The Hills Are Alive

Needing a break from the humidity, pollution, crowds, crazy driving etc etc, I ran to the hills last weekend and spent 3 days in the shadow of the Himalayas. Arriving at a rather non-descript train station just north of central Delhi my two travel partners and I had time to mill about and check out the local nightlife, such that it was. By the time our train arrived the local vendors were closing up shop for the night. One Wallah stuffed half of his food display in the phone booth just in front of his store. Either this was the safest place for the goods, or someone planned to be on the phone for a very long time indeed.

To my surprise Indian trains are remarkably comfortable. I had a bed, rather than a seat, and all sheets, pillows and blankets are supplied. They're even cleaner and drier than the clothes I send out for laundry. Nodding off was not a problem and my comfortable air-conditioned train trundled me and my fellow traveling companions through the night to our terminus of Kathgodam, deep in the heart of Uttaranchal State.

Stepping off the train refreshed, we had to find a ride to Kasuani, a small place which features in the guide books, but not very prominently (maybe a page maximum) despite the fact it inspired Ghandi to translate the Bhagavad Gita and draws favourable comparisons to the Swiss Alps. I couldn't wait to get there. However, I would have to wait. The 2-hour estimated bus journey from the station to Kausani unfolded into a 4-hour taxi ride. Though long, the journey was breathtaking as we rose above the clouds into lush, green scenery, where multi-coloured, one-storey houses perched high on terraces cut into the hills. The sun was out, the birds were chirping and all was fine with the world. As I gulped down the steady flow of beautiful vistas presented before me, the memory of Delhi sank deep into my sinuses; its soot black image encaptured by a viscous ball of snot, ready to be blown out some time later that day.

After what seemed like an age, especially for Ferhina who was desperate to go to the loo for the last hour of the journey, we arrived at our hotel. It had a fantastic command of the hills and valleys between us and the Himalayas: various green tones sitting together and staring up at the blue sky above. The Himalayas were there, but obscured by the clouds - not that surprising as it is currently the Monsoon season. The air was cool and the scenery reminded me of the Highlands of Scotland. It was a welcome sight. Not typical of India at all, but three months of Delhi heat and dust can make you appreciate these things.

Hungry, we went to the hotel restaurant, which is the shack you will see in my photos once I upload them. Blessed with a disproportionately large appetite, I opted for the pancake with lemon which was very good indeed. You don't expect to get a good pancake in the middle of the Indian highlands, but if Delhi has taught me anything, India is a place where you shouldn't expect…anything…at any time. I think Bruce Lee best put it when he said, "Don't think, feel." As to the Heavenly Glory, that was more under Kausani's remit: you won't see Heavenly Glory in Delhi unless it's on the Chinese section of the menu.

Happy that we'd been blessed by such good weather we went for a wander around the town. As soon as we stepped out it started raining and pretty much continued for the next three days. Undeterred and thoroughly expecting this kind of weather, I zipped up my raincoat and put on my Gortex boots and joined the others. Within 10 minutes my feet were dry, but the rest of was soaked. What can I say: you get what you pay for in this world (Damn you Chorlton-Cut-Price Outdoor-Apparel Wallah and your 10 quid 'waterproof' jackets'!).

An hour later we realized that Kausani itself is a very small place, so we hired ourselves a driver and went on a whistlestop tour of the surrounding area: a tea factory where we could wander anywhere we liked (there's obviously little chance of industrial espionage); a 12th century temple; a photo opp. with some ladies working in a field who quite rightly asked why we were just 'wandering around'; and a glimpse of the Himalayas at last. Tired and wet, we headed back to the hotel for dinner and a debate. The first was welcome; the second irksome. I was ready for bed.

12 hours sleep later, I felt fantastic. It was still pouring it down outside, but I didn't care. I just wanted my pancake. Chocolate this time - a good mix of slow(ish) release carbs and fast-acting sugars. Jurassic Park!

Onwards and upwards, another guide drove us for a trek into the hills. I remember hearing the word 'waterfall' at one point, but I still wasn't exactly sure what we were walking towards. Striving through the Indian version of the Scottish Highlands, our driver and guide said very little, but led us through a route which involved crossing over this one stream about 5 times.I loved it all this trekking guff, but I was wearing the waterproof boots. I did warn the others to bring similar footwear, but my initial advice was dismissed as being overly-cautious. The Mark Corrigan within me smiled very smugly. You can disagree with me, but don't dismiss me:I may not be John 'Lofty' Wiseman (Ask Stu), but even my rudimentary grasp of logic dictates that Monsoon + Outdoors = Complete and Utter Soaking.

