Train to Shimla

Shit, Shit, Shit! The CD I backed the first 4 days worth of photos on has snapped son of a bitch! Looks like I’ll be investing in another SD card.

From Delhi Shimla lies a mere 300Km, read nothing into this distance though because the city is situated in the foothills of the Himalayas and as such involves a 10.5 hour journey; split equally between two trains. An early rise was required to catch the 05:30 departure for the first leg to Kalka. This was a little painful with lethargy being the usual git of an adversary. Entertainment on this part of the journey came from a very British Brit; speaking through the plums in his mouth he managed to complain about everything possible: Condensation on the window;


"I booked a window seat for the view!" was one of the best.

This guy couldn't sit still and was disgusted at the state of the toilets on board, I have no idea what he expected when travelling on India's Railways. It really was a sight to enjoy, I've never seen anyone get so flustered over such little events: Perhaps this is my destination in later life, minus the plums.

From Kalka the journey continues on what is fondly referred to as the Toy Train: An economically unviable service that completes the final 90km, 5.5hour journey. This railway, completed in 1903, must be one of the final, and finest, examples of British engineering. The route it takes through the mountains is astounding; 103 tunnels were bored and 24 bridges erected. All this to transport the government to the much cooler Shimla during the scorching Delhi summer. I doubt anyone could replicate this project now, not without the use of G.P.S. or a PC: A unique skill lost to the sands of time.

I had been savouring this journey through the mountains for several months now, imagine my despair when a group of seven Yankees clamber aboard the claustrophobic carriage and introduce themselves in a way Americans have a knack for: Excessive and excessively loud vocalisations.


"Look at me, I'm American. Love me, hate me, I don't care. See my wallet, see my dollars, see how they control your world"

Ok, so that’s an over exageration, but true to hegemon fashion they decided that every remaining free seat would be unilaterally conquered. Annoying enough you'd think, oh no! This group suffered an addiction that the entire cabin would soon be forced to endure, no, not eating; smartarse! Photography. One member of the group stood head and shoulders above the rest and cleared needed a 'shot' more than any other, I would later gather this one was assigned the identifier Nancy.

I speak of assigned identification because her need for 'shots' was so dangerously unfulfilled that most of its social skills had been stripped away. Smiles, clearly confined to its pre-photography days, seemed unable to bloom on the steep valleys that formed her craggy face. Photography was truly her narcotic, so dependant was she on it that each time a 'shot' was left wanting we had front row seats to the cursing and seepage of rage that followed. Usually this rage was directed at her friends for "being too slow to move" by which time the 'shot' had gone, or her poor, suffering, husband: Bruce.

The one known as Nancy.

Bruce was accountable for all. For being "too slow!" passing its camera lens. And to "hurry up!" and pass over the 2nd 2Gb memory card of the journey. Blame wasn't entirely proportioned on Bruce, one couple were "Skinny enough to share a seat" and allow her lens, which, by now I had realised was an extension of her eyesight, access to the open window. Another chap was told that "he was wasting his window seat" and "people reading books shouldn't have window seats". Perhaps, had she took the time to request a window seat from the booking office rather than document the experience in full 30 frames per second glory she would have been happier.

Toy Train crossing one of the 24 bridges.