The Pink City, The Sisters Blob & Other Stories

Readers of this blog from the beginning will remember (or may not, it's been thousands of words and you are to be commended), that I was initially enticed by the naan wallah in Saratoga to board the Palace on Wheels (POW). So here we are. Each car has 4 staterooms, as Max mentioned. I meet the guys from 2 of the other staterooms on the station platform B4 we leave. They're having a cigar. One is John Kennedy, the recently retired CEO of Johnson Controls, the other, his buddy Bill Cannon, a corporate lawyer, both from Milwaukee. Both are great guys and will show their common concern for their fellow travelers later in the trip in dramatic form (this is called a teaser, to encourage continued viewership of this channel).

In the bar car, we sit beside Ian from Glasgow. I mention my mother's town of Airdrie and he knows it well. He reminds me of several Scots I know, white-haired and full of life, always joking. We move on to the Maharani Dining Car (the other is the [wait for it] Maharajah Dining Car) and are seated next to an elderly (more elderly than us, anyway) (I'm really enjoying the parentheses thing 2nite) couple. They live in California, but he was brought up in Greenwich NY, a town Max taught in for 2 years. The coincidences will continue throughout the trip, as I discover 2 more Tuckers ON OUR BUS the next day.

It's Thursday, the 8th of February and that means it's Jaipur Day, the Pink City. During the night, we have traveled into the Thar Desert, where we'll be spending the next 6 days exploring Rajasthan, one of the most interesting and colourful areas of India. This was the region once ruled by the Rajput Princes, who built breathtaking forts and palaces.

Today we will see one of each. The Hawa Mahal, or Palace of Winds (see photo) is a magnificent structure that is a tiered 5 story edifice of balconies and perforated stone screens, but only about 10 feet deep and with walls only 8" thick. It was built to allow the harem ladies, in purdah, to observe the goings-on in the street below without themselves being seen.

Personalities begin to emerge from the people on our bus. The Blob Sisters are two females who are gravity-rich entities encased in clothing by Omar the Tent Maker and topped with baseball caps. During the trip they will refuse to climb any stairs taller than Mickey Rooney, and will constantly request climate changes in the bus that are contrary to those desired by everyone else. To their credit, they will work hard to maintain the image of the Ugly American, a heritage we are all proud of. We also have Dr. No, an elderly psychiatrist who is constantly negative and verbally abuses his psychiatrist wife at length during the trip. They both need counseling.

At the Amber Fort, the Blob Sisters actually throw themselves onto the back of an unfortunate elephant for the ride up to the Fort. Dr.No is right behind us, muttering about how he wishes he were back in Texas. We all silently concur.

The elephant ride is a hoot, and the view of the fort and the environs is spectacular during the 20 minute ride. The stone work in the various courtyards astounds us, but we'll be seeing much more of this in the next few days. The fort is interesting, and although some people who have taken this trip are bored with the many forts and castles they are taken to, in retrospect each was unique and beautiful in its own style and history.

We're taken to a fabric emporium, but Max is 'way ahead of this game, and we spend our time on the street while the others shop. We see a school out for recess, the kids in their uniforms, a pig rooting for garbage scraps just out side the school door. A few feet away is a lean-to of sorts, some tarpaulin stretched over a fence and a couple of poles, with a family living inside.

Later that evening, we have dinner with Neil and Sareena, a gorgeous young couple from Manhattan who work for Goldman Sachs. Sareena was brought up in Paris and gets us up to speed on the upcoming French elections. She says the woman candidate is a whack job.

One of the criticisms I came across in my research into the POW, was that for $750/day/couple, it was expensive. If you wanted to see Rajasthan, they said, rent a car and driver for $12/day and stay in expensive hotels and eat in expensive restaurants and save money. Except, you have to assume you will find a reliable driver and guide with a reliable car who will reliably take you where you want to go, not where they want to take you. You have to assume you won't mind the hours of driving through the desert on questionable roads, meaning you will take several more days of unholy discomfort to cover the same route we did. You have to assume you won't be cheated in many ways, as you work to arrange your schedule, your entry fees to the various sites, your lodging and meals - everything will be a gamble. India is not an easy gig.