Braving leech-infested woodlands we finally reached our destination: a small temple nestled in a shallow cave by plunge pool of a waterfall. This was officially as far away from Delhi as I could possibly be. The temple was quite simple inside, as you can see from the photos, and we were greeted by two other Delhiites who'd come from our hotel. One offered me a sample of his pooja - a morsel of dried coconut and this sweet popcorn-like ball I've tried before.Tastes even better when it has been blessed by the Gods.

We made our way back along the same route, now experts at balancing on rocks and traversing rivers. As we approached the car, one little lad who obviously knew our driver asked me for 100 rupees. Not sure why. His bargaining position quickly crumbled to Rs 10.

Ah, kids….

Next stop was a 3-hour drive to Nainital (literally '9 lakes'), a popular ex-Victorian hill station situated on the shores of a mango-shaped lake. Unlike Kausani, the guide books love this place and devote pages to the town and surrounding scenery. Kausani had set my expectations to a high level, surely with all this praise Nainital couldn't disappoint?Surely it could. Our approach to the large, dark town which has built up around the lake foretold of an infrastructure that has developed to support the influx of tourists. Our taxi was flanked by crowds of people, shops had replaced trees and hotels could be seen 3-4 levels above the streets below. The peace was gone; the tranquility drowned out - there was even an arcade for God's sake! The only reason why this town had retained its popularity, to my mind at least, was it's proximity to Kathgodam train station, about 35 km away. But surely Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide would go that extra mile for something resembling off the beaten track? Nainital's track was anything but unbruised. If she were a person, Amnesty International would have a field day.

Well, what can you do. We were here, so best to make the most of it. First things first, find a hotel: shouldn't be too hard. And it wasn't. Booking into one is, however, if you don't have a passport with you, and I didn't. Kausani was cool about these things, but the police in Nainital were more of the Delhi mindset: if you're foreign, we want ID. If I'd have been more on the ball and fluffed my passport and visa numbers in the first place we tried, it would have saved us a couple of hours pounding the streets. Typical India though: reams of red tape if you want a mobile phone, join a gym or book into a hotel, but one small form and I can go to a doctors and get all the prescription drugs I want, and have myself a Feel Good Hit of the Summer. As the possibility of vagrancy drew ever closer, we devised a cunning plan: my travel comps (both of Indian descent) would book the room whilst I milled about outside. Once it was late, I'd sneak in. Brilliant! But totally unnecessary. We found a place to stay. Huzzarh!

I woke up the next day on improperly dried sheets. It was pouring it down outside and I spent the first half of the day watching satellite TV. I learnt two things:

1)Vancouver looks like the best city on the planet and I'm looking forward to visiting it in the snow.

2)I'm going to try and get work as a film extra on my travels. Maybe Jackie Chan needs a 'Distressed Tourist No.1' or 'Comical Waste Disposal Centre Guard No. 2'.

The morning's lolling was not simply a waste of time. We had a taxi booked to take us on a tour of the lakes around Nainital (presumably, the other 8) but we didn't start that until 2pm. Eventually boredom and hunger got the better of all of us so we headed out into the rain. And did it rain. The Chorlton Sports Jacket was soaked within 10 seconds. Despite my stoicism I caved in and bought the biggest umbrella I could find. That's 2.50 I'll never see again.

Unsurprisingly our taxi tour of the lakes around Nainital was as uninspiring as Nainital itself. One 'lake' was a swimming pool, the others bodies of water with no particular interest. The only thing I really enjoyed was the giant statue of the Monkey God Hanuman. I wonder if his story is related to the Chinese tale of Monkey? Both carry a club/staff.

Answers on a postcard…

By the time we got the evening train back to Delhi, I tried to see the positive in the past 24 hours. If I'd have had to leave Kausani and go straight for Delhi, you'd have to have dragged me back. Nainital was like the halfway house between the two places, although it shares more in common with Delhi: it's crowded, polluted and you feel like you have to watch your back slightly. Such thoughts carried me to sleep and eventually to Delhi.

We arrived back at Old Delhi Railway station at some uncivilized hour. It was overcrowded, plagued by dirty pools of rainwater and chaotic. Our Auto broke down about 500m down the road and Ferhina had to pay Rs 100 for a journey that should cost one-third of the amount.Delhi is a jealous and vengeful begum; she doesn't take kindly to a traveller's infidelity.


Tony has recently learnt that his landlord now views him as a figure of amusement - stumbling back home at 6am after a night on the tiles. For the record, I've only come back at 6am twice since I've been here; and I don't stumble, I swagger