NEMY, SHMLA TOY TRAIN, INDIA

WEDNESDAY, MAY12, 2011

SHIMLA,

Even before Hyla left, our family trip planning sessions seemed to always include the Shimla Toy train.

The English built this 100+ km, 100+ tunnel line to ferry goods and passengers to their summer retreat. We came into Shimla the back way and now we are descending back down to the plains. The views are breath taking , alternating with wildly contrasting mountain and valley views.

I haven’t spent much time in my life giving credit  to the Brits for much. I thank them for finding and naming British Columbia, because I like it there. I also have owned two cars built in England.  I thank Mr. Donald Healey. I can’t think of anything else but I do give them my respect for carving out this track . Too bad that even though it’s labeled toy, it would be hard even for them to have taken it home when the party was over. The lower we went the more every day commuter train it became. After seven hours we became QUITE close with many. Did meet a very pleasant Punjab family on holidays. They have, like others we met, relatives in Mississauga.

For such an inauspicious ride we ended rather unceremoniously in a train station rather removed by Indian standards. Here we hopped into a cab for a one-hour ride to Chandigarh. Our hope was to find a bus to Haridwar, six hours ride away, and then another one hour taxi ride to Rishikish.  Bus stations here are challenging enough, let lone 11;00 at night. There is a hierarchy amongst ticket vendors and the world that revolves around them.  After much animation with everyone who wished to help and harm us, we all ruled out that our first trip riding on top of a bus should not be through the wee hours of night.  If anybody is looking for something different, try haggling (should write whole page on haggling) for cab at midnight in some far off land.

Travelling in India with car is one thing but through the heat of late night is something else. The first two hours of this trip were on roads, used VERY loosely, like we have never traveled before. A gravel road from back home would have seems like a mirrored surface. There were potholes in the potholes. The road range from narrow bands of pavement with four-inch drop off shoulders to closed cow paths that even cows had enough sense not to use them. We zigged and zagged so much and I even swear that we took a shortcut through someone’s backyard.

 I guess that’s why we hire drivers, but there is something about coming from and going to a place were one doesn’t know.  We have put our complete trust in a complete stranger. I have always had a comfortable sense of direction but here you might as well put a blindfold on me, spin me how many times you wish and would just as well off if I had a map. Strange thoughts come at three in the morning. Tried to translate Hindi sign “Rob stupid passengers down this laneway”

I have always been a supporter of less government and less regulation. I think that if I were able to read the Department of Highways rules of the road I would approve. It appears that it’s not cluttered with silly laws like “Don’t pass on blind curves or before crest of hill. Or a complete waste of ink, “Don’t pass when oncoming traffic. All these inconveniences can be simply resoled by ample use of horn.

After much “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” we have arrived in Rishikish. Self pro-cliamed Yoga capital of the World. Have some rupees in my pocket. Going to buy me some “Karma” .