Shimla

We had a long think about the best way to approach the rest of our journey before our return to Rishikesh. We had approximately two weeks in order to see as much of the north of India as possible and had to establish the easiest way back so Diana could start her course in good time. We shortlisted the places we thought best to see:

• Shimla
• Dharamsala and Mcleodganj
• Dalhousie and Khajjiar
• Amritsar

And began looking into the best ways to get to each. Shimla seemed simple enough, except we wanted to get the toy train after having been recommended it by Diana’s mum and others. The train in question began in a town called Kalka, so this was our next destination.

It seemed the only way to approach this was to get a connecting train in a town called Ambala. After researching train times, it seemed our only realistic option was to leave late to arrive in the evening, catch an early train to Kalka in the morning, and have one hour to spare before the train to Shimla departs. Knowing the reliability of the Indian… well… India, we had reasonably low expectations we’d actually make the connection and worked out there was a bus alternative should we find ourselves stranded.

We head to Rishikesh railway station in order to catch a train to Ambala. After being told by a couple of rickshaw drivers it would cost us 200rs (each, in some cases), we put on our act of “Whatever, it’s 3km, we’ll walk” (knowing full well we’d crumble into a pile of dust if we attempt to walk with all our bags, but they don’t know we’re not superheroes…) and the panic stricken faces of Indian men losing out on business kicked in. We then get offered a more reasonable 25rs each if we share the rickshaw, which we had no qualms about. We may be white, but we were born over 9000 days ago, and not just one as some may believe.

We made it to the station and have our usual panic of making sure we get the tickets and platform number as quick as possible, as these things can take a while and the trains (if on time) wait for no man. Fortunately for us, the trains are almost never on time in these situations, as we found when told we’d have to wait another 2 hours. Alrighty then. Diana waited on the platform whilst I headed out of the station in search of snacks and water for the journey. A man was asleep on the platform, covered from head to toe in flies. We were both fairly sure he was dead, but nobody seemed to be too bothered.

Some 2 hours later, and with me checking with the station master every half an hour that we had definitely not missed the train and it was definitely on the way to the platform we were expecting, we finally boarded. The dead man had gone, either we were incorrect about his current state of life, or he’d been removed and placed in a less conspicuous area, I’m not quite sure.

We were on the way to Ambala. Fairly uneventful train journey, and we arrive late, just in time for the thunder, lightning and rain to begin. Joy. Hoping we’d find a hotel very close to the station as we needed to be back again early in the morning, we brush off the numerous drivers offering to take us somewhere and head towards a huge hotel sign in the distance. We make it and enquire about rooms, but no such luck. That’s fine, this is the closest hotel to the station so somewhat expected. 

Sleeping in the luggage rack, a fairly common occurrance

We walk a little further up the road and spot a sign to the right for another hotel. Following the sign, we are greeted by a driveway to a building with its lights on. The rains starting to get harder, we rush to get in and are greeted by two closed doors. Not sure which is reception, we go through the closest one and look around. Looked a lot like a hallway, very little in the way of a reception desk. I called out ‘Hello?’ hoping to attract a helpful receptionist who would have a room available. A woman opened a door, I smiled and asked if she had a room for the night. After looking at us with a sign of utmost confusion, she said ‘No, this is house’. Seems we’d taken a wrong turn or the sign hadn’t been entirely accurate, and we were about to try and make residence in someone’s spare room. To be honest, my question still stood, but we left anyway.

We saw another hotel up the road which looked far fancier than our budget would allow (Interestingly our standards have changed pretty dramatically now – if we see a hotel that has so much as wallpaper we consider not even asking the price for fear of wasting everyones time. Diana almost asked at a hotel in Rishikesh if they had rooms, until she spotted they could afford a fishtank). As we approached the door, looking at the somewhat normal looking sofas in reception which may as well have been diamond encrusted solid 24ct gold for the effect they had on us, I asked the price thinking if we had no luck getting a room anywhere else at least there would be something. As expected, it was over a tenner and therefore put into the ‘extreme luxury’ category of hotel, we carried on back down the road.

