Windamere Hotel, Darjeeling

This article was first published in the Age on January 11, 2004

'An oasis of old-fashioned comfort and friendly service - perfect recuperation from a strenuous trek.' The Earl of Limerick, London, England, Guest book, Windamere Hotel

After 27 strenuous hours of jeeps, buses and trains to get to Darjeeling, I also found The Windamere an oasis. I was in India to research the life of a woman who lived in Darjeeling in the mid-sixties. She had stayed here, so here I was too, despite the price ($100 US a night). Apparently my heroine would go to the bar each evening dressed in a black cat suit, an outfit that proved to be a real conversation starter. It's that kind of place.

In the early Sixties, a 21-year-old socialite from New York called Hope Cooke met the Crown Prince of Sikkim in the same bar, and the ensuing engagement party was held at the hotel by it's owner by Mrs Tenduf-La. The photos of that night can still be found in the albums that are piled up on the piano in the sitting room and every afternoon I would sit on red velvet chairs going through these pictures. There are all the guests, frozen in time: a 60's minx in a miniskirt surrounded by matrons whose clothes are trapped in the Fifties; Seventies bearded Australians in fluffy alpaca jumpers; women sitting in a row against the wall in full taffeta skirts wearing silly party hats; Mrs Tenduf-La's recent 95th birthday; and, startlingly, an elderly Peter Ustinov holding court.

Mrs Tenduf-La arrived from Tibet some time in the late 1920s, and, from what I can gather (dates are vague), began to run the hotel soon after though the original buildings date from 1862. Now ninety-eight, she sits outside the hotel every morning, in traditional Tibetan dress, made up like a doll. She holds her head cocked to one side while her maid screams, 'Would you like another cup of tea?' into her, presumably deaf, ear. Her son, Mr Tenduf-La, is based in Canada but helps his mother manage the hotel and spends a few months a year here. When I met him he asked me, with a great deal of charm, whether I would join him and some special guests for an evening drink in the Bearpark Parlour.

Anecdotes, a hotel booklet called 'Bliss in a Swirling Haze' and perusing the guest book informed me that former special guests have included Queen Elizabeth, Sir Edmund Hillary ('Just delightful for all five Hillarys. Thank you') Henrich Harrier of Seven Years in Tibet fame and the bloke who discovered Lawrence of Arabia. When I was there guests included a wealthy Indian businessman; two Korean Samsung executives called Tommy and Ben; an British Airways pilot; and Martin Pinnell, son of the Senior Commissioner of Darjeeling from 1932-34. He'd returned to attend the opening of one of the hotel's Board Rooms, which had been named after his father. Also staying there was Captain Yopan Yogan-du, former aide de camp to the current King of Sikkim (stepson of Hope Cooke).

The Captain and I spoke long into the evening about India's invasion of Sikkim while Mr Tenduf-La was talking to an English couple that, for reasons that eluded me, seem to think it okay to tell him that they were scared of the locals. Listening to his scathing charm, I came to think of him as a kind of Tibetan James Bond.

The Windamere has a library called 'the Snuggery which is filled with English thrillers and books on Darjeeling's Toy Train. The office and dining hall are lined with the photos of West End stars that come out from London to perform, among other pieces, "The Songs & Dances of the Hills", in an outdoor setting. On other walls are images more than 70 years old of explorers like Alexander David-Neel, and the Tenduf-La family.

The buildings are buttercup yellow surrounded by flower gardens. The rooms are Victorian in style, kind of chintzy, with fluffy quilts and towels, clawed baths, and beautiful views. Most look over the mountains, but my room, a cheaper one, looked over the city square, in which a brass band played every day, and children went on pony rides.

The Windamere wasn't everyone's cup of fine Darjeeling tea. Tommy and Ben felt that they should have at least got a TV for the money and that it was all a bit run down. The hotel has no central heating, only the occasional phone, no television or video, and no Internet. (Apparently, one can ask for a room in a recently built wing, which has more mod cons.)

What the Windamere has instead is coal fires every evening, hot water bottles tucked under the blankets when you return from dinner, 'traditional entertainments' in the gardens, a beautiful and well-stocked bar, staff in turbans, high tea every afternoon (yes, cucumber sandwiches) and three meals a day. All food is included in the price under what is known, for reasons that sound military, as 'The American Plan'. Each mealtime you are offered 'either' western food 'or' Indian. What this really means is 'both' and the uninitiated end up with a peculiar mixture of roast beef, potatoes, pappadums and fish curry on the same plate.

Darjeeling sits so high that it literally floats in the clouds, with mist coiling around, animate as a snake. The mist traps the coal smoke, which hangs heavy in the air. I was there on a night of full moon. It outlined the shape of the clouds, and occasionally, gave me a hint of the Himalayas around me. Like the food, the whole experience is delicious, if a bit hallucinogenic. While it costs compared to other Indian hotels, you need to think of the Windamere as a destination, a country in itself. A kind of Shangri la in which hospitality, and good manners make you forget why it is that the days of the Raj are best long gone, that India has taken the country of Sikkim by force a couple of hours down the road, and that the Tenduf-La's were forced to leave Tibet decades ago and now can never return. And that only a kilometre away a world of Indian bus travel lies before you.

Telephone : 00-91-354-2254041/42 Fax : 00-91-354-2254043/2254211 E-mail : reservations@windamerehotel.nethttp://www.windamerehotel.com

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