Delhi continued...

Shimla, Sunday 20 January 2013

So, I think I left off yesterday around the time I'd politely turned down an offer of an ear cleaning in Delhi's Connaught Place. I retired to the peace and quiet of Cafe Coffee Day (an Indian coffee shop chain) after that, where I enjoyed a mango milkshake-type thing, before realising it had ice in it. Drinking the local water is one of the no-nos for us delicate westerners - and that, of course, includes the ice. I'd committed the cardinal sin, on day one. I assured the god of Delhi Belly that if he let me away with it this time, I wouldn't sin again.

I walked back to my hotel from there - I'd had quite enough of other modes of transport by that stage. I was knackered and decided on a really early night, with the light out about 6.30pm. I woke again about two in the morning, having had about eight hours by then, and was treated to the sound of a loud American arriving and arranging for something or other to be brought to his room - some food, I assume. And then of course there was the commotion when whatever it was arrived. I was quite glad I'd the luxury of having plenty of sleep. I got back to my dreams eventually and was up at 6am to pack up and head for the train.

There were a lot fewer touts hanging about at the station entrance this early in the morning. I got asked where I was travelling to by some fella trying to look official, with a pen. It must have been that I was only half awake, because for some reason I told him. He asked for my ticket. My wits were returning, and I asked him if he worked for the railway. 'Yes of course, madam; that is why I am asking you for your ticket.' He looked away, a bit sheepish. I walked on into the entrance, ignoring him. 'Kalka platform 20, madam,' he called out.

There was no platform 20. I couldn't readily see a lobby in the station - just the various platforms - and so I wasn't sure how I was supposed to find out what station my train would be going from. As I walked along a bridge over all the platforms, I looked at the names on the electronic boards above each one. I couldn't see Kalka on any of them, and then, after hearing an announcement, I realised the boards were announcing arrivals. I headed back to the entrance, and on platform one found a station office. 'Platform two,' the man told me.

My ticket had my coach and seat number on it, but I gathered I should look for my name on the passenger list, which apparently gets posted on the platform. I found an electronic board, but it was shut off. Walking further up the platform, I found another board with large sheets of paper flapping around. Some Chinese tourists had evidently found their names on it and were photographing them. Now, how did these lists work, then? Was it by surname? Ticket number? No, I figured out that it was by coach. I found my name, with a big grin, and shamelessly repeated what my fellow Chinese travellers had done and took a photo of it. I have a ticket for another train, which doesn't have my coach and seat number. I guess I'll have to go through all the coaches in the class of ticket I've bought to find out where I'm supposed to be on that one. Anyway, I was early for the train, not knowing how long it might take to find the platform and do any other required shenanigans.

The platform was alive with people - Indian families who didn't look the wealthiest huddled on the ground together, waiting for their trains; the more well-heeled reading a paper and enjoying a cup of tea; porters hauling all sorts of things up and down the platform; us tourists in the middle of it all. Sitting down to eat some dried fruit, a woman came over to me with a young girl and put her hand out. I gave the girl a piece of the dried fruit and offered the woman some, but it was clear it was money she wanted. She stood and stood, and there was little I could do but just try to ignore her and wait until she went away. Eventually, a man sitting  on the bench beside mine told her to move along. 'Chalu.' She rejoined the teenage boy who'd been standing a bit further away, looking in the other direction.

The train pulled in, and I jumped on. We were about 15 minutes late getting under way. I was sitting among what appeared to be middle-class Indians. Everyone was on their smartphone or tablet. A train guard came through and checked our tickets, followed shortly afterwards by a lad handing out little trays with tea, sugar, whitener, biscuits and a couple of chocolate eclair toffee sweets. He passed through again with cups, and finally handed out individual flasks of hot water. I made myself a sweet cup of tea. On the tray was a menu for the train services. It itemised everything we'd get on our journey - right down to our eclair toffees (even noting that there would be 2 pcs). In due course, as we trundled quite slowly past village after village, punctuated by large flat fields, lunch arrived. I got some vegetable patties with a curry sauce, with two slices of bread, butter and jam. Then we were offered tea or coffee again. Not bad.

It was clear we were running late, and I began to accept that I wouldn't be making my connection in Kalka to Shimla. We pulled in about 12.20pm - my Shimla train, the Himalayan Queen, was to have left at 12.10pm, but helpfully it was also running late and I made it. In fact, it sat on the platform for another five or ten minutes. We only went about ten minutes - barely out of Kalka - when it heaved to a halt on a bridge, looking up and down a valley. And we sat. And we sat. Some of the passengers got out to investigate and it turned out the diesel engine wasn't building up pressure properly. We must've sat for an hour and half or two hours. Just up above the bridge, on the river bank, was what I soon figured out was the town dump. I'd plenty of time to watch people dumping stuff there - individuals emptying small trucks, and a larger truck with a skip. It all tipped down the bank towards the river, which was already strewn with plastic bags and all sorts of detritus. My fellow passengers helpfully contributed by chucking out the window the remains of the lunch trays they'd bought in Kalka. It's pitiful. You just want to do a good litter pick.

Eventually, another engine arrived with much hooting and whistling from behind, and pushed us to the next station, where the new engine passed us, and then apparently towed the broken-down engine out of the way, and then took over. We set off again. Luckily for me, it was all too much hassle for the couple sitting opposite me, and they decided to get off and get a taxi to their destination.

I should say something about this little train. The mainline rail track ends at Kalka. After that, to head up into the mountains, you've to switch to narrow-gauge trains (toy trains). They have a narrower carriage, with two-seater benches facing each other in pairs down each side of the narrow corridor, and your knees virtually touch those of the person sitting opposite. With no one now sitting opposite me, I was able to stretch out my legs.

It was raining, and, while the views were a bit restricted with clag, I could still appreciate the scenery we had as we wound our way up and up into the foothills. It got progressively colder as we went up, especially after the sun went down. Hence the start of my cold feet! To find out what happened next, read my other post, 'Cold Feet'.

Now, about Shimla...