In the distance I’d spotted a sign that looked somewhat like a cheap motel sign, a great positive sign as far as we were concerned. Unfortunately, as the crow flies was not the best way to try and access it, as we ended up stuck in a car park trying to work out how to get through a 10ft high wall. After walking around getting soggier and soggier, we eventually found an entire block, full of hotels. Approaching the first one, we found out they had a room available, but more than we wanted to pay. Seeing there were so many other hotels in this region, we turn to walk out saying we didn’t want to spend that much, they called out how much did we want to pay. Suggesting almost half the price, they simply nodded and we checked in, one of the first hotels we’ve found that realise it’s surely more profitable to just take people in at a reasonable price rather than having an empty room and no income. Any hoteliers I know feel free to explain why some places don’t have this mentality, I’m all ears.

The room was basic, but more comfortable than the pavement. Unfortunately also full of mosquitos, a creature we’d forgotten about since Sadhana, and woke up significantly itchier than when we went to bed. We headed early to the railway station again, aware there was only one train we could get, which allowed us only one hour to get our connection. It was unlikely, but here we were.

One thing we’ve also found is you can somewhat accurately track every train online with just its train number. This is both a blessing and a curse, as sometimes not knowing is better. This was one of those occasions, as we watch the train being only 10 minutes late, to 20, to 40. At this point we assume we’re probably not getting the train and I research where we get a bus from. It’s now the time we’d expected the train to arrive and sure enough a train shows up, with Kalka written on the side, but a completely different train number. Not knowing if this is a train to Kalka, from Kalka, nicknamed Kalka or what, and expecting our train to be far later than this, we decide we shouldn’t risk it as we don’t want to make ourselves later. The train pulls up and I glance at it again, and it seemed a different carriage had our number on it. Unless the train somehow split in two further up the line, it seemed this was actually our train after all, perfectly on time. We hurried on before it disappeared without us.

The train consisted of chair cars, a far more organised system of seating people much more like British train system (although benches of 2-3 seats, so still a bit more of a squash than usual), without overhead areas and other places people can attempt to squeeze in. Unfortunately for us, this was not the originating point of the trains journey, so it was already full to capacity chair wise. We found areas to cram our bags out of the way of people, and stood in the middle of the aisle, which was absolutely fine up until we stopped at a station and 50 passengers and 20 various wallahs (people trying to sell just about anything from food and drink to bag and shoe repair) jump on with their huge selection of wares. Eventually we reach a station at Chandigarh, where most of the people get off and we have our selection of a train-full of seats.

Our stop wasn’t much further at this point, but we enjoyed the comfort whilst we could. As we were approaching our stop at Kalka, someone sat opposite began asking us what our plans were, and he ended up helping up to find the train, get the tickets and some information on what to do, which was a great help.

We are now armed with our unreserved ticket, and inspect the train. It appears to be made up of far smaller carriages than a normal train, probably where the ‘toy train’ name comes from, and each carriage is made up of seats facing each other in a nice calm and collected manner. That is until you look at the carriage we need to get on, a heaving great mess of bags, humans and chairs. We attempt to cram ourselves and our oversized bags on, and after a few moments realise this 5-6 hour journey would be the most uncomfortable experience of our lives, as this train stops only at a few minor stations on the way and most people want to go all the way to Shimla. There is another door at the other side of the carriage, on the opposite side to the platform. Thinking most people would be crammed towards the platform door, I go check it out, jumping down the platform and around the train coupling to try and see the situation. Although more room, still not a comfortable looking experience. On the way back to the correct side where Diana was stood with our bags in the carriage, my brain kicked in. I wonder…

I grab the bags off Diana and go into the next carriage along, a positive haven of peace and quiet in comparison to the unmaintained zoo we were just in. If we could just store our bags in this area, all the carriages go to the same place, who would know…? Then I went one step further – we’re white, we’re English, we’re obviously confused and don’t know what we’re doing… What if we just sit in reserved with our… Oops, unreserved tickets?! We didn’t know, sorry!