But tomorrow, we'll be within rocket-launched-grenade distance from Pakistan. In Jaisalmer, the Golden City. Stay tuned for the Great Camel Adventure.

The Palace on Wheels

We awake at the Claridges. This is not the Imperial (we are so spoiled) or the Oberoi Cecil (I am missing True Love already). This is an excellent hotel with a face lift that means to dazzle you with electronic upgrades. The room card must fit into a special slot or none of the lights or air will work. There is a special console next to the bed that controls everything in the room, including the ability to open and close the drapes as well as dim the lights. Houston, we have a problem. There are so many buttons and so many options that it takes us SEVERAL minutes to learn how to manage the few functions we require. We repack everything again so that we will only be bringing one large suitcase to Rajasthan. The sweaters and heavy shirts will stay here until we return at the end of the week.

It appears to be a sunny-smoggy day in Delhi and we have to go in search of a liquor store. We came prepared from Hawaii, but our stock is gone. The price of a mixed drink in any hotel in India is astronomical. We've read that it is super out-of-sight on the luxury train we'll be boarding later today. We will learn later that this was, indeed, a wise move.

We were picked up at the hotel by our driver at 4:30 and are waiting just inside the station until he can get us our "official" boarding pass. A few yards away, seated on a platform, are three men playing a rousing welcome tune that must have been the fanfare used to greet the maharajahs when they entered town. Drums, cymbals, a sitar and a whiny pipe. Beautiful Indian women in saris are placing marigold necklaces around the necks of the guests.

When our ceremonial "tickets" arrive, we venture out onto the platform. The female guests receive a traditional scarf and the male guests are fitted with a turban. Tucker tells them that they will probably not have one to fit his head. In a vain attempt to prove him wrong, the gentleman settles for handing it to Tucker to carry. This pomp and circumstance will be repeated at every city we visit. It seemed a bit tiresome to us after awhile, but each city seemed to be very proud to show off for the rich visitors and we did our part to look appreciative. Anyone in India that found out we were taking the Palace on Wheels was in awe. They consider (or imagine) that this is the most luxurious thing a person could do in their country.

Each of the cars on the train called the Palace on Wheels is given the name of a city in Rajasthan. Ours is Jaipur. We are greeted by our "khidmatgar", Umesh. Umesh is supposed to embody the manservant that would be appointed to make a guest of the court most comfortable. In fact, Umesh was always in complete control of his ducklings. He was soft spoken, kind, handsome and extremely good at his job. We followed along and were happy to do what we were told was "best". Umesh showed us to our cabin, explained about the locking cabinet, told us about how to "turn on" the heater for hot water 10 minutes before requiring it, suggested the proper way to use the shower due to the limits of water, lent me a hair dryer that would work on the train and demonstrated the function of the five buttons on the wall that would work lights or summon help. Two minutes later, Ram arrived with hot steamy towels to refresh ourselves and a full bucket of ice. Ram is Umesh's assistant. In fact, it became clear as the week progressed that Umesh needed an assistant because he was second in charge of the arrangements for the entire train.

Our train car has four cabins. We are joined by two couples from Milwaukee and a Canadian couple with two small children (2 and 4). Umesh calls a meeting in our small lounge and all things become clear. There are about 100 guests aboard the train. Each evening we will be given a seating time for dinner, each morning we will be awakened to have breakfast in this small lounge and we will be given safe bottled water & umbrellas before getting on the bus. We will always be assigned to the BLUE bus. Our seating time for dinner this evening is 7:00. Tomorrow it will be 8:30. Tucker and I look at each other and know that it is definitely time to break out the Scotch! We were prepared for the fact that this was going to be the "tour" part of our adventure, but this was feeling like Girl Scout camp. Neither one of us is very good with tour groups, but this is the only way to see all of Rajasthan in a week. Travel at night and leave the driving to them.

