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Day 1 25 July
After a quick breakfast near our hotel, we set off in a rickshaw for Chandigarh station, for what was going to be virtually a full day of travelling on trains. Waiting on the platform, we saw three youngish lads a little distance away, clearly talking about us. Being in a station we were back into our security mode - trusting no-one, keeping an eye on our bags etc, and we had already noticed these lads with a sense of suspicion. Sure enough, after a few minutes the three lads sidled over to us, and the spokesman launched the conversation with a "which country you from?". We replied politely while tightening our circle around our bags, Before we'd got far in the conversation, another man with good english appeared on our other side, and also launched into loud conversation, but in between sentences, approached close to me and whispered to me not to trust the three lads as they weren't 'good'. We didn't trust the three lads, but weren't particularly inspired by our new protector either. We exchanged a few warning words between us in French, and our circle around our bags tightened even further - now we were being approached on two sides.
The game continued - the new protector proudly showed us his identity card (which meant nothing to us at all), to prove his trustworthiness versus these common rogues (presumably without identity cards) and having scared away the three 'thieves' was making valiant efforts to develop conversation with us, despite our reluctant minimalist responses while we never took our eyes from our bags or relaxed our tight Bassett security circle. Finally we tried to make a move away from this uncertain situation, and despite his suspiciously loud protests, wondered further along the platform and close to a policeman. He didn't follow, but as our train arrived, and we were all climbing on board - we saw him bounding across the platform towards us - I braced for what I thought would be his last attempt at something, but all he wanted to do was to confirm that this was indeed our train - a little unnecessarily when we were half way up the steps. In the end, nothing was lost, and once again we were left not knowing whether we had narrowly escaped a devious trickster through our shrewd judgement of character and street-wise handling of a dangerous situation, or whether we had made a gross over-dramatisation, and left a friendly bemused man wondering how on earth europeans could be so cold and strange.
We had a short 45 minute train journey from Chandigarh to Kalka, but long enough for Jacqui to squeeze in a first French lesson with the girls. At Kalka, we had a little wait before boarding the
small traditional train which would take us in 5 1/2 hours up the mountain to Shimla. Jacqui grabbed a few "packed lunches" - lentils, rice and chapatis, all in little tubs, and wrapped in newspaper (the Indian equivalent of fish 'n chips) - from a seller on the platform, and we were off.This train did not have the comfortable modern seats or trimmings that the previous trains had, but it was a delightful journey. It chuffed its way up the mountain, winding through villages and rainforest-like countryside, stopping every now and then for an
opportunity for us to buy some local something or other to eat or drink off a platform seller. Sitting in our small carriage, accompanied by a friendly but non-english speaking Punjabi extended family, with the door and windows of the carriage all left open, we dashed from one side of the train to the other peering out and soaking in the passing views. The time passed quickly and we were soon stepping out into our first cool air since leaving the UK - we drew deep breaths and smiled at the sheer pleasure of fresh air. No wonder the British Raj chose Shimla as their summer retreat station from the oppresive atmosphere of Calcutta and Delhi.A couple of guides immediately hooked up to us, and tried to sell us their recommended hotel (where they would make their commission). We stubbornly resisted, but one persistent one accompanied us all the way up the hill and waited outside a hotel (that we had selected from the guide book), while we were checking the rooms and discussing price on the off chance that he could still get a deal.
The Dalziel hotel
was in an old colonial building, and in truth we were delighted with the room that we could get for the price, particularly compared to Delhi, but still went through an obligatory performance of calling other hotels and saying we would look around to see if we could get the price down. The price didn't move and we moved in to this huge wooden panelled suite, with two large double beds, a spacious bathroom, and an additional room with table and chairs which was perfect for our school lessons. It opened out onto a large terrace with exhilarating views for miles across the forested hills. The room was still run down, with the semi-finished electrical fittings, worn decor, ragged carpetted floor and without a working shower (hot water could be used via a bucket and jug), but we were delighted with our find.Shimla looks as though it was initially placed on a narrow ridge and has gradually overflowed
down each side. Most of the area that we frequented were along the ridge - our hotel had long forested hill views both north and south depending on the window you looked from. The pedestrianised main street (the Mall) had a sophisticated holiday feel, reminiscent of the towns on the Italian lakes, and in the evenings filled with strolling couples and families, browsing the branded clothes shops, or sitting in the square watching the world go by. Restaurants and cafes were also upmarket, although heading down the side of the ridge, we found the India that we had come to know, winding through chaotic bazaars, selling everything from mangos to metal pots to fake Reebok trainers, ending at the road at the bottom jam-packed with hooting cars and buses belching black exhaust.Our first night we wondered up onto the mall, stumbled on a bar that was showing the England India test match, and then treated ourseleves to a pizza at Dominos (the only one we had seen in India so far). THe pizza's were good, but cost us over 1000 rupees (16 euros) for the meal - our most expensive in India - and we vowed never to go there again.
