Cold feet

 Shimla, Friday 18 January 2013

I've a lot to say about my first few days in India, but as it's nearly 8pm at night and I haven't had my dinner yet, I'll come back to that and tell you about the present...

There'll be a lot I'll remember about Shimla, the former summer capital of the 'Britishers' in the hills north of Delhi - and one of them will likely be cold feet! It began on the Himalayan Queen narrow-gauge train on the way here from Kalka, where the mainline train track ends. We were quite badly delayed when our diesel engine gave up the ghost just a few minutes into our journey from Kalka, and another one had to be brought up. But more about all that later.

I got into Shimla about 8.20pm, exactly three hours behind schedule. As we worked our way higher and higher into the mountains, the air temperature dropped, as you'd expect. It was a pretty chilly last couple of hours, as darkness fell. It didn't help that at every stop some of the other passengers would dash to the door, get it open and stand there for the duration of the halt, surveying the scene. Anyway, I came out of the station at Shimla and followed the masses to the exit, where everyone then stood around shrieking and talking photos because it began to snow. Shimla's a popular place for Indian tourists who come to see snow, which they'd never see further south in Delhi. But enough of that, I'd no hotel reservation and needed to go and find one. A few people offered to take me to a hotel, but I declined. I'm always suspicious of anyone who offers me anything. This may have been to my detriment last night, as I schlepped around for quite a while, calling into a few hotels... some were full, some I didn't like the feel of (for no good reason, I know acknowledge). And so, with the sleety snow pouring down and a wind howling I ploughed on into the main part of town. I tried the next hotel I saw, but no room at the inn, and they pointed me down the road to another one. I finally found took a room there, although it was 1,500 rupees, as I had run out of steam by then. My feet were soaking.

Not five minutes later, the power went out. I called the desk clerk down, and he faffed about and went away again. It came back on later, but then I heard someone fiddling with switches outside and mine went off again. I went out into the corridor and opened the fuse box myself. There was one switch set to 'off'. I flipped it, and my lights came on. Idiots. Anyway, it was off when I got up this morning, which I knew meant there'd be no hot water. I'd to pack by torchlight, and my mood wasn't helped by stepping out of bed into a pool of water - soaking yet another pair of socks, which I then had to put into my soaking trainers, so what did it matter, I suppose. I looked up some phrases in my phrasebook, such as 'electricity', 'none', 'hot water', 'none'. I figured I could gesture about the water being everywhere. I called the clerk down and showed him the floods. I couldn't speak Hindi; he couldn't speak English. We weren't going to get anywhere, so I handed him the key and left.

I got myself some breakfast at the apparently well-known Baljee's. The power went out mid-way through, and a waiter appeared with a candle. It wasn't out for long and I got to finish my potato-stuffed pancake (masala dosa) and curry in the lamplight. Next job: finding another hotel. I decided to give the YMCA a try. It's a great old wooden building, pleasantly spartan, with wooden staircases running off from each side of the reception. My room's on the third floor, looking out over Shimla - which I couldn't see in the clag. It has snowed all day, pretty much. I had to cajole myself on, to go out into the blizzard with my wet feet and find the passenger lift that takes you down to the lower part of town where you can get a taxi. I headed for the Viceregal Lodge, which was the seat of the British viceroys, and took the short tour that they offer around a few of the rooms. It's now an institute for doctorate students. A group of young Indian tourists asked me if I'd have my photo taken with them and were curious about where I was travelling, and where I was from. The tour ended in the room where the partition of India was discussed, around a table that's there to this day. We all took the required photographs of it from various angles and went through to an adjoining room with photos and the viceroy's big throney chair. We exited via an outer door onto the balcony, where everyone was much more interested in having a snowball fight and taking more photos of each other.

With no taxis near the place due to the snow, I walked down the long driveway to the main road and began walking towards town. My plan, at my boyfriend's very wise recommendation, was to have tea and cake at the luxurious Oberoi Cecil hotel. How glad I am that he stressed I really should do that. It was lovely - just what the doctor ordered. I sat and had two hot chocolates, served from a silver pot, by a waiter dressed in very smart whites, along with two glorious cakes, in the glorious central atrium of the hotel. I felt human again - despite the wet feet. I wandered around the hotel afterwards, just for a nosey, and nearing the entrance to the gym, a very friendly member of staff offered to show me round. I wanted to jump straight into their 30 degree pool! I took advantage of some of their paper towels to take the slosh out of my shoes, and then set off into the evening snow. And, here I am, in an internet cafe in the centre of town.

So, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get some dinner, as it's after 8.15pm.