The bar and the dining cars were over-the-top opulent in the style of the old kingdoms. The menu included some Continental and some Indian dishes. Food was served by white gloved, uniformed wait staff . They visited each table with a tray of one of the menu items. You could take or refuse anything offered. We found the food to be good, but not the outstanding quality of cuisine we were accustomed to at the fine hotels. Eating will be a challenge only because both of us are still recovering from jet lag. An 8:30 dinner will still translate as 2:30 AM, body time. Curried breakfast, basically.

Tucker and I "do the dance" in our wee cabin as we try to undress, brush teeth and pour a "closer" with only two feet separating our beds. We turn out the lights, open the curtains and enjoy India T.V. as the train rumbles through the countryside. We can peek into homes lit by electricity or fire light. Workers traveling home late at night stare back at us when we pass through a station. This is luxurious. And sleeping on the train is delicious.

The Toy Train

Back at the Cecil Oberoi, we go down to the lounge for Kingfisher beers and spicy peanuts, while we update our journals and purge our cameras of the less spectacular shots of the day. After daily purging, we have a total of 324 pix for the first 17 days of the trip, virtually the half way point. We opt for room service, something we will live to regret, though the food was wonderful. We are in bed at 7:30 after walking several miles of up and down streets.

When we check out, we notice we have been charged for the room service. Because we ordered it at 5:30, we were outside the regular serving times for both lunch and dinner, both of which were included in our package. So we paid for three meals and got one meal. Very Indian. They don't like messing up the established commitment with the introduction of a little logic and reason. It's an oxymoronic twist to the service we've been raving about.

We are picked up one hour before the Toy Train is scheduled to depart, and take the 2 minute ride to the station, down very vertical, winding streets. Thank god we made it on time. We're on car C1 and the coolies (it's OK to call them coolies in India) get us on board. We're the first ones on, but the car quickly fills up. The seats are not generous (it's the Toy Train, afterall) and with the thought that the 5 hour trip might be a tad uncomfortable, Max suggests we buy 2 more seats, just so we can spread out and enjoy. The fee for the first class 5 hour trip is a whopping $4.75, so we figure we can afford the luxury.

I seek out the Ticket Inspector, who inspects my ticket and informs me that I must go up (everything's up or down in Simla) to the ticket counter and buy 2 "general tickets" to Kalka, then bring them down to him and he'll upgrade them to first class. I trudge up and back with the new tickets and present them to the Ticket Inspector, who is lodged in a tiny, windowless room, dark except for the fire on the dirt floor and empty except for him and his two cronies who are busy spitting in the vicinity of a brass receptacle. When they realize I don't have two more passengers, I only want more space, they engage in a spirited debate and then tell me to move to C3 and take seats 1-2-3-4 or 2-3-4-5 if I preferred. We move into C3. We're the only ones on the car for almost the entire trip.

Which is a good thing, if you have to use the bathroom, because the toilet is a hole in the floor with two footpads to ensure uniform positioning (see photo, above).

The ride itself is like being on a roller coaster while on drugs that reduce everything to super slo-mo. We're going 20 miles an hour through the most dramatic scenery you could imagine, with drop-offs two feet from the tracks that are easily one thousand feet deep. We pass through 103 tunnels, some only a few yards long. At times, we see two or three track switchbacks below us as we descend the 8,000 feet to Kalka. The 5 hours pass quickly.

We're on board the Kalka-Delhi train at 4:30 for the 4 hour trip. We notice the Millers from the train ride down from Simla (they were in the crowded car), discover they're from Brisbane and have a lovely chat, actually.

