Sunday 1st March - Wet and Wild

When we wake up the weather is cool and overcast. At breakfast we have Tibetan bread for the first time. It's not at all bad, quite dense and chewy. We drop off our laundry and then head along the street to explore. The town is very touristy but not quite firing on all cylinders, a bit like Aviemore out of season. The prices seem reasonable for a tourist resort and we get a couple of things to take home. The cold weather is having an effect on our appetites and we stop off for tea and cake as we make our way back up the hill. People still want to take our photographs which seems bizarre in a town with quite a lot of westerners around.

It starts to rain a little so we head back to the hotel to drop off the loot and take lunch. There isn't a free table so we share with two young English women who are four days into a two month India trip. D bores them silly with advice on trains and sim cards. Special spring rolls are ordered by D and when it comes the portion is enormous. By now the rain is teaming down so we retire to our room to read and snooze. As the afternoon progresses a strong wind gets up and we hear sheets of corrugated iron crashing around somewhere below our hotel.

We decide to try the nearest bar, just along the street. Bad idea. It is not clean and is freezing cold. One quick beer is consumed and we leave, picking up a couple of bottles and some nibbles at the wine shop on the way back for an at home cocktail hour. As we we are living it up the power fails. The idea of eating out is kicked in to touch and we go back to the hotel's cafe where there is generator power. We order two different types of Tibetan noodle soup. D has thenthuk, mixed vegetables with flat noodles while R has gyathuk, mixed vegetables with thin noodles and a totally different taste. There is a long wait as the kitchen is busy, but it is worth it. 

Back upstsirs the power is back on and we put the fire on full blast for a few minutes and get the spare blankets out of the wardrobe. No clubbing tonight as there is an early start tomorrow. 

Saturday 28th - Plan B

We both wake at around 4.30 with the train at a standstill.  D goes to investigate and is told that we are just outside Old Delhi station. We get our bags and move three coaches down the train to coach HA1 where coupe C is ready for us. By the time we are sorted out the TTE has checked us off and the train is underway. In no time we are asleep.

When we wake up again the train is still reported as over seven hours behind time. D calls the agent who has organised our car pick up in Shimla. Can we be picked up in Kalka and driven direct to Mcleodganj? He will see what can be done. A few minutes later he calls back to tell us that a taxi will meet us at Kalka. It will cost a bit more but is not too outrageous. Shame about missing the trip on the narrow gauge railcar but it cannot be helped. As the train gets beyond Chandigarh we get our first hazy glimpses of the Himalayas.

The train gets in just after 11 , more than six hours late despite some generous recovery time built in to the timetable. Our driver greets us on the platform and heads straight for the exit. No time to look at the NG platforms. We load up the car and head out of Kalka.  We are soon on a busy highway running across the plain parallel to the line of mountains. We are both still tired and doze in the back seat. After a while we join a motorway type road and make good speed. We see signs for Dharamsala saying it is 137 km - not too long at this speed. Mcleodganj is just a few miles beyond. At this point we start climbing through a forest on a very windy road. Then we descend on an even more winding road. Some of the overtaking is pretty desperate as car drivers race to get past lumbering trucks and bus drivers take no prisoners. We don't see any collisions but we do see a truck in a ditch.

We cross a few more ridges and arrive in the Kangra Valley where we see the eponymous NG railway,  D's treat for Monday.  Once we cleared Kangra the road just kept climbing. It felt that we must have driven halfway up the Himalayas. In fact we are somewhere just over 5,000 feet so about a fifth of the way up. At the last minute we missed a turning and we had to walk down a flight of stairs. Our driver looked relieved to have completed the trip although he still had to drive back. It had taken five and a half hours including one short stop. We find the Green Hotel without any problems and are soon in our room which has a balcony looking out to the mountains. It's a nice room but a bit cold. D has carried a fleece round India for 6 weeks without taking iy out of his rucksack.  Today it comes out. The room boy appears with a heater and plugs it in and all is hunky dory. Later the lady in charge tells us normally 300 rupees per day but complimentary for us.

