The busy hill town of Dharamshala was once an important outpost for the British; they had an army camp here (the Indian army’s Yol Cantonment still is an imposing one, complete with a World War II Memorial and an area that housed Italian POWs during WWII) and Lord Elgin is buried here, at the church of St John in the Woods, near Forsythganj. In more contemporary terms too Dharamshala is important, as the home of the Tibetan government in exile. The Dalai Lama lives in Upper Dharamshala, in the area known as MacLeodganj.

Just short of MacLeodganj, too, is a tiny resort known as Glenmoor Cottages. Driving up from Kotwali Bazaar (in Dharamshala), take the road through the Dharamshala Army Cantonment and past the Forsythganj Police Station. Along this road, a narrow and very steep lane marked `Om Bhavan Glenmoor’ leads up to the cottages.

Glenmoor Cottages is a small place, with all of five cottages, two large and three small. We ended up getting a large cottage, since everything else was booked. The cottage, which was named Glenfir (the other cottages are Glenoak, Glenwillow, Glenpine and Glencedar), was built on the hillside, surrounded by deodar trees and overlooking the spectacular Dhauladhar mountain ranges. Around the cottages grew wild strawberries, and wild crocuses- fragile white flowers- blossomed near the foot of the deodars.

Our cottage was a large duplex, with the bedroom, bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette in the upper half. The kitchenette, with a small fridge, sink and clothes rack (?) was tiny and not geared for cooking. The dining room and room service too had a limited repertoire, so I guess most guests are expected to eat out, in MacLeodganj. Half a dozen steps led down from the bedroom to the lower half of the cottage, which included an extra bed, a dining table with four chairs, a tiny TV (mounted on the wall, near the ceiling), a couple of chairs and a lovely balcony. The sloping roof of the cottage was fairly low just above the bed, and tall people would do well to bend while getting into bed- you could whack yourself pretty badly if you aren’t careful.

Which brings me to how I happened to crack my ankle. I slipped on an algae-covered pathway while walking to Glenfir, and fell on my foot. If the path had been a mere dirt track, I’d probably have escaped with a sprain. Since it was solid concrete, I got a fracture. Please be very careful- step off the path and walk on the leaves beside it.

Glenmoor’s very quiet and peaceful. A good place to relax, watch birds, admire the view, or reflect. The staff is helpful and MacLeodganj isn’t too far. And if you’re an avid fan of Richard Gere, this is supposedly one of his favourite haunts.

The Judge’s Court is also part of the Kuthiala Sood heritage- it was built by the clan, and was the spacious and unashamedly luxurious residence of a family member who was a magistrate in the early years of the twentieth century.

The driveway to The Judge’s Court leads past orchards (which, by the way, are patrolled by guard dogs at night- guests are requested not to step out after nightfall); a cowshed; a well; and other typically rural vignettes. The buildings of the resort are decorated in muted red and white, and are surrounded by gardens, with lots of trees- a good area for a bit of birdwatching.

Our room was a bit of a disappointment, since it did not really have an aura of history. Okay, the wooden beams of the ceiling, the much-used fireplace (complete with fire tongs!) and the tiny ventilator--a common feature in colonial Indian houses--were pretty old. But the pink plastic lilies in the brass vase, the very cheap-looking bedside tables, and the white-painted cane table looked pretty shabby. Other than that, things did seem to be coming apart with a vengeance: the bed sheets, though very clean, had badly frayed hems, and the washbasin in the bathroom looked like it would crash to the floor any minute.

The resort has tennis and badminton courts; a swimming pool; dining hall; and guides who will take you through Pragpur and Garli. We ended up not using any of their facilities other than room service. The food, which is mainly Indian, was a mix of good and bad; the mutton curry was excellent, but the crème caramel- badly curdled and strewn with raisins- was terrible. At breakfast, the strawberry preserve (made at The Judge’s Court itself) was by far the best I’ve ever had.

The amusing (if that’s the way you look at it!) thing about The Judge’s Court was the manager- he popped in to our room just before dinner and spent about ten minutes chattering of this and that, getting maudlin in the extreme. It didn’t take us very long to realise that the man was- to put it mildly- thoroughly inebriated.

Other than that, a quiet little place, nice and peaceful. And tipsy managers can always provide some entertainment.

From the outside, this place is unprepossessing; a large and badly maintained parking lot stretches in front, and the façade- dark green marble with the letters Piccadily mounted on it- has a slightly dingy look to it. Anyway, since we didn’t have reservations anywhere in Chandigarh, and we needed accommodation, we decided to go have a look at the Piccadily.

It’s really quite a nice hotel. Not terribly large, not terribly fancy, but neat, clean, and with just the bearable amount of green marble, ferns, and stained glass that Indian hotels seem to have such a penchant for. There is a multicuisine restaurant, Curry’s (should that be Curries? And should the hotel be the Piccadilly?); a coffeeshop called Café Friends, and a bar called Sippers. There’s room service, a business centre, a travel agent and car hire facility, currency exchange, and individual electronic safes in each room.