The ride itself was boring. For the price of $12, however, we get a 4 hour train ride, including lunch, a hot dinner and two snacks. People are talking on their cells, listening to their I-pods, etc., completely different from Simla. The guy across from me is reading a Sidney Sheldon novel, about 800 pages long. He opens it up and starts reading chapter 3, turning the page about every 10 seconds. Within the hour, he's at chapter 32, near the end of the book. Then he flips here and there, then back to chapter 22 for a minute, then all over the place. Max thinks he's using the book to learn English. I think he's a freakin' nutcase.

Finally, we're back to Delhi.Our driver and guide help us to the van through a rain, very rare at this time of year, and the parking lot is chaos, even at 9 PM. One woman slaps the hood of a taxi about to run over her and screams "Are you crazy?" Cars manouvre within inches of each other to exit the parking lot.

Seeing Delhi at night is pretty exciting. Around the train station are dozens of restaurants, eager to feed the travelers not sated with the 2 meals and 2 snacks in 4 hours of train travel. They are all called "hotels" but are completely open to the street and only have a couple of rooms on the 2nd floor. Lots of light, sound and smells. Very alive.

The bags we left at The Imperial have been transferred to The Claridges, but the check-in is interminable. We have some other issues getting all our luggage to our room and the whole impression is "It's not The Imperial". The room is small, but trying hard to be technically wonderful with a bedside console for opening the drapes, etc. The next morning the disappointment continues, with no room at the breakfast table, then a request that we share a table, then our request that we move to a real table from the booth we were seated in (the booth table was neck high). But a great breakfast, once we were seated, and of course the concierge was fawning all over us for the inconvenience we had suffered (though we hadn't complained) and told us the b'fast was on the house. We didn't have the nerve to tell him we had already paid for it.

Out on the street, we're headed on foot for the ever-elusive Khan Market. It seems that everyone in Delhi is trying to steer us away from this market, telling us we don't want to go there, for a variety of reasons. On our walk we are engaged in conversation by a man named Sharma, who walks with us and tells us the Khan market isn't open until 11 AM, and directs us to another market, where Max buys some fabulous (absolutely) paper for her collages. We walk back through Lodi Gardens and change for the afternoon trip to the Palace On Wheels (POW). We have a wonderful lunch at the hotel and retire to the lawn where we update our journals and watch Delhi pass by from a tented table. There is a security guard with a mirror on a pole, meant to search under incoming cars for bombs, etc. He merrily waves every vehicle through, never using his security device.

This reminds us of the "security" we experienced while boarding the train to Chandigarh a few days earlier at Delhi Train Station. There was a wooden "metal detector" looking thing with no lights or indeed any evidence of any metal part or electrical hook-up, that some of us walked through, while others walked around it. Next to it were 4 "security guards" seated at a table, in military uniforms, watching us all pass by.

We check out and take a taxi to the forbidden Khan Market, which turns out to be quite wonderful in its ordinariness. It's where real Indian middle class people shop and we vow to return after we get back from the POW. The taxi drivers in Delhi cover the meter with a washcloth. I ask ours to remove it, but it's back on by the time we get back from shopping and drive back to the hotel. I ask about the fare. 100 rupees. I ask him to remove the wash cloth. 53 rupees. I laugh and give him 100 rupees (about $2). Time for the POW.

Shangrila

There appeared a British woman at breakfast the last two days who has been studying us intently. She has a terrible cold and is alone. We "bump" into her as we begin our Mall Walk. It is a discover-the-wonders-of-Simla-on-your-own-day. She is the first wonder.

Her name is Winona and she is from Aberdeen, Scotland. We immediately chatter about the commonality of her heritage and all of Tucker's family. I remember my favorite castle, Dunnatar Castle, not far from Aberdeen. We stroll along together for a bit. She is a music teacher and is en route to Tibet to teach there for 2 and 1/2 years. It seems exotic to her and she feels she is ready to "give back" to the poor what she has enjoyed all of her life. She has done this in other places as well. A real travel soul. Her journey today is to WALK UP to Jakhu Temple by way of the footpaths used by the locals. Tucker and I look at each other because we are simutaneously remembering the ride yesterday. A very vertical climb. And she is sniffling and stuffed-up. At 7000 ft. above sea level. We said, "Good luck!" and watched her begin the trek. We never found out if she made the temple.