So we sit down. Diana couldn’t look more criminal if she’d just pickpocketed the queen and had a crown poking out of her pocket with a huge neon sign saying “T’was me guvna!”. I reassured her we were committing a 400 rupee offence here, worst case scenario we hop back into the stables next door and try and leave our bags behind in this nice area, making the journey more comfortable for atleast an hour or so.

I sit back, trying to relax which is difficult when you’re worried your accomplice may sing like a bird about our wrong doings any moment. Every person who got on, who had even a slightly official air about them, Diana was close to throwing up. This is when the ticket inspector stuck his head through the window next to her and started shouting in hindi. I’m not sure if humans can literally give birth to kittens, but I’m sure a small litter was produced and escaped. He was shouting at someone else however, barely even glancing at us, and carried on his day. I stole a glance at Diana, reminded her we do actually have a ticket to go to Shimla, just not in comfort, and her pulse returned to a vaguely normal 120 beats per millisecond.

The train starts to move. The carriage is now pretty much full, it appears we managed to sit in the only two unreserved seats in the whole carriage, as unlikely as it seems. Bear in mind, tickets for this train went on sale a month ago and had a waitlist of around 100 people, I had no idea how we actually got away with it. But we were off.

The train was slow. Very slow. In comparison, it takes around 2 hours longer than the bus. However, the views are incredible, and the train itself did indeed feel like a little pocket sized thing that shouldn’t physically be able to scale the sheer altitude it does. Even the rails were about half the size of a normal train, hard to feel confident with it most of the time. Over 100 tunnels, some around 1km in length featured on our journey, emphasised by a group of people screaming as we entered some of them, which was funny for the first 2-3 times, but a bore after the next 50…

We get chatting to a small family in the seats opposite us, Diana still visibly shaking, worried if we’re caught with our substandard ticket we may be killed, or worse, expelled. A lovely Indian family, or at least, we assumed they were Indian. Turns out they were Indian born, lived in Israel (Where they had their first child), moved to Canada and became Canadian citizens where they had their second child, and now live in Australia. I have no idea what nationality they were, but they were a delight anyway. After a while, a little boy came to sit with us, and asked us the usual questions we get, where are we from, what do we do, why are we in India, where have we been, how long, etc. However, it was soon revealed this was the first time this boy had spoken to not just a foreigner, but the first time he’d truly conversed in English, and for several hours. Which was remarkable as his English was near perfect, certainly better than the Croydonese I’m used to back at home. Add to this, his brain was full of facts. He could tell us how long the train journey took, how many tunnels there were, what the national animal, plant and bird of India was, what different cities in India were famous for and where we should see and a whole lot more.

Family in the middle of a game of Rock Paper Scissors. Anything to pass the time

We didn’t even know any of this for England. You know what our national anything is? Well, I didn’t, so I googled it. The results I get are:

Swan/Bulldog – These are acceptable answers.
Lion – Legitimately our national animal. When did you last see one strolling around the Cotswolds?
Robin – Our national bird. You’d have thought if we can make up a lion, we’d choose an eagle or something.

Also found were…

(Scotland) Unicorn – I wish to be taken seriously, come on Scotland...
(Wales) Dragon – See unicorn and stop taking the piss.

An encyclopaedia in Indian child form

Another few stops, and the moment Diana was dreading occurred. The ticket inspector climbs aboard and slowly works his way down the carriage. Doing her finest leaf impression, I tell Diana to relax and I calmly watch as he makes his way to us. ‘Ticket’ was all he said. Diana was about to break down in tears and confess her sins for the past 25 years. I smiled and said ‘Of course’, and handed him the ticket. He looks it over, a slight frown on his face. He asks the family next to us for their ticket. I shrug, not sure whether we got away with it or what. He checks over their ticket, still holding ours, and passes it back to them. Still looking at ours, Diana is starting to understand how I felt back in Varanasi whilst being physically assaulted, this was the mental equivalent. Only I never got any breakfast snacks.