The hotel has a cafe where we drink delicious lemon, ginger and honey tea as we register. We even allow ourselves a piece of cake to share. We don't feel up to much excitement tonight so we walk along the street to the main square and climb the stairs to Mcllo, a recommended bar and restaurant, for Kingfishers and momos with spicy sauce. We have the best seat in town as we watch three policemen attempt to orchestrate the chaotic traffic in the square. All highly entertaining. As we wslk back to the hotel the wind has an icy chill to it. Time for bed.

Friday 27th - The Plan Falls Apart.

We allow ourselves a lie in this morning and are almost last in to breakfast after which we pack our bags and laze around on the verandah,  writing up the blog and watching the wildlife. There are peacocks parading, several mongooses and a whole tribe of monkeys appears. At the front of the cottage there is a large tree with a fruit bat colony that we had managed to overlook previously.

Check out is 10 am so we shift our bags across to the main building and go for a short walk to look at the colony of Painted Storks that we saw as we arrived on Wednesday. Today they are all up in the tree tops but as we watch they take to the air en masse and fly a couple of lazy circuits before landing back on top of the trees. This happens two or three times and is quite a spectacle. We return to the lodge for a final cup of tea before setting out by car for Tundla Junction where we will catch our next train.

Due to the lack of bridges over the Yamuna the quickest way to Tundla is to go via Agra. This means a return trip over the strip of pitted rubble that has been called a highway. There are some real maniacs on the road today, most of them driving buses, and we are amazed that there are no accidents. Because we are due to be on the train from just after 4 pm until 10 am tomorrow we decide that a meal would be in order. We ask Vinod if he knows a place and he does. The prices are a bit ritzy but the food is OK. As we eat other tourists arrive to eat, no doubt on the recommendation of their drivers. One table of Americans decide to order Chicken Maryland. We left wondering if they got what they expected. 

Vinod is keen that we take a photo of the Taj Mahal and stops at a place with a good view. We read in the paper that there is a debate under way about how to clean it. The photo is taken. What D really wants is a shot of the railway bridge passing in front of the Taj but the opportunity does not arise. The traffic getting out of Agra is bad but once we hit the motorway we make good progress and arrive at the station about an hour before our train is due at 16.10. We ward off a porter who wants to charge us 300 rupees to carry our bags and see us onto the correct coach. When he sees that we are quite prepared to carry our bags the price drops but he has missed his chance. He tells us a story about a two minute stop and last minute platform changes. D does not budge.

The station here is a bit unusual with an island platform enclosed in a very Brunellian train shed. We locate the Waiting Room and grab a corner near to an electric socket. There is a chai vendor just along the platform and we avail of a cup each. This trip is a bit strange as it is one train but two different bookings - Tundla to Delhi in 3 tier AC and Delhi to Kalka in 1AC. If the train is on time we need to change coaches at around 8 p.m. There is a good data connection so we check things out.  The good news is that we have the 2 berth coupe from Delhi, the bad news is that the train is six hours late. D goes to check for information boards. The only one he can find is all in Hindi and there are no train numbers listed. Neither are there any overhead indicators on the platforms to show train number and coach position. 

We while away the time reading and whinging on Facebook.  This place has quite a high mosquito count so out comes the bug spray. Next we notice a rat scavenging under the seats. The power fails for a few minutes and then there are two rats. At dusk the train shed fills with hundreds, possibly thousands, of roosting starlings making enough noise to drown out the noise of the trains passing through the station. Before long they begin to make their mark on the platform surfaces.

At least the station announcer is keeping us informed about the trains that are coming and going in Hindi, English and a third language that we,  of course,  know nothing about. Then the English starts to disappear from these announcements and some trains seem to come and go unheralded. Is it coincidence that another porter appears to suggest that we will need help? D weakens and we agree a price of 100 rupees which will probably have our Indian friends rolling in the aisles. What Lord Cornwallis had to say about Tundla Junction has gone unrecorded but he could not have had a lower opinion of it than we do. We can't wait to leave.