Please refer to the photos above to glean more detail for yourself. Simla is a marvel. It is safe, friendly, cleaner than most of India, located in a spot of breathtaking views and bustling with local activity. Scandal Point boasts a statue of Indira Ghandi as well as Mahatma Ghandi. But the sight of the snowcapped Himalayas behind them is the thing worthy of a standing ovation (and I believe I clapped my hands together in delight...you can't help it...you are feeling the wonder of childlike discovery again). There were all kinds of people milling about or sitting on benches talking. Just talking and enjoying the sun. Young, old, oldest, Sikh, Hindi, workers, school children, women shopping with strollers, young men sporting jeans and cell phones and needing to show them off, and the quiet local "taxis." You see these human taxis carrying everything in and out of the shopping area because no other traffic is allowed. Any other traffic couldn't negotiate the vertical climbs up narrow stairways. We saw a man carrying a refrigerator on his back with the help of a leather strap wrapped about his forehead.

I stop in a shop on the very top of the Mall ridge and buy a silk scarf for my friend Marcia and inquire about where I could get a salwar kameez made up for me. Within a half hour the fabric and style were selected, measurements made and the garment was delivered to me by 9:30 that evening. Now that's what I'M talkin' about!

We take our time walking the Mall and end up at the Clarke Hotel. This is the hotel where Tucker stayed 20 years ago when he made his first trip up to Simla. We go in and ask if we can have some tea and reminisce. The hotel clerk was dressed in a white pajama-like uniform which had a green cumberbund and the most fantastic cloth turban with a pleated fan arrangement. And he did better than tea. We got a tour of the room that Tucker had lived in for almost a week. The hotel was old and a bit seedy now. He said that it had been sold and was due for renovations. I hope so because the view from that room was a look right down the mall.

We descend sloping ramps and stairways in order to get to the market. Locals laugh to themselves when I swoon after looking over the edge of a landing. Sanjeev said that he did not know of one incidence of acrophobia among the locals born here. Good thing.

The market was the most colorful and alive place I have been to in a very long time. We were the only foreign faces that we could see. The shopkeepers were happy to see us and wanted pictures taken. We did not feel at all threatened in any physical way and yet we were squeezing and oozing along the narrow alleyways entwined with the masses, much like a crowd going through the turnstiles at Fenway Park. Except that every square yard offered a small treasure to look at or feel. And you had to keep moving or dodge into a "shop". The shops are no more that a concrete "garage" filled with carefully displayed wares. The displays themselves were eye candy. Vegetables, fruits, cloth, yarn, bottled this, pickled that, men sewing, men butchering, men fixing appliances, men deep frying delicious smelling food. It is the County Fair of Everyday Life. It is the Treadmill of Disney Fantasyworld. It is fabulous. ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS.

On the way back to the hotel after a day of sensory gluttony, we stopped at a coffee shop (we were so surprised to find a true coffee house in Simla) to rest our weary legs. Walking back up from the lower streets is a task. And then there was one of those weird moments when you believe that you have been beamed onto Zorlon via Starship Enterprise. Watching saris pass by at a sidewalk table next to a restaurant that claimed to serve Mexican food... waiter delivers a cafe' mocha.... Fernando, by the group Abba, is playing in the background....monkeys hopping across the tops of park benches.....strange languages spoken all about you but noone talking to you.....

Loved this day. We have to leave tomorrow and I'm not "done" with Simla yet. Too much to relish and not enough time or energy today. Good night, Gracie.

Golf and the Super Bowl, at 9,000 feet.

