I had trouble in getting to Shimla Sollew

We’re in Shimla now, in the state of Himachal Pradesh, which is to the north of Delhi. It’s in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains, which means it’s going to take a little getting used to the altitude. The air is fresh and cool, the stars are visible at night, and there are evergreen trees everywhere. Since it’s built into the side of a mountain, the houses and shops sit on steep roadways that stretch below and above our hotel. It’s the sort of place where one doesn’t need to go to the gym – just walking the stairs to get to our hotel is plenty of exercise.

The Hotel Doegar is nice. Danny has stayed here before and knows the staff and the owner. The rooms are hell on my dust and mildew allergies, though. The first room we were in last night was so mildewy that it gave me a terrible cough. I had to sleep at the foot of the bed, away from the ancient velveteen headboard, under the shawls I had brought, since the blankets were musty. We switched rooms this morning, to one that is less dusty and musty, though I’m still sniffling a little. But it’s definitely an improvement, and I just need to get some antihistamines to get me through. (The last time I was here, we stayed in a hotel where I had similar problems with dust in the room. I think this is just standard for the affordable sort of hotels Shimla.)

All in all, I’m just relieved that we’re here. The trip to get here from Delhi was a nightmare. What should have been a six-hour taxi ride that we dug deep into our pockets to pay for (it would have been a pain to travel by train with all of our heavy luggage) became a nine-hour inconvenience.

We had agreed to pay more than Danny wanted to pay for a nicer car that could comfortably hold us and our baggage, as well as had air-conditioning. The trip was going fine, despite some traffic, until the driver pulled off to the side of the road somewhere in Haryana and got out of the car without a word to us. He stood in the median, smoking a cigarette, until some characters in a car drove up. Our driver handed them some money, and then we were off. This happened again a couple hours later, when we pulled into a gas station – not for gas, but so that the guy could demand two-thirds of his payment from us right then and he could pay off someone at the station.

Danny said that it isn’t unusual for this sort of thing to happen, that the guy probably drove this route frequently and needed to pay some debts. It still seemed a little fishy and rather unprofessional to me.

Then, halfway through what was becoming an increasingly long trip, the driver stopped in Chandigar and declared we were having a car change. What? He moved our bags to a tiny little car, which was driven by a guy who frequently emitted disgustingly juicy burps and drove like a grandmother up the mountain to Shimla. To make matters worse, his air conditioning was broken, so he drove with the window down. This would have been fine, were he not to hesitant to drive around trucks that filled the air with thick, black diesel fumes, which then filled our creaky little car.

After having paid through the nose for what we were told was going to be a comfortable, spacious car, I was livid that we’d been passed off halfway through the journey to a vehicle that would have cost less to book. I spent the rest of the trip constructing in my head an email of complaint to the hotel in Delhi. Most likely, they weren’t aware that something like this was going to happen, but they’re going to get an earful from me, as well as a demand for a refund. Not only that, but it took so long to get to Shimla that it was nearly 9PM by the time we got into town and the lift that we got dropped off by had closed for the night. This meant then paying some local porters to haul our stuff up the hill, and started my stay here feeling sweaty and light-headed due to a much longer hike than I had anticipated.

But we’re here now (and at least for the next five weeks), and that’s the most important part. I’m looking forward to doing some window shopping today and to start reading Food Politics by Marion Nestle. (I finished Sarah McDonald’s Holy Cow on the ride up yesterday. At the rate I’m going, the next five books in my backpack aren’t going to last me the whole trip. There are some great bookstores here, though, and I’ll have to explore my reading options when I get to that point.)

Tomorrow, we’ll make the climb up the crazy steep hill to Jakhu Temple, home of the glasses-stealing monkeys.