But wait we do. Each update makes the train a bit later until there is finally an announcement just before midnight. The train will be in shortly and Indian Railways deeply regrets having messed the Ws about. At 12.20 the train arrives and the porter appears, picks up our two rucsacs and leads us for about fifty yards along the platform to coach B3. Most people in the coach are in bed but he wakes them all up by asking at each bay if this is 41 and 42. Our lower berth has a young woman in it who he evicts in order to errect D's middle berth where he dumps the bags and holds out his hand. D gives him the agreed fee and he says 'Two bags, two hundred' Every time we have used porters there has been a row like this which is why we haven't used them at all on our last three trips until now. We just want to get to sleep so D coughs up.

The middle berths are not as claustrophobic as D expected but those upper berths really are a long way up.  Sleep! Fat chance. The evicted woman sits opposite us chuntering to the bloke in the lower berth, then the coach attendant arrives, switches on the lights, has a row with the woman, goes away, comes back with our sheets and switches the lights out. Then the TTE arrives, switches the lights on, checks our tickets, has a row with both the man and woman opposite which results in her being sent out of the coach. Every now and then somebody gets up to go to the loo and switches the lights on. As we do not know what time we will arrive in Delhi D has ordered an alarm call from Indian Railways. This comes at 2.30 and a voice says 'You are now approaching Old Delhi station. We get there at about 4.20. We have no chance of making our 5.30 connection nearly 270 km away.

When asked why he comes to India D always tells people that it is for the train travel.

Thursday 26th Pt 2 - Saurus Cranes

Saurus cranes are the world's largest flying birds and Asia's largest bird of any sort. We had seen them before from the train window as we travelled from Kolkata to Delhi on our very first trip to India and the chance to see them up close seemed too good to miss when we saw it on the safari list. We have a quick cup of tea and a biscuit before  heading out in one of the resort's Boleros, an Indian version of a Range Rover. Since we came off the river the sun has broken through and it is getting very warm. Once again Bhoopendra is our guide.

We set off along the dreadful road again but go east rather than west. B has a good eye for spotting birds and soon calls a halt. It takes us while to see what he has found but then we see the pair of Plumhead Parakeets. Mrs Plumhead actually has a light grey head bit you get the idea. We press on eastwards,  across the Yamuna River and then start to search. Phone calls are made and odd locals consulted. We wonder if we have come on a wild goose chase when our driver gives a shout. Out in the fields he has seen a neck and head sticking up above the crops.

We debus and head out in single file on a narrow path between the fields of crops. We now see that there are three birds - male, female and a juvenile. These birds typically have a single chick each year. They are moving from left to right and come out of the higher crops into an open patch in front of us. They are less than 50 metres away and seem unconcerned by our presence. The open ground is in fact a potato field and the birds are digging them up and tucking in. We watch fascinated for 15 minutes or so, getting some great photos before heading back to the car. There are also spots of some much smaller birds. R is very taken by the Scaly Breasted Munia that flits about in the wheat. 

Bhoopendra is keen to find us an eagle and we go in search stopping every so often. Once he tells the driver to stop in the outside lane of a dual carriageway while he checks out a bird in a tree. Eventually he spots something. Near the top of an elecricity pylon there is a nest. We walk across the field for a better angle until we are under the wires and we can hear the current sizzling in the wires. Looking again at the nest we can clearly see an eagle. As we watch we see a jumble of white feathers next to the adult and then a tiny white head with a yellow beak appears. B identifies them as Bonelli's eagles.

As usual a crowd has appeared but as we return to the car we see that this time the assembled multitude are rather older and better dressed than the usual set that we attract. A tall chap with specs wants to talk to us. Would we honour him by taking tea in his institution. Apparently we have parked by the entrance to the Kalpananand Girls College. We check with B who waves us in and we are all ushered into a room where there is a circle of chairs. We are introduced to to the Principal of the College , a relatively young woman, and the Manager , a cheerful looking chap but no names are exchanged. We are asked what we are doing in India which we explain, after which we are asked if we receive Government funding. D's response that the only subsidy we receive is Senior Discount on the trains does not get the laughs it should.