In the news today, it's reported that a documentary film about a civil protest of some sort had been approved by the government for public viewing, but the Indian Mob had let it be known that any theatre showing the film would regret it, so it was not being shown. Also, there had been 4 killed in a Delhi traffic accident, and it was feared that this year was going to surpass last year's count of 2,000 traffic deaths. In Delhi alone. Vehicles in Simla have no rear view mirrors because of the Horn Factor (driving by ear) and the fact that the narrow streets and roads guaranteed they would sooner or later be sheared from the vehicle by passing traffic.

Max left us hanging out in the Himalayas, having our box lunch on a deck overlooking the spectacular range and valleys. We're seated at red plastic tables at the Indian/Chinese Restaurant and Dining Hall. Next, it's off to the golf course, about 500 yards away, right next to the billboard warning us not to feed the numerous monkeys we see leaping about.

Naldehra Golf Course was established in 1905 (or 19-zero-5, as Sanjeev more correctly put it), by Lord Curzon, no doubt missing The Country Club back in Jolly Olde and looking for a few extra yards on his drives at the 9,000 foot high site. After paying a 15 cent entry fee, we climbed the 30 degree 300 yard slope to the Pro Shop and gazed out on a wasteland of a course with 2 cement pond water hazards surrounded by fences on the opening hole. We could have played the 9 holes twice for $6, but opted for the souvenir instead. When we finally located the Pro and asked to buy something, he grudgingly took us into a large walk-in closet called the locker room and told us he had a shirt and a hat. We bought his entire stock (a shirt and a hat), paid our $13 and headed back to our hotel, which we could see 'way the hell over on the other side of the valley, but which was actually a one hour car ride away.

Back in the room, we hear a loud beeping noise and Max goes out to see what's going on. The hotel is 5 stories, with all rooms looking down into the Lounge/Atrium (see picture). She sees a hotel employee a couple of stories down and signs a question to him about the noise. He gives her a reassuring sign back that it's nothing to worry about. By the time she gets back in the room, the telephone is ringing and the employee is explaining it's only a test of the fire alarm. Service like we've never seen in North America.

We head down to The Lounge (see picture) for a Kingfisher beer and nibbles while we work on our journals and purge our cameras of the less spectacular pix of the day.

Dinner was astounding and I won't bore you with the details, but if I were a potato, and was promised to be made into what we had that night I would dig myself up and volunteer my tuberous entity for the cause.

Monday, February 5, 2007

It wouldn't be an early Monday morning in February without a Super Bowl Party, so we turn on the TV at 6:30 AM in time to see The Artist Formerly Known As Prince singing Purple Rain dressed in purple, bathed in purple light, in the rain at the half time show, live at the Super Bowl. We get in the Super Bowl Party mood by pouring ourselves a bracing Nescafe' instant coffee and wait for the sun to come up over the mountains as we watch the game.

After an Indian b'fast of spicy pancakes and mint honey yoghurt, we ask where the billiard room is, and are instantly given a guided tour of the entire hotel, including play rooms, gym and heated indoor pool, each with its own attendant.

Our plan today is to walk the entire length of The Mall, visit the hotel I stayed in in '86 and then head into the Lower Market. It's another crisp, warm Himalayan day in the lower 60's and we're ready for a guideless day of exploring Simla.

Just as a side note, if anyone wants to see any of the pictures on these blogs in a larger format, just click on them twice. To return to the blog, use the back arrow. I just discovered this myself, and have decided to try posting more pix in a smaller format as a result.

Monkey See. Monkey Do.

It's the fourth of February and the sun is shining in the mountains and the temperature is almost at 60 degrees by 10 am. We have been picked up by the driver and guide at our hotel and are heading up to Jakhu Hill Temple on the pinnacle of the mountain. We were advised to have the hotel pack us a lunch, since we will be gone the entire day. Our "lunch" is presented in two white boxes tied with a pink bow. The boxes are a foot square and 6 inches deep! We will not be able to finish all of this and indeed end up sharing our fare with the driver and Sanjeev.