Our room, a large double with an attached bath, was airy and plush. Rust-coloured curtains of raw silk stretched across the windows, which overlooked a quiet, tree-lined street behind the hotel. Our twin beds had deep mattresses and were very comfortable, and the linen- both in the room and the bathroom- was clean and crisp. The bathroom, in red and black granite, had an attached hairdryer, and a reassuring “This has been disinfected for your protection” paper band on the loo.

Since we stayed at the Piccadily only one night, we didn’t get to try out all its facilities. Room service was efficient enough, and Curries- where we had dinner, as well as buffet breakfast- was okay, nothing spectacular. The fact is that the menu at Curries is actually three menus: Indian (Punjabi and Mughlai); Chinese; and Continental. We guessed Indian would be their strong point, so we gave the rest of it a miss. Which was just as well, because the buffet breakfast featured some non-Indian stuff (Danish pastry and chicken sandwiches included) that was pretty average.

But if you’re okay with Indian food, if you like a hotel that’s clean and comfortable and fairly quiet- the Piccadilly’s a good bet.

Visco Resorts spreads out, in a series of red-roofed buildings, across the hillside, just about 2km short of Mandi, on the Bilaspur-Mandi Highway. There are fruit trees- especially apple trees, one of which, still heavy with late fruit, stood right below our room. And there’s a wide stream, tripping over a rocky bed, separating the resort from the hillside opposite, on which stand a couple of village houses.

Fortunately for us, Visco Resorts had a double room available. We were led to our room, which was a small but comfortable place with its own (tiny!) balcony overlooking the stream, and an attached bathroom. The bathroom, though it was a decent size and looked superficially clean, had a certain air of not being absolutely scrubbed through and through. The linen, however, was clean, the bed was comfortable, and the balcony- though miniscule- a delight. We spent a lot of time- before dark the day we checked in, and before breakfast the next day- just sitting on the balcony, looking out across the stream, and watching the birds in the trees around. We were lucky enough to see a number of birds- spotted doves, Himalayan bulbuls, a stunning yellow-billed blue magpie, and more in the short time we spent at Visco. The birds were really among the best things about this place.

The restaurant, on the other hand, was pretty average- even, as far as some stuff was concerned, below average. Even fairly dependable Indian grub, such as mushroom dopiaza (button mushrooms cooked with lots of sliced onion and spices) was terrible. About the only meal we really enjoyed was breakfast- wonderful parathas (a layered panfried bread stuffed with lightly spiced boiled potatoes, chopped onions and cottage cheese) and banana shake.

All in all, this is a place that’s fairly upmarket by Mandi standards, but is by no means out of range for budget travellers. It’s affordable, fairly comfortable and clean, and good enough for a one-night halt on the way to greener pastures.

Day 1: Delhi-Chandigarh, 238km This stretch is the longest, but also, in proportion to the distance, the one covered the quickest (about 6 hours). That’s because this is one of India's best roads, National Highway 1, better known as the Grand Trunk Road. The Delhi-Chandigarh stretch passes through Panipat (famous for a spicy pickle known as `pachranga’); Karnal, and Ambala. Look out for:

1. Gulshan’s dhaba at Murthal. Dhabas are roadside eateries that serve typical North Indian food. Gulshan serves splendid parathas, layered panfried breads stuffed with lightly spiced vegetables.

2. The delightful signs that exhort drivers to go slow- “An impatient on road is a patient in hospital”, and other gems.

Day 2: Chandigarh-Mandi, 205km After checking out from the hotel, we left Chandigarh and took the road to Mandi, past green fields, stands of poplar, and rivers that are a vivid jade in colour. The first few towns- Ropar, Rupnagar, Kiratpur- lie in the Punjab plains; the rest- Swarghat, Sundernagar, Ner Chowk, and Bilaspur- are in the foothills of Himachal.

Look out for the view before Bilaspur- the Beas river is awesome.

Day 3: Mandi-Palampur, 94km This is a relatively short stretch, but it takes up to 4 hours, since the road is narrow and mountainous. To compensate, the view's terrific. Look out for Himalayan birds- the blue-throated barbet, Himalayan bulbul, yellow-billed blue magpie, little egret, and spotted dove.
Although one can stop en route to see the 13th century Shiva Temple at Baijnath, we decided to defer the trip to later.

Day 4 and 5, at Palampur The place where we stayed- Taragarh Palace- is pretty enough to encourage visitors to spend all their time at the palace. But we did manage to spend the first half of each day touring the nearby sights. On Day 4, we visited the temple at Baijnath, the Tashijong Tibetan monastery, and the artists’ village at Andretta; the next day, we drove down to the town of Palampur, and visited the Palampur Co-operative Tea Factory and its tea gardens. See my journal, Palampur: Everybody's Cup of Tea, for more.

Day 6, Palampur-Dharamshala, 30km This was a lovely stretch of road: terraced fields, apple orchards, pinewoods, mountain streams, and tea gardens. Unfortunately, this was where things started going wrong: I broke my ankle, and it sent our entire schedule haywire.

Day 7 and 8, at Dharamshala Our itinerary had originally included the institute for Tibetan arts and crafts at Norbulingka; the War Memorial at Yol Cantonment; the church of St John in the Woods; and the Tibetan market at MacLeodganj. Our actual itinerary ended up being Dr Khanna’s Diagnostic Clinic and the Rajendra Prasad Medical College!

