, long, black hair, broad faces and the most angelic dispositions. If I could possibly have brought one home, I would have bought one. They come from Tibet. And I saw red robed lamas with their chelas and photographed them, which they didn't like. One spat at me for doing it! but he was a long way off. One delightful gentleman produced a long silver horn and said I might photograph him for 4 annas: "I'll blow like this, or I'll blow like that, or I'll blow this way" and he put himself into all kinds of attitudes, while everyone looked on and laughed. At midday, the wind got up and now it's blowing and howling, with occasional flaws of rain. But we're safe indoors in front of our fires. And we've seen the mountains.

Sunday Feb 15. [15 February 1903] Tangloo. 10,074 ft. up. Yesterday afternoon we sent our coolies forward with provisions and our bedding bags and many coats, under the command of Nanga, our charming cook. In the evening it hailed in Darjeeling [Darjiling] and snowed on the mountains, but the wind dropped in the night, and when we woke this morning, Kinchinjunga [Kangchenjunga] was absolutely cloudless and the fresh snow glistened on the near hills wither [sic] we were going. So we set off at 9.30 on excellent ponies, with our two saises running behind, and rode over Darjeeling ridge to a little village called Ghoom, full of prayer flags. Then we struck along the side of a hill, through dense forest, enormously tall trees draped in licheny moss and an undergrowth of bamboo. Light mists were blowing up from the plains, blowing sometimes across the road and sometimes lifting and giving us wonderful vistas of forest clothed valleys with a glint of sun on them. 13 miles brought us to Johrpokri, a little village inhabited by Lepchas, where we found a relay of ponies saddled and waiting for us. The road was full of people, Tartar people most amusing to see. The old women of these parts have a plan of lacquering their noses and cheek bones with a brown lacquer which doesn't seem to be renewed until it has entirely worn off, and in all stages of repair and disrepair it looks like a frightful skin disease. They carry their loads (with their fascinating babies on top) in big baskets slung over their backs by a grass band which passes across their forehead, so that they walk bent double, bearing the load from their heads. From Johrpokri, the road continued to skirt along the ridge till the ridge came to an end; then we went down, by a very steep path, 2000 ft or so and climbed up the wooded ridge on the other side. The path wound up and up in zigzags through the forests; every now and then the mists blew aside and let in a splash of sun upon us, but we could see nothing but more and more forests with mist Bellow and above. Up and up and up, very steep, till we began to think that our destination must be the top of Everest at least. Presently we came to patches of yesterday's snow and the air was bitter sharp, which is not to be wondered at when you consider that we were nearly 10,000 ft above sea level. The flowers must be lovely in summer; even now a very sweet scented white daphne is in full bloom, and purple primroses and an exquisite leafless hellebore. Still we wound up through eternal thicket of bamboo, the ten miles from Johrpokri is the longest ten miles in the world; it got colder and colder and just as we had made up our minds that Tangloo was a fiction entirely, we turned a corner and came upon a few little houses and the white walls of our Dak Bungalow. Everything was ready, huge wood fires blazing in our 3 rooms and we sat down voraciously to a huge tea, for we had had nothing to eat since 8.30 it was then 3.15 and the air of the Himalayas is not good to fast in. We are alone here up on the top of the world, with the mists and that everlasting hill between us and the rest of the mankind. We sit as close as we can to our great fires and just manage to keep warm. Three feet out into the room the temperature must be near freezing point. We've brought up lots of furs and it's too delicious. I wish we were going to ride through the Himalayas for weeks. Did I tell you about the banker man who sat at our table last night at Darjeeling? He came and asked us if he might dine with us as he felt so dull alone. He prattled on artlessly - no one could be dull in his company. "You know London?" said he "Well then of course you know the pub at the top of the Grove -" Followed a tale about it. I really must get to know London - it's shocking to be caught out by a banker of Darjeeling. Hill villages are not as picturesque as they might be, by reason of their being built entirely out of old oil tins.

Feb 16. [16 February 1903] This morning, when we got up at 6.30, all the valleys were full of woolly white clouds and the mountains were wrapped in them. We were rather saddened, but as soon as the sun had sent his first rays across the white billowy floor, the cloud walls on the mountains began to open and float away and presently there was Kinchinjunga [Kangchenjunga] whiter than ever. Then the mists rolled up again and an hour later nothing but the very tip top of the snows was visible. This is when they look highest; you can scarcely Bellieve that it can really be part of the earth right up in the top of the sky. We made a short stage, 15 miles, but it took us 4´ hours, riding our best. The path wound up and down and immensely up again, and then down and up more than ever, and in all the shady places it was covered with hard frozen snow, extremely slippery, so that we had to go with great caution. Especially as there was often a very big drop Bellow us and the ponies infinitely prefer the extreme edge. It was most lovely. The waterfalls were solid masses of ice, and the bamboo thickets leaned over the path in every variety of exquisite cluster. The last hour we got quite into the clouds - it even snowed a little. We rode along a narrow ridge with swirling mists Bellow us on either side and great pine trees, ragged and blasted, rooted in impalpable vapours. I wonder what it will look like tomorrow in the clear early morning. And so we arrived here, Sandakphu, 12,000 ft above the sea, half frozen and very hungry. It revolutionizes one's idea of altitudes to find a village - not a very large one, but still! - at 12,000 ft. We only got into the region of the pines 500 ft or so Bellow; I don't know how far they go. Even here there are masses of frost bitten rhododendron bushes; they must "render the country indescribably hideous" when they are in flower. (I quote, you observe.) The snow line is, I Bellieve, from 18,000 to 20,000 ft! We passed very few people on the path. One cheerful party of Nepalese gnomes, we saw, carrying immense packs and the lightest of beasts. They invited me to buy a small fat black dog that was running along beside them. But I refused, I would rather have bought their sheep, a delightful sheep that followed much better than the dog and carried, besides, its own two little pack bags slung across its back and bulging full - of salt, I should think. The path we were on all today and most of yesterday is forbidden land - Nepal, you know, is absolutely and hermetically closed to Europeans and we have agreed by treaty with the King not to countenance any attempt to disturb his privacy. I think he did us a good turn in the mutiny and we owe him a great deal of consideration.