Jakhu Hill Temple is devoted to Hanuman, the monkey god. Our young waiters, Truth and Love, advise us at breakfast that, indeed, the temple grounds are swarming with monkeys. They caution me to take off my eyeglasses because the monkeys love them and will steal them off of my head. They also caution us not to carry any food out where it can be seen. I was a bit puzzled because we were finishing a rather hefty plate of fresh fruit and I couldn't imagine being hungry again in another hour. But all would become clear very soon.

I thought that the "drive" up to Simla yesterday was tough. Today is the trial by fire. Because there is no traffic allowed on the Mall, the driver must double-back and take single lane ( and I use the term "lane" very loosely) alleyways around the city proper. These are the only access to some residences and they dip and twist around buildings at unreasonable angles of descent. Jakhu Temple is at the other end of town and up another couple hundred feet or more. There are seven or eight acute switchbacks which require the driver to execute a three point turn on a life threatening precipice. A small error puts the wheels over the edge and it's sayonara to the home crowd. The vehicle for today is a standard shift. You get the picture.

Surviving the road, we arrive at a beautiful gate to the temple grounds. We are greeted by several monkeys who scamper on ahead of us and leap from railing to step to tree. We are not approached by them and I can't help but be fascinated by the little ones riding atop the adults. They are just cute as hell and much more athletic than us (the two geezers that are looking at several hundred feet of an uphill climb in an environment that is already 8,000 ft. above sea level). Wasn't bad, taken slowly, and the mountain air was delicious. We arrive at a view that is a show stopper.

The Himalayas spread out around us in all directions. Perched atop this peak is a multi-colored-spandangled-Hansel-and-Gretel-treat that is the temple to Hanuman. We climb a few more steps, take off our shoes and enter gingerly. In the center of the room is a platform with a "fireplace" type structure niched into the wall at its other end. In the center of the platform sits the holy man in black trousers and a tattered vest. Around him and the small fire burning, are all types of trinkets and pottery and symbolic items that are a mystery to us. He has in front of him a bowl with corn and grain of some sort. Sanjeev kneels and speaks to the man in Hindi and then gives him a money offering for the temple. In return, he is given a handful of the food mixture as a type of blessing. Aha! The monkeys obviously know that this is what has been going on for centuries in this little establishment and will be waiting for him when we exit the building. Sanjeev then gives a tour about the room and explains the story of Hanuman as depicted in the wall murals. As we are leaving, a toddler with his grandfather enters the room and the young child becomes totally mesmerized by our foreign look and talk. Grandpa encourages the child to offer me a hand to touch. But I am touched by the kindness, trust and generosity.

There are two other smaller temple buildings to investigate and we also stop to watch the monkey antics. A very peaceful place. I hated to leave so soon, especially since the only way back down off the mountain was the horror show of clutch and brake.

Off to Kufri animal sanctuary. As we travel up another mountain, the scenery takes on a whole new flavor. More and more often we are seeing the roadway give way to people on horseback rather than behind a wheel. Soon there are large stands of horses by the wayside, saddled and ready to go but without a rider. Now, I have been quiet and endured terror for the sake of beauty and adventure and everyone's sanity. I have also been inside of a large, heavy metal container that has some protective quality to it. Lurching down the sides of steep mountain grades on horseback is real fodder (pardon me for that) for nightmares. I mention to Tucker.....softly, mind you...that I'm not so sure about ......

Sanjeev turns in his seat and says, "I figured that I wouldn't even ask you about the pony ride. But would you like to see the zoo?" What a wonderful man. We pass on the zoo and opt for tea on the terrace at the Wildflower Hotel. The Wildflower is as beautiful as the Oberoi Cecil. It is located at the end of a long passageway straight up to the top of another mountain crest. I do feel like a monkey hopping from one vantage point to the other today. We are treated graciously and like royalty. Monkey Gods from the States are given Tea and Biscuits. So sane. Such a gorgeous view. Such a beautiful day.