The proposed tea is actually supplied by Bhoopendra out of his flask, with a plate of jammy dodgers and some almonds chipped in by the college. The conversation turns to our plans for the future. Would we like to visit the college for Republic Day next January? We explain that our 2016 plans are a little hazy as yet. We are then presented with a white woollen shawl of the type that is worn on ceremonial occasions as a gift. Photos are taken all round and B packs away his tea kit. This prompts a final question from the man doing the talking. He wants to know what we think of Lord Cornwallis and his comments on Indians. According to this chap he likened Indians to dogs. We told him that this view would be totally unacceptable in modern Britain and that we found such comments abhorrent. As we left we realised thst we had no idea who the chap doing the talking was. A political commissar perhaps? Do they have them in India? (We looked the college up on the net. He was the Director. We also looked up Lord Cornwallis who was in India in the late 1700s.)

We drove back to base voting the afternoon a success. B invited us for a short expedition to see civet cats after dinner. We craked open a couple of beers and sat by the bonfire until supper was called. Another good meal followed by the civet cat spotting right behind the restaurant building. They look like overgrown mongooses and move very slowly. After this excitement we were exhausted and had an early night.

Thursday 26th Part 1 - On the Chambal

We have pre booked a couple of safari type trips for today. We were given our programme at dinner last night. First up is our Chambal River safari. This means being in breakfast at 7 sharp and on the road at 7.30. It is a misty, hazy morning. D takes a look out on the back verandah and sees an Indian Hare only a few feet away. Good start. Vinod drives and Bhoopendra travels with us as he is our guide today. We have a drive of about half an hour to the entrance to the Chambal Wildlife Sanctuary and not far inside we stop the car. B takes us for a walk up into the maze of gullies and ridges that make up the terrain.

We bag a few birds and return to the car. As we drive further into the Sanctuary we pass teams of camels laden with cut wood. The road runs out and we continue down to the river bank on a dusty track. There are the remains of a floating pontoon bridge here and a couple of boats acting as foot ferries. A train of camels is fording the river as we arrive. The Lodge has an outpost where its staff man small outboard motored boats. Along with Bhoopendra we climb in to one and the boatman heads upstream. 

This is the cleanest river that we have seen anywhere in India. We still wouldn't clean our teeth in it but you can see through the water to the vegetation on the riverbed. We soon see a Pied Kingfisher on the bank and then its mate, really beautiful birds. Next up is a big Marsh Crocodile, resting on the river bank. We get quite close and he just slides into the water. The real signature species for the Chambal are the long nose crocodile (Gharial), the river dolphins and a very distinctive bird called an Indian Skimmer. We soon get the first and last of these in close proximity on a sandbank projecting out into the river. R is showing a hitherto hidden talent as an ace croc spotter, some kind of survival instinct perhaps. These prehistoric looking beasts are quite fascinating to watch but they do detract from the Chambal's attractions as a bathing venue.

The cruise lasts about three hours and we are blessed with hazy cloud which keeps the temperature down and reduces the glare off the water. On the way back downstream we sea the Pied Kingfishers hovering above the river then diving vertically to catch fish. We also see turtles and a baby marsh crocodile peering out of a hole in the riverbank. The only thing that we miss out on are the dolphins. On the river bank near our landing stage a group of policemen are errecting some kind of tented pavilion. As we drive back to base we pass a procession of cars with flashing blue lights, one of which has a badge saying 'Judge'. Later we learn that all of this is to do with a Forest Workers' Family picnic and has nothing whatsoever to do with law and order.

Wednesday 25th -Forty Miles of Bad Road

D gets up in time to watch the early morning train out of Gwalior

clear the level crossing near the hotel entrance. The three man team who man the gates are thrilled to be the centre of attention and even offer D a bidi which is politely refused. The train is less busy than the one D took last year or even yesterday - not one person is travelling on the roof. 

Breakfast is slightly more leisurely today and the auto is ready at 8.30.  R, who feels a bit better today, tells D that this hotel has made up for the dump he booked in Gwalior last year. At the station there are two trains, both late running and both forecast to be a Platform 2 at the same time. While D tries to find out more R is ensnared in conversation by a young man who wishes to practice his English. D's fact finding takes him over to the NG platform where the Big Man is sitting in the same seat in the same coach as yesterday. This train is also much quieter and he has not locked the doors. Greetings are exchanged. 