After a few moments, he says ‘420 rupees more’. I go to ask ‘Oh? Why is that, this ticket is to Shimla?’ attempting to keep the pretence we’re stupid tourists, but quick as a flash Diana’s already thrust a 500 note into his hand. He writes us up some sort of ticket addendum, passes us our change and carries on. Diana started looking more human and less ghostly and pale, so we left it at that and the rest of the journey she began to actually enjoy.

Anyway, we finally made it to Shimla station, with only a vague idea of what we were doing. We were pre-warned that the area was colder than we had been used to. Unfortunately we only somewhat prepared for this. I had put on a jumper, I figured that would do.

What greeted us, were the remnants of a recent hailstorm. The ground was almost pure ice, not a great experience when wearing sandals. We hadn’t booked a hotel, everything we saw online was expensive and we figured we’d just look around when we arrived. As soon as we got out of the station, someone approached us with rooms available in the price region we were reasonably happy with, and he said only a 15 minute walk away. Onwards, sir.

Well, after 45 minutes of following him entirely uphill and upstairs, our feet now almost entirely free from all sensations other than numbness and freezing cold pain, we made it to the hotel reception. Diana near collapsed in a corner, her previous ordeal combined with this far too much for her physical and mental well-being. With this in mind, I go check out the room. First they showed us one more expensive by 100 rupees, with a balcony and flat screen TV. Lovely, I remarked, but now show me the cheaper one we wanted. We go, big CRT TV and no balcony. Perfect, thanks.

I inform Diana we can finally relax and put it all behind us, and we carry our bags to our room. Diana collapses on the bed, which made a dull thud. Turned out, for 100 rupees, you get a mattress the thickness of paper. I went and checked out the other room, which had a luxurious 2-ply mattress, and told Diana to hell with the expense, we’re having the luxurious room for an extra quid.

How does the song go? How much is that monkey in the window?

We move our stuff in and layer up. Diana puts her entire wardrobe on, I put on my trainers instead of sandals, and we prepare to explore the area a little. It’s getting late by now and almost dark, so we head out. By the time we work out where ‘mall road’, the road with all the shops are, it’s pitch black, and furthermore half the town is experiencing a power cut. One shop still had power, assuming from a backup somewhere, and we take a look. They greet us, and ask if we want to buy a torch taser. ‘Excuse me?’ I laughed, assuming a poor translation. He turned on a torch, and we chuckled. Moments later he pushed another button and huge blue sparks shoot out of the other end. This guys not screwing around. Afraid we might have to buy something or risk being electrocuted, we back up towards the door and say we might pop back another time. Perhaps when the sales people aren’t armed.

We can barely see a thing, and attempting to check out some of the other shops in the pitch black, we decide we’d wait until morning. This is when I figured we’d had a tough day, it was freezing cold and we deserved a nice duvet evening. And this town had alcohol and a Dominoes. Grabbing the biggest pizza we could, a bottle of what was labelled ‘Gin and Lime’ but smelled like vodka and white spirit, we head to the room and had a cosy evening in.

Well deserved I'd say. Little sachets of herbs and salt, tasty!

The next morning, getting out of bed is almost impossible. The temperature of the room feels far too low to be habitable by humans, considering the 30+ degree temps of our previous months. Eventually we get up and go for a wander about. Not a lot happened, the town mostly consists of shops and very intriguing old English architecture. The clouds were dark, in fact it was spitting with rain most of the time. What’s that, dark skies, cold, raining almost the whole time, Victorian architecture? We’ve accidentally stumbled back home?! Wholly upset about this, we find ourselves making a lot more stops for chai than usual. Now we’re drinking more tea?! What’s going on here!

Not usually a fan of architecture but it dramatically stood out after a few months of mostly shanty shacks.

Even those school uniforms seem pretty British...