Tues 17. I woke at dawn and looked out and saw Kinchinjunga [Kangchenjunga] wonderfully close. The low light coming under a little bar of cloud was extraordinarily lurid and threatening; the great snows seemed to overhang the plateau on which we were, as if they were ready to fall upon us, though in reality there was a deep valley between. People who have seen many things say that the view from Sandakphu is the most beautiful in the world. You see the whole Sikkim chain culminating in Kinchinjunga; behind and to the left the Nepal and Thibet [Tibet] frontier chain with the great point of Everest, and, behind all, the pure white peak of Chemulphu, the sacred mountain of Thibet. And the foreground is a little dell and some rough rocky ground all set with tall gaunt pines - pinus Webbia is its name. We climbed up to a rocky hill just behind the DB so as to get the whole view unimpeded. There was a bitter wind and the temperature was about 20¯. (I do deeply regret that you forgot, and I forgot, that travelling thermometre [sic]!) Everything thickly frosted after yesterday's cold mist. I shall long remember changing my films on the top of that hill, with frozen fingers - it was cold! Kinchinjunga from Sandakphu is a real mountain, not an airy whiteness. You are close enough to see the shape of the lower valleys and the trees and great rhododendron thickets up to 15000 ft. The enormous mass of the snows is quite overwhelming to the imagination. We left about 8 and walked down through the pines, our saises leading the horses. We have found since that the reason that piece of the road twists and turns so much is that it may avoid getting into Nepal and the short cuts take you absolutely through the forbidden land. The snow lay thick on the path and the frosted trees were beautiful beyond words. As we rode we had a constant succession of varying views down the great wooded valleys, always with the snows behind. Lower down, the new fallen snow was deeper still. The white path between the bamboo thickets, and the bamboos themselves, delicately bending under their burden of snow, were like a beautiful Japanese drawing - it was the most heavenly ride in the world. We got to Tangloo at 12 - and our good little tiffin gnomes came in 10 minutes after us. There was a roaring fire ready for us - we made tea and had an enormous lunch. We found a fresh pair of ponies - so fresh that H. [Hugo] had the greatest of difficulty in getting on to his. It kicked and plunged and struck with its fore feet. Finally, we threw a cloth over its head and got it up against a bank and H. lept [sic] on with some skill. We went a rattling pace, changed horses again at Johrpokri and did the 2 stages in 4 hours - 23 miles, and the first 10 very rough road, so it wasn't bad. It rained and hailed part of the way, but cleared again, so that we were nearly dry by the time we got to Darjeeling [Darjiling]. It was rather pleasant to get into civilization, baths and clean clothes, though I would willingly have remained dirty a little longer and had more of the hills. This 3 days' expedition has been one of the nicest, if not the very nicest thing we have done. I spent an hour in the bazaar on Wed. morning before we left - I am sorry to have parted from those nice cheerful little gnomes. Our own servants on our expedition were as good servants as you could wish to have. We made great friends with them and I vowed I would take them all with me next time, when I come to climb Kinchinjunga. We travelled down with the Birds - they're the people who live just opposite to us in Cadogan Place. Nice cheery souls; he, particularly, is rather an old dear. There was a violent thunderstorm as we came down; we gradually ran out of it into the fine, close, weather of the Plains. The lower slopes of the Himalayas are covered with the densest, most impenetrable jungle - the Terai, it is called. There are no roads through it, the trees are caught together by huge creepers as thick as one's waist, it is the home of tigers, leopards, lynxes and many sorts of fierce little cat things with pointed hairy ears. It was dusk when we ran through the lower parts of the Terai; the forests were full of shadow, and when we stopped at a siding, we were wrapped in silence, the expectant hush of the jungle, which makes you strain your ears for a rustle or a cracking twig. We dined at Saliguri [Shiliguri] at the end of the light railway and had a carriage all to ourselves, but too short a night for we had to get up at 5 to cross the Ganges [Ganga]. It feels muggy and close down here. I am sending you a packet of iris seeds which I picked at Tanglu - will you please ask Day to sow them - it's a lovely blue iris, I'm told, and it grows about 2 ft high.
Calcutta. We have just arrived and got our mail - a delightful long letter from you. I'm so glad to think you are out of the horrible Redcar climate. Now we're rushing through our Burma [(Myanmar)] preparations. I hope my letters are not too long! Ever your very affectionate daughter Gertrude