Back on Platform 2 the train that is not ours is announced and arrives, then departs. Soon our train , number 18507, is announced as arriving. It pulls in 20 minutes later and the running order is the opposite of the platform indicators, which means a 13 coach length dash along the platform to coach A1. We have to evict a group of women from our side berths, which they are using as a sandwich preparation area. By the time that we are settled in it is 10.05 and we are under way, 40 minutes late. We make good progress and actually recover 10 minutes by the time that we pull into Agra Cantonment. 

We cross over to Platform 1 and pass a large delegation of men in uniform or suits with name badges who look like some kind of tour of inspection. The station seems to be rather clean and strangely quiet. At the main entrance/exit there are no touts and hardly any activity. There is quite a heavy police presence and a shifty looking crowd watching from the far side of the car park. It was most refreshing and if maintained will ruin Agra's reputation as 'Tout City'. Our driver, Vinod, arrives a couple of minutes later and we get loaded up. It takes a while to get out of Agra but we get going on the highway out to the south east heading for our next stay, the Chambal Safari Lodge. 

Vinod has decent English but he is quite reserved. His driving style is not aggressive and he is not heavy handed on the horn. About an hour out of Agra D remarks positively on the subject of the road surface. Within a couple of miles the good road runs out and we are toiling along amongst the potholes. This road is lined with brickyards and an additional hazard is the bricks scattered around the road from overloaded carts and trucks. The gaps between brickyards are mostly occupied by tyre repair businesses. It wasn't quite forty miles of bad road but it felt like it. Just as we are getting fed up we turn off onto a very minor road, but one that it well maintained.  We pass a pond full of painted storks and we are there.

The Lodge has a central block containg the restaurant,  office and the owners' home and the guest accommodation is in small bungalows dotted around in pairs amongst the trees. Ours is cool and airy with a well equipped bathroomm and a rear verandah with deck chairs and charpoys. We unload our bags and head over to the lawn in front of the restaurant for a cup of tea. All of the other guests appear to be Europeans and most are having an alfresco lunch but we stick to our regime. The lady of the house comes to chat to us. The house has been in her husband's Singh family for generations and has been restored from dereliction. The conversation somehow turns to the raw deal that women get in India and stretches beyond a second cup of tea.

We are invited to join a nature walk around the grounds and the local fields. Other guests participating include an older French couple and a Scandinavian chap in full jungle fatigues who carries a serious camera with a paparazzi long lens. It is a very gentle stroll but Bhoopendra, our guide, knows the patch and finds some interesting birds for us including a brown headed barbet and a collared scops owl that looks like it belongs in a Dilbert cartoon. We continue through the fields to some wetland on the edge of a small village where there are waders and kingfishers to watch. The village itself is one of the poorest places that we have seen with not a single car to be seen and very few motorbikes.  On the way back to the lodge R makes a great spot.  Two spotted owlets, one above the other in a large tree.

It is starting to get dark and a bonfire is lit on the lawn. There is a bar here so we can enjoy a beer as we chat to other guests, most of who are appalled by Indian trains. The Lodge appears to specialise in high end tour groups and people who book through Cox & Kings. The office staff are a little surprised that we have booked direct. Supper is a buffet, preceeded by soup and a tandoori grilled starter. R gets to visit the tandoor which looks a bit like an oil drum. The secret is that the inside is coated in fireclay. After supper we sit at the bonfire, chatting to Mrs Singh and drinking tea until it starts to gently rain which we take as a cue to say good night. 

Tuesday 24th February -D's Day Out

It's fairly quiet around the Deo Bagh Hotel and breakfast does not kick off until 8 a.m. so we take a morning stroll around the grounds. There is quite a bit of birdlife to watch and we even see a small owl but the light is all wrong for a picture.

We get a quick breakfast as D has an auto booked for 8.20 to take him to the station for a ride on the remains of the Gwalior Light Railway. R plans to stay behind sketching and bird watching. The auto is in good time and gets to the station at about 8.45. giving D time to buy his ticket. Rs 25 for 94km. As he exits the booking office the train is being hauled into Platform 5, the NG platform.  In that very Indian way the coaches are already quite full even though this is the source station for the train. 