The Mall Rats Find True Love

Just to backpedal slightly, I need to mention how Max added significantly to the local color on the way to Simla, turning shades of green and purple as the driver played Himalayan Chicken and the guide pointed out a gondola stretched high above a large valley. Apparently a few years ago, the gondola had some problems and the passengers had to be rescued by helicopter. Except for the acrophobic gentleman who couldn't stand the fear and just jumped. "He did the right thing, " says Max. The guides kept encouraging us to stop and take a picture of the vistas but when we finally concur, we realize they both just needed to run behind a tree and take a leak.

We finally arrive in Simla (4 hours, 80 miles). Our hotel is at the western end of the main drag, called The Mall. Simla (pronounced "Shimla" and also sometimes spelled that way) became the summer capital of the British government in India in 1864, as the Brits needed to escape the heat and humidity of Delhi and Calcutta. It's the capital of Himachal Pradesh, literally "Snow Province", but we have unusually clear and sunny weather in the low 60's.

Our hotel, the Oberoi Cecil is, as my father would say, a lodge that "had a chance and took it". It belongs in the Himalayas, but is elegant. We're seated in the lounge while Sanjeev checks us in and we're given hot towels to refresh, then escorted to our room by a lovely young assistant manager. The room is smaller than The Imperial, but just as nice, with a view of both The Mall and the Himalayas.

After decompressing with a scotch, we head off to become Mall rats. The walk into town along The Mall is fascinating. It's Saturday evening and everyone is out. There's lots of laughter, no traffic (it's banned on The Mall), great people watching, no beggars - a very laid-back un-Delhi kind of atmosphere. As it becomes dark, the lights come on, the crowds get louder, it's almost a party atmosphere as we drink in the aromas of roadside food vendors cooking in huge wok-like receptacles for the Saturday night crowd. There are monkeys everywhere, scampering down the steep alleys leading to the lower streets, carrying babies on their backs. It's one of those Magic Travel Moments.

Back at the Cecil, we have dinner in an almost deserted restaurant. The chicken caesar salad is made with a delicious spicy chicken. When we order drinks, we are given the choice of regular or large. We've seen the paltry splashes of scotch considered "regular", so we order "large". Apparently, this means they increase the serving size to 1 1/2 oz. instead of 1 oz. For about $11 each. Our beds have been readied, curtains closed, fruit delivered and we're definitely ready for bed. What a day.

Sunday: In today's news, 20 labourers were crushed to death in Mumbai when a wall they were working on collapsed. Once again, tragedy only deserved a page 20, two-inch column story. This incident doesn't surprise us. We've seen India's construction methods. To build a second concrete story, they prop up 4x8 sheets of plywood with tree branches and then pour the cement on top. Their scaffolding is made on the spot by lashing bamboo stalks together.

The best part of the Sunday paper was the Matrimonials section. These are pages of ads placed not for companionship, but for marriage. They are organized in sections. If you are searching for some one in your caste, you have your ad in the "caste" section. Same for religion, locality and language. Some of the ads mention that they've been married before, but it was only a "Visa Marriage". This doesn't mean the wedding was paid for by credit card, but rather refers to a marriage that allowed them to get an American visa, or green card. The ads use the words "girl" and "boy", because there are so many marriages that are still arranged at a very early age. The guys invariably ask for a "very beautiful girl", although many of their ads are placed by the family, the boy being too young.

B'fast is served by two young handsome lads (see photo above), who tell us their names mean "Truth" and "Love" and then stand side by side, point to each other and chime "true love!" The food is delicious and includes waffles served with hot ghee, syrup, Australian bacon, sweet lime juice and small slices of apple in a devonshire cream and jam.

It's time to collect our box lunches and hit the road with Sanjeev.