Thursday 8th November
I didn't do a great deal in Delhi, just got my bearings and acclimatised as much as I could. I hope to come back in a few weeks on my way down south and see the sights with a bit more knowledge of the place. I booked a train ticket to Chandigarh, a city about 260kms north of Delhi, where I was hoping to get a ticket for the India-Pakistan one-day international cricket match that I had been excited about ever since learning about it a few months ago. It is one of the great rivalries in sport, an opportunity that doesn't come along very often.
So, you can imagine my disappointment when I found out from my neighbour on the train that the match was in progress as we spoke! I had got the dates wrong despite being sure that I had noted them down correctly. First the scam after arriving in Delhi, now this....talk about dumb and dumber!
I tried to be philosophical about it (I have realised that you become very philosophical when you travel). Well, it might have been a disappointment, and I did feel embarrassed, but plans are going to go out the window on this trip, so you just have to get on with it. While some things may go wrong, hopefully there will be times when something pleasantly surprising turns up out of the blue. Shit happens but so does cool stuff. As long as the shit doesn't become too heavy then I'll be happy.
My new friend on the train was a computer analyst called Amit. He was on his way home for a two week holiday and had a busy week ahead of him: he had lined up five dates on five consecutive nights in the hope of finding himself a wife. Good luck to him, it's different way to do things, but each to their own. After arriving in Chandigarh we wished each other luck and I headed to the train station as I revised my plans, deciding to make a move north ahead of schedule given that Chandigarh was busy because of the cricket and there was nothing worth seeing there anyway.
I got a bus to a town called Shimla, a hill station north of Chandigarh, in the foothills of the Himalayas. The bus was due to take about 3 hours, quicker but less scenic than the 'toy train' that takes passengers up the hillside from the small town of Kolka (for those of you who have watched the Michael Palin Himalayas series, it's featured in the first episode.) I wanted to make some progress now that the opportunity presented itself, plus I would have had to hang about until morning to get the train. The bus it was.
The bus was a real arse-rattler. The seats were padded but after an hour my backside was numb. Matters were made worse by the fact that my rucksack was too big to fit into the overhead racks and the bus was packed, so I had to squeeze the bag between my legs to make room on the seat beside me. My groin ached.
After 3 hours or so, it didn't seem like Shimla was much closer. We stopped a few times for food and toilet breaks, then we were told to get off the bus as it had broken down, and on to another one waiting for us. There were already people on this bus, so the passengers on our packed bus piled on. I had to stand as there was no other option.
The driver seemed to be a 'bit of a character' (as they might say in Fermanagh), throwing the bus around the twisting corners of the hillside road. He turned up the music and the bhangra hits were blaring out as we weaved our way up the hill. It was pretty cool, with the blue lights of the towns that speckle the hillside forming the backdrop as we drove through the night. 'On tour with the lads, can't beat it', I thought. This was what it was all about....
Two hours later and my good humour had been well and truly shattered. A three hour bus journey was turning into a nightmare, a situation not known since my university days of travelling on the Dublin to Derry bus, sitting beside fat people who smelled of turnip. I couldn't understand why we were making so little progress, the driver was pulling out all the stops: over-taking on blind bends, driving on the other side of the road. He was an angry man on a mission to get us to Shimla, so fair play to him.
Shimla station is a proper shit-hole and, arriving there at 2.30 am, tired from a long day of travelling - and without a place to stay - I was slightly unsure of myself. I made my way into town, but couldn't find any of the hotels in the guide book map. The place was totally shutdown for the night.
I finally made contact with one of the hotels who said they had a room for the night. A short taxi ride brought me to the hotel, the first impression of which reminded me of the hotel in the movie The Shining. So, not the best thought to have in my tired state. After negotiating my booking with a complete moron of a night receptionist - really, an absolute imbecile - I retired to my room. I had some strange dreams that night (albeit starring the ever-familiar talking dog - where does that come from?), but thankfully without the rivers of blood gushing through the hotel corridors and the head through the door that were so memorable from The Shining itself.