Day 2 July 26'th
I woke early, and while the others were sleeping, used the time to prepare our first maths lesson. I was interrupted by noises outside our door and when I looked out, a troop (is that what you call them?) or monkeys were on our terrace outside our door, swinging on the wires, climbing on the roof and play fighting. I resisted waking up the girls, assuming that the monkeys must be regular residents.
We had breakfast in our hotel - they had a menu that offerred some continental delicacies that we had not seen up until now: cornflakes, fried eggs and toast, toast and jam. Our waiter had an extremely limited vocabulary in english and the breakfast turned into a giggly affair as we learnt the lessons of eating continental food rather than Indian. It took us a while to get clarity on what we wanted (cornflakes, eggs, coffee), and when the bowl of cornflakes arrived with a glass of hot milk we launched into our Fawlty Shimla Towers scene:
Jacqui: "Do you have cold milk?"
Waiter "Cold meelk?"
Jacqui "Yes.....do you have cold milk?"
Pause while everyone looks at each other.
Jacqui "can we have cold milk?"
Waiter "Cold meelk?"
Jacqui "Yes....we want cold meelk" (the accent starting to catch on). "Not hot meelk.....we want cold meelk".
Waiter "no hot meelk?"
Jacqui "no hot meelk... we want cold meelk"
Waiter (the penny seeming to drop) "oh....no cold meelk" shaking his head with a smile, as if to say, this is only a retaurant, you can't expect everything.
Jacqui, pausing for reflection " you mean you don't have cold meelk?"
Waiter "no cold meelk".
Jacqui, beginning to allow an incredulous tone into her voice "but how do you make hot meelk then?"
Waiter "hot meelk?"
Jacqui "NO we don't WANT hot meelk...but, if you don't have cold meelk, how do you make hot meelk?"
It crossed my mind to go back to basics and bring in the concept of the cow, but already we had pushed the boundaries too far, the conversation was floundering, and the waiter abandoned us mid sentence, leaving us with a bowl of cornlakes, a glass of hot milk, and two girls in uncontrollable giggles.
When he came back, we made a final do or die attempt at getting the cold milk, and this time, whether through frustration at our impossible demands, or because the short time away from us had been enough to give him inspiration..... the breakthrough came:
Waiter: pointing to the hot milk "you want I make this meelk cold"
Jacqui (taken aback at this lateral thinking, but lifted at the sight of a potential solution) "well....er...yes....make this meelk cold then"
He disappeared with the hot milk and came back 5 minutes later with a satisfied smile and placed the glass of milk on the table. Bursting with curiosity, four fingers dived into the milk to test the temperature. Warm.
We pushed no further, and Fia ate a warm bowl of cornflakes.
We started our school in earnest this morning. Maths was the first lesson. Our adjoining room with tables and chairs made a perfect disconnected environment, and the girls, surprisingly, clicked straight into a scholarly frame of mind for our joint lesson and then got stuck into their individual exercises. Just as surprisingly - I really enjoyed it.
Jacqui followed with similar success straight after with the French lesson, though concentration ended a little prematurely with the return of the monkeys, which caused great excitement. Jacqui and the girls ventured outside the door, Fia armed with her camera, and tentatively approached the monkeys, but periodically, each time a monkey made any move towards the
m, came charging back through our door in shrieks of nervous laughter.The monkeys we soon realised were a feature of Shimla, and probably the most memorable aspect for the children. During the day they invaded the town, often on our terrace, but also on roofs in the town and sitting at the side of the main street, occasionally making a dash across. In the evening they would retreat from the town to the forest just outside, where they slept, apparenlty sitting on branches in the trees. The locals were used to them, but often gave them a wide berth when walking past them, indicating that they were not entirely safe. The ones on our terrace were highly entertaining to watch with babies in the group playing and climbing over their mother, with the stereotypi
cal mutual flea searching, and occasionaly launching into amusing acrobatics using any of the loose electrical wires, window frames or anything else they could find.In the afternoon, we explored Shimla, heading down the side of the hill and wandering through the bazaar, and then along the upmarket shops along the Ridge, and having fun buying a pair of sandals for Fia.
