Katie and I have come to the Taj Chai resort in Darjeeling to celebrate our 50th anniversary. We’re spending 12 days here, in the middle of the Makaibari tea estate. And yes, it is an extravagance.
I make no apologies. Any celebration involves extravagance of some sort: we may change the clothes we wear, the food we eat, or the things we do. One of the things we do differently here is to watch the sunrise, which is at 5:20. Then we read and have tea until we go to the breakfast buffet at the Chia Veranda, which opens at 7:30. We linger until the buffet closes at 10:30 or sometime later.
We sit at the same table every day, out on the shaded deck, where a fresh breeze usually blows up out of the valley carrying the fragrances of many tropical plants and flowers. The music is soft, a mixture of violin, piano, or flute. Inside, by the buffet, there is the aroma of lamb, chicken, and vegetable curries spread before us in hues of yellow, orange, red, and green.
We mostly eat the same foods. Both of us have some fresh fruit or vegetables, with some amazing India-style curd (yogurt). Katie has settled on spiced tomato juice, but I prefer my tomatoes grilled. We sit awhile and read, often to each other, and a little later, I have a small omelet (more cheese, less chili) and some bacon. They bring Katie a vegan scramble made with tofu, spinach, and onion.
As the morning progresses, we may sample some regional dishes on the buffet, with names we don’t recognize and ingredients we can’t always identify. We usually have the same attentive staff, and they have learned our preferences and needs. Things just show up at our table, like tea the way we prefer: I prefer a spring black with ginger and mint. They try to read our minds and often get it right, anticipating and remembering our needs.
Several times, the chef, Mukesh, has stopped by our table, telling us the history of some item on the buffet or making one of us something that’s not of the buffet at all, like gluten-free roti made with millet for Katie. A restaurant manager, Prerna, comes by two or three times every morning, and we know about her family, her career, and, to some degree, her heart.
By the time we leave the table, after several cups of tea and probably another bowl of curd, we are relaxed and refreshed—which is why we came here in the first place. We may go back to the room and take a nap; we got up at 5:30, remember? We eat a snack, maybe a late lunch or an early dinner.
We may, however, carry the three-hour breakfast home—not every day, of course. The thing about the three-hour breakfast is the pace. And the pace is restful and restorative. The pace is what we needed, given our full lives of work and ministry.
If we can find the curd in Michigan, we won’t even have to cook. Curd would be sufficient. But the real point is to slow down, spread our five cups of tea out over a couple of hours, and celebrate the continuing and overwhelming mercies of God. You need to slow down to experience a real sabbath rest, completely ceasing from your labors and sitting, sometimes in silence. And sometimes in awe.
I think we could do this at home, once or twice a month. Or a week if I ever retire. It would be nice if Mukesh or Prerna stopped by to check on us, of course. We’ll have to come back here for that. But God’s mercies are new every morning, even if the routine doesn’t change.
And that is the heart of true celebration.
the daysman 