A fire Royal Enfield. Not sure what it's practical purpose with that little extinguisher is, but I thought it looked awesome

Diana’s student brain had been bugging her about the prices of our luxurious room, and it was starting to take its toll. We head to a tourist information place and enquire if they have any cheaper rooms they can recommend. After a few moments, they say they know a place with a cheaper room, and we wait for the guy to come show us. After seeing a couple of their cheaper rooms, one with an Indian toilet and one with a western equivalent, we accept. Unfortunately this room ended up being a lot colder, with only one working plug socket, bits falling off the walls and the bathroom smelled like a fresh sewer. Even the WiFi seemed unusable at first, then eventually turned into the best WiFi we’d had in forever which was a slight redeeming feature. Diana was convinced the bedding smelled of urine, to the point we broke into another room to swap the pillows when we could. We’ve become a right pair of criminals.

We’d seen most of the shops, purchased some walking boots for me ready for Nepal which cost almost a full days budget on their own and decided to take on the next challenge. We spotted the following sign:

No, nothing to do with the IT jobs, under 30 minutes to climb over 800ft.

While I had no doubt Diana would have no trouble what with her half marathon running abilities, I was a little sceptical, however the competitive gene from her mother had already kicked in so we had no choice. We started at the sign and the timer was on.

Only 20 minutes later and wishing there were more oxygen, we made it up to the temple, a sheer climb up many roads and steps, all at a steep incline. A huge monkey god statue was present, which we’ve now looked up and found it’s both higher up and taller than the Christ the Redeemer statue. It was also home to a number of incredibly naughty monkeys, one of which hissed at Diana. Diana hissed back and grabbed a stone nearby just in case we needed to scare it away from us. This was fighting talk as far as this monkey was concerned, as it turned around to Diana with a look of “IT’S ON BITCH”! Not a moment later, it had mounted the back of another monkey whilst maintaining an unbroken eye contact with Diana. The act of hissing whilst sodomizing another primate had the desired effect and both Diana and I made our exit as quick as possible, unaware of what this crazy animal was capable of and not wanting to find out.

Anyone spot the small lady at the bottom of this 7ft statue?

We did it!

We prepared to make the same trek down we had taken up and got a few steps down before seeing some Indian men looking exasperated at a monkey in a tree. We got a little closer and spotted the monkey had stolen some sunglasses and was biting them and attempting to wear them. The men after around 10 minutes figured they were lost and no amount of saying ‘Please monkey, I need my goggles back’ was working, they carried on down the steps. Not wanting to give up, Diana and I continue to watch the monkey, looking for a chink in its furry armour.

Thems not for you monkey!

I armed myself with a small stick, Diana grabbed a small stone. We waited for the monkey to look away. Bingo. I throw the stick at the tree next to it, the monkey jumped and dropped the sunglasses. I hop towards it, it realises what’s happening and we both lunge for the sunglasses, like your typical action movie where one guy drops the only gun between them and it’s a question of which one gets it first. I had backup though, Diana throws her stone towards the sunglasses and the monkey backs away. I lunge. Success. I run back to the steps before the monkey gets so agitated it tries to shag something, and we run down to the men who had stopped further down. I hand them back over, Diana made a comment of ‘Did they cost much money?’ and the guy got the impression we wanted him to pay us to retrieve them. We laugh and explain that’s not necessary, they get photos with us as is obligatory (and I’m sure somewhere online is a counterpart blog post to this one explaining from their point of view..?) and we make our way back.

We congratulate ourselves on a job well done and look into how we’re leaving this mini Britain. Whilst researching, I decided to change our route slightly, as we’d originally planned to go to Dharamsala after this, I figured it would be more time efficient to go to Amritsar via Chandigarh and we can see both places. We look into it and find there’s a bus directly from Shimla to Chandigarh, but you need to visit the old bus station to get a bus to the new bus station. A plan was formulated, we head back to our room (armed with a bottle of plum wine and a bottle of pear wine) and settle in for a cold night.

How I wish I could hear my dads reaction to seeing a sign like this. No smoking in public or face a 2 pound fine.

The next day we gather up our stuff and headed towards the old bus stand, headed for Chandigarh and warmer climates.