Having been spoilt with Wifi access in our room in Delhi, we were subsequently plunged into connectivity darkness. Our hotel looked as though they didn't know what a computer was (as with all subsequent hotels the check-in was a long form filling process, and included the signing of a huge leather bound registry), so our only means to connect was to sit in the rather depressing internet cafes (mis-named, as frustratingly there was never a coffee in sight). This didn't work too well with children, and our vain attempts to get our blog up and running, find a way to be able to write our e-mails off-line, and keep up with some tweets, were very disruptive to our days. Our 3G Sim card, that we had purchased in Delhi so that we could have access to internet on the phone, was not working and we consumed hours before eventually resolving it to gain a weak and shaky, but valued, connection.
Fia was not eating well. She seemed to be on great form, but everytime we went into a restaurant, she seemed to feel sick at the thought of food, and completely unable to eat anything. At this stage, we thought it was a phsychological block to new foods, and worried that she wasn't eating much put pressure on her, which was stressful for all of us.
Day 3 July 27'th
Determined to avoid breakfast in the hotel, we went out and had a great breakfast of eggs etc at Goofa's, a cicular underground restaurant, in which we were virtually the only customers.
The day passed again with maths and french lessons, and some un-productive internet stuff. For lunch we were looking for a light snack but ended up at a very smart restaurant (white table cloths. big bellied affluent clientele, uniformed waiters etc) called Barjee's (I think). We only ordered a small dish to share between us (particularly with Fia unable to eat a thing) but having seen the sumptuous dishes being eaten around us, and having asked for a few explanataions, vowed to come back when we were more hungry.
We were determined to get out on a walk before the day was finished, and started out out of town. We had heard that there was a hotel around 3 or 4 km away that had an excellent bar, with free Wi-fi, so had envisaged sitting sipping a beer, and munching cashew nuts while we were catching up on e-mails etc, but when we arrived, it was so exceptionally smart that we didn't dare enter in our dirty T-shirts and flip flops, and returned for dinner.
We had a beer on the terrace at Ashiana's - the circular restaurant above Goofas, with exactly the same menu, but white tablecloths and every dish 5 rupees ( 1,5 euro cents) more expensive (presumably to cover the cost of the table cloths), and then dinner inside. By this stage we had realised that Fia had some sort of a tummy bug, and had stepped back from putting pressure on her, though a little worried at how little she was eating. But Ashianas was the beginning of the end of her troubles, and it was the Chicken Tandori that hit the spot with both the girls and remains one of their favourites. We left feeling like we had eaten at the Ritz.
Day 4 July 28'th
We returned to our hotel for breakfast, and having a different waiter, had none of the cold/hot milk episodes of the first day.
We suceeded in having another school morning, and after having booked a car to take us to Manali the following day, headed walking out of town to get the old Viceroy's (leader of the 19'th century British colonial government) house - about 5 km out of Shimla town. It was a
pleasant route through the forest and small outlying settlements, and with the road lined by observing, and sometimes unnerving, monkeys. We grabbed a fast, basic and very cheap lunch at a roadside shack, (dahl and rice for Jacqui and me, and toast and butter for our un-adventurous girls) on the way.The Viceroys house was an e
normous magnificent, Great-Gatsby-like mansion, though more impressive than it was beautiful. We wandered round the gardens, and decided not to take the tour of the inside, knowing that we were leaving on an all day car journey the following day and had to pack and get an early night.The size, and extravagance of this building was almost mind-blowing when one considered the primitive indian life that must have surrounded it in the 1850's when it was built. The imagination is stretched even further, envisaging the summer retreat journeys that must have been made, to get the whole of the administrative organisation from Calcutta up into these remote mountains, before trains were built or roads developed. Did they come all that way on elephants? How many servants were employed just for the journey, how long did it take - weeks, months? Lots of googling to do when we get back. I wondered what the Indians of the time must have thought of these larger than life colonialists and their strange unbelievably extravagant ways, and for a split second - I hoped that India would win the Cricket test series against us.....but the feeling soon passed.
We concluded our last night in Shimla, by returning to Barjee's, the smart restaurant, but this time with appetites, and we were not disappointed. We had avoided meat before Shimla, but inside knowledge indicated that once out of the hot urban centres like Delhi, the meat is normally much fresher. THe chicken butter masala was delicious, as was the Sag paneer (spinach with cheese) but it was again the chicken tandoori that took the winning votes.
We had had a very pleasant few days in Shimla, relieved from the oppressive hot humidity that we had sufferred in Delhi and Chandigarh (though now we were ready to exchange this rainy misty dampness for some warmth), enjoying a much slower pace of life in a holiday like atmosphere, and particularly pleased that we had kick-started the schooling. But we were ready to move on, and stuffed everything back into our rucksacks in preparation for our 8 hour drive to Manali.