D not just needs a seat but without R needs somebody sympathetic looking to watch his kit. The first coach he tries is full of ladies sharing a distinctly unsympathetic glare so the rear coach of the train is tried. The doors are locked but a large, loud chap says wait and comes to open the door. 'Sit there , sir. What country?' D sits at the two man bench adjacent to the toilet that has been indicated and goes through the spiel. The Big Man locks the door again. After the introductions are completed D explains that he needs to go and take some photos. 'No problem sir. Leave your bag there. It will be safe.' Once more the door is locked. 

D gets his pictures and returns to the rear coach. There are a few more occupants,  mainly middle aged men who all seem to know each other. A younger man is sitting on the bench next to 

D's bag. The door is unlocked. 'This fellow will take care of you' says the Big Man. This fellow continues to read his newspaper. Other people try the door and are told 'Reserved. Foreigners only!' This is pretty implausible as D is the only one of the twenty or so in the coach who does not look Indian. But it seems to work. The guard's compartment is at the end of the coach and he seems utterly unconcerned. We depart a couple of minutes after the due time of 9.30.

D goes to the door with camera for the trip between the houses as the line skirts around the base of the Gwalior Fort and then runs down the middle of the road through a gorge. As we head into the first station D is asked to sit down and the door is locked again. There is quite a crowd but only a couple of select individuals are admitted to the coach. All along the train people are climbing onto the roof. Low power cables on the first section make it too risky. When we get under way again D is given the OK to go back to the door. The train actually passes along the boundary wall of our hotel.  No wonder the hooter sounds so close.

At the second stop the Big Man shakes hands and gets off. D's minder locks the door and boarders are repelled, this time in Hindi. We have a long halt here to cross with an inbound train. It has a crowd of Upper Class travellers on the roof. The line leaves the city behind and we move into agricultural land before climbing onto a barren , rocky plateau where not much grows except thorn bushes. The folk on top make themselves comfy while D gets in some serious door riding in. We pass back into crop growing country and there are a couple of quite major river crossings. At each of these there is one bridge, wide enough for single track, and the coaches just fit nicely between the parapets. The two way road traffic also uses the same bridge with a predictably chaotic outcome.

The last stop but one is a small town and the minder gets off here. We continue through quite flat farmland until we reach Sabalgarh, the terminus of this trip, four hours and forty minutes from Gwalior. It is a dump. The least attractive place that D has seen in five trips to India. Not surprisingly there is a throng of people planning to escape by the next train.  This is where R would have been useful. D heads quickly for the booking office where there is only one person ahead of him, buys a ticket back to Gwalior and goes in search of a seat. There is already a throng of people following him and the attention of a policeman standing at the end of the train is aroused. 'You wish to travel? Sit here.' D is directed into the coach at the opposite end of the train to his original perch. 

There is a vacant forward facing window seat which D occupies.  An earnest young man oposite looks trustworthy and by signs D indicates he is going to take photos and will return. The bag and hat are left as hostages. A few photos get taken but the throng of rubberneckers gets a bit out of hand and D retreats to the coach. A crowd gathers outside and eventually one of them owns up to studying English so he translates all of the usual questions and answers to gales of laughter. He then attempts to sell D a ticket for the Gwalior -Sabalgarh journey and running out of material goes on to show D his voter's ID card, his Aadhar Card and his College registration card. Others start flashing various ID cards. D took the precaution of leaving his valuables behind at the hotel and just smiled benignly.

The train starts with a jolt. The coach is full so no chance of a door ride. The trustworthy looking young man turns out to speak reasonable English so we talk about his studies at Agricultural college and which crops grow in Scotland. The train makes good time until we get to the crossing point with the outbound train. At one stop the students buy a bag of green fruit which they eat with salt. They think thst they are guavas. D has no idea what they are.  By now we have a roof full. The student offers to watch the bag again so D can go for chai and more pictures.  The crowd of spectators is even bigger here and a couple are real nuisances,  jumping up and down in front of the camera. The other train arrives just as it is getting dark and we get underway again. The coach has no lighting and the countryside is dark so the last couple of hours are a bit dull.

D disembarks at Ghosipura, the last stop before Gwalior. He did this a year ago and had to hitch a ride on a motorbike but this year there were autos aplenty and a five minute ride took him back to the hotel. Poor old R had not been well and spent much of the day in bed but felt strong enough for supper. We dined in splendid isolation before retiring exhausted.