A walk through time

Shimla is as if I am walking back through time. There is a 'Harry Potter' like feel to the soaring architectural structures, the grand very English style buildings echoing with voices of the past, from the glory years when the British Empire was ruled from here as all officialdom escaped the sweltering Indian heat for the cool mountain hill station.

Looking down on Shimla

The quaint Kalka to Shimla railway dates from 1903 and, like its counterpart in Ooty, the rolling stock and the stations are much used and little changed. The town itself is a curious mix of styles as it sprawls precariously along the ridge, seemingly on the verge of sliding down into the valley below. In the lower part, away from the salubrious higher class colonies up top, the housing clings dangerously onto the slopes, layer after layer added piecemeal with each 'ad hoc' addition crushing those below.

 Inevitably, given the geography, there are steps. Lots of steps. Hundreds of steps. Coffee at the 'Indian Coffee House’, the cooperative chain beloved by locals, tourists and me alike, means climbing hundreds of steps to find a seat on multi level tables perched teetering on the brink. Sipping coffee with my feet literally hanging out over the edge was, um, rather nervewracking.

Fortunately the weather has been great. A mist descended late today and the splendid rugged ranges which I l so love vanished in minutes. As it rained for weeks before I arrived these sunny days have been a truly lucky break. I've spent my days trekking in the warm spring sun,  walking miles today down through the glens carpeted with red rhododendrons to Summerhill, a former British 'village' where I was overtaken by the picturesque train . The station bears a striking resemblance to Horsted Keynes with thought provoking signs summing up the towns multi faith population.

The 'Toy Train' passing me at SummerHill

with some Nepalese students. Apparently the red rhododendron is their national flower 

Sounds good to me!. One of the signs at SummerHill station

Red blooms everywhere!

One revelation...my asthma, previously a problem at high altitudes, has been fine. Magic! I may make it to Nepal yet. The fresh pure air has revived my body, soul and mind after the endless smoke and smog, dust and dirt. There is poverty and filth here too but the wind carries the smell away in the far distance. There are still the homeless, the beggars, the destitute, scraping a living (I cannot imagine how they survive outside in the bitter winter nights), but my outlying village is a quiet oasis surrounded by the majestic mystical mountains

Town view - high rise up the slopes

Street life - yes that is a barrel of water he is carrying

looking up the crowded alleys

Highest bazaar against an old British tower

Tomorrow I leave for Delhi to shop till I drop before homeward bound. Amritsar and Shmila have been amazing. The complex politics dominating India seem not to have yet touched these gentle places. Their beauty is unspoiled by the nasty turn in Indian current affairs. The Modi Government is dividing families and friends with its defiant pro Hindu stance, turning the clock back on the historical tolerant co-existence of religions here. But in this house in high in the sky life carries on as always.  Muslim and Hindu happily bed down side by side, Sikh and Christians in the village wave and smile, the Buddhist monks from the monastery bestow their blessings.  Long may this untroubled peace continue.

Traffic Warden

I can see you

Selfie with the town behind me