The road to Darjeeling, or not.

20/2 - My final destination of this leg is Darjeeling. I didn't sleep too well this time on the train, so I am definitely a grumpy young man, proven by snapping at 2 persistent taxi touts. I managed to make it to the rickshaw stand and off we go. He dropped me at the bus/jeep stand for Darjeeling in Siliguri and did a quick exit stage right. The reason? Darjeeling is shut. There is a general strike and nothing is going in and nothing is coming out. Bloody hell. I was really looking forward to Darjeeling. Never mind, next time.
When I asked what was going on, a bloke told me there was a party going on. It turns out it is the political party of the Ghorkhas wanting autonomy and the strike is indefinite. This plan has gone tits up and I didn't have one.
Retired to a nearby wall for a think and decided to head to Varanasi and from there slowly wend my way to Delhi. I wont be rushed then.
A cycle rickshaw bloke has been stood next to me, so I asked him to take me to the train ticket office. I don't think he understands Geordie, but keep motioning me to get in. 2 young lads try to steal his fare for Rs20, but I stuck with him. They seem to have explained where I want to go and for how much. It should have been about 500 metres, but it wasn't. After several stops for directions we end up there. I say Rs20 and some smart arse going by says Rs100 and the driver tries to give me the "no change" dodge and keeps insisting on 100, so I gave him the "no f#$ing chance" look. I fished around in my pockets and came up with 19, there are a few lads gathering around now, so he dropped it to 50. This old man is getting grumpier. Another young lad turns up and has a chunter with him. I'm sure he said 20 is fair and the bloke has seen I wasn't stumping up anymore. He tried a while longer and gave the "We came the long way" dodge. Your fault mate. The dodge is get you in the rickshaw and sting you later. It does hack me off sometimes and this is not my last moan, so log off now.
Went into the ticket office, it's packed. Enquiries told me the best way to Varanasi, all very efficient, but it is tomorrow. I thought I had spotted a train for today, but apparently you can only get it if you go so many miles. That must have been in the ridiculous small print.
I joined the ticket queue, all very friendly, but my longest wait yet. 3 hours later I made the front. They earn their money behind the counter, it is non-stop. Anyway if you haven't logged off, here it comes. The new shift bloke behind the counter tells me sleeper class is full. "OK, what about AC?" (the next class up). Yes ,that is available, but you have sleeper on your ticket. He gave it back and I changed it, pushed it back through the window. "It is 3AC. (The cheapest AC class) you need to change your ticket." Back through the window. I change it, back through the window. Why the bloody hell didn't he change it? No wonder I have been stood here 3 hours. Then he gives me the "no change" line when I give him the dosh. I have seen thousands of rupees go across the counter. What kind of snot-nosed jobsworth is this behind the counter. Bring back the Nepalese lass on the first shift, she was bonny too.
Anyway, I'm sorted and decided to treat myself to a mid range hotel, I'm only here for the night and I'm knackered and even the cows have started to cross the road when they smell me coming. Thought I'd have an hour out before sunset. Siliguri is a busy little place and again very interesting. I can't find anywhere to have a black tea though. The market is keen, lots of veg stalls, clothes stalls, rice stalls and teas stalls, the lot really. I must have a tea obsession. I was very impressed with the tea stalls, they use the old tea chests that people used to use for moving. You young 'uns wont have any idea. Ask Mr Google, he'll tell you.
Couldn't find a tea shop or an alternative restaurant from the hotel. Decided to have an interim cake. I went into the cake shop and picked the biggest, sickliest piece of cake I could see. I must be knackered, as I have my trippers on and nearly took a dive through the door when I kicked a paving stone, but the thought of the cake kept me upright. I went and quaffed it under a statue of a footballer whilst watching Siliguri. It is a good non tourist town. The toot toot of the cars and rickshaws have been replaced by the squeak squeak of the bulb horns of all the cycle rickshaws. I'm not sure which I prefer. This town his heaving with bikes. It is like being back in the Netherlands with all the bone shakers knocking about. The lads on the cycle rickshaws must have muscle legs of steel, there are no gears on the bikes.
Back to the hotel for some average fish, I hope I am not becoming fussy, a delicious lassi and a much needed bed. I am on my chinstrap. A slight exaggeration.