Day 9, Dharamshala-Pragpur, 60km This drive took only about two and a half hours. It’s a sudden descent from the cedar-clad heights of Dharamshala, to almost-in-the-plains Pragpur. The road passes through Amb and Una before reaching Rupnagar, beyond which it's the Mandi-Delhi road. A long drive, but smooth once you reach NH1. Look out for the lotus ponds around Pragpur: we saw one covered with dozens of exquisite pink blooms.

Someday we’re going back, to explore Dharamshala, Pragpur and Garli. Someday, with an intact ankle, I'll see it all- and write it!

The Grand Trunk Road is a monument in itself- the oldest and largest highway in the Indian subcontinent. It stretches 2,500km from Sonargaon (Bangladesh) to Peshawar (Pakistan), with the bulk of the road within India. In India the road extends from Kolkata to Amritsar. The highway, stretches of which are believed to have been made by the 3rd century BC Mauryan rulers, became important during the reign of Sher Shah Suri (1486-1545). This intrepid soul actually managed to oust the Mughal emperor, Humayun, from the imperial throne (Sher Shah’s successors weren’t so lucky; the Mughals returned- and stayed). As ruler, however, Sher Shah improved the administration and the infrastructure vastly- and the actual creation of this mammoth highway is credited to him.

In Sher Shah’s time, the highway was called the Sadak-e-Azam ('The road of the emperor'); later, the British, who also improved it, dubbed it The Long Walk. Today, it’s known as Sher Shah Suri Marg; the Grand Trunk Road; GT Road; and, more prosaic, National Highway 1 (or worse, NH1).

No matter what it’s called, this road has a charm all its own. Its pace is fantastic- all the way from leisurely bullock carts to imported cars and noisy motorbikes- and it's colourful. In the cities and towns, things aren’t too pretty. The Grand Trunk Road gets crowded, with markets, residential colonies, offices, and just about everything else spilling onto it. But out in the countryside, it’s much nicer.

You’ll see lorries carrying sugarcane, with a cyclist pedalling frantically behind, trying to snatch a juicy cane from the load atop the vehicle. You’ll see entire families of devout Sikhs sitting in specially hired trucks, beating drums and singing hymns as they head for a pilgrimage to Roopnagar. There will be brief (hopefully!) halts at train crossings, where hawkers will try to sell you everything from Pepsi to cucumbers to local porn magazines. There will be green fields, stands of ramrod-straight poplars, and water channels diverted from the five rivers of the Punjab.

You’ll see signs of industrial India- from evil smelling sugar factories to massive cotton mills. There will be makers of jaggery (a golden-brown form of raw lump sugar), who set up little workshops along the road, where they crush sugarcane and boil the syrupy juice in large vats till it’s thick and intoxicatingly fragrant. There will be brick kilns and weighbridges, cotton threshers and tractors.

And alongside will be reminders of Mughal days- the kos minars. Similar to brick kilns in appearance but shorter and smoother, the kos minars stand all along the highway. A kos was approximately 3 km, and the Mughal emperors built kos minars (a minar is a tower) after every kos. The kos minars were of brick plastered with lime, and were about 30 feet high. About a thousand of them are believed to have been erected, though nobody’s quite sure how many survive today. But travel along NH1, and you’ll see some- in the fields on either side, next to the road, and even in one case, in the middle of the road.

The kos minars have been standing for more than 350 years now. They’ve seen the traffic grow from horses and caravans to Toyotas and Opels and whatnot. They’ve watched forests disappear and towns balloon out into what had once been pristine countryside. They’ve seen dynasties come and go.

They’ve seen, as Rudyard Kipling once said, the River of Life.

Pahari (literally, "of the mountain") is a term used to apply to virtually anything, everything, and everybody from the hills, especially from the Himalayas. Just as the Punjabis are renowned for their generosity and the Marwaris for their business sense, the Paharis are generally acknowledged to be sweet, helpful souls. That isn’t always true, of course--it can’t possibly be. But this trip made me wonder.

Scene 1: I’ve just slipped on a mountain path and twisted my ankle. It’s hurting like hell and plunging it into cold water hasn’t helped. The doctor’s come, prodded at my foot, and given me a jab in my butt.
Doc: “It doesn’t look like a fracture, more likely to be a torn ligament. If it’s still swollen tomorrow morning, get it X-rayed.” He prescribes a painkiller, which he isn’t carrying, and says it can be gotten from a pharmacy in the market that’s 2km downhill.
Local waiter-cum-general dogsbody, who’s been hanging around, looking concerned: “I’ll go, sahib. I know where it is.”

Round 1 to the Pahari.

Scene 2: Morning, and the foot’s ballooned into a sore, throbbing bump. I limp down the path to our car, using a borrowed walking stick. Dharamshala’s small, and good diagnostic clinics are rare. The doctor’s recommended one near Kacheri Adda in Civil Lines, supposedly the best - and singularly difficult to track down. We spend more than half an hour driving around Dharamshala, asking one passerby and then the other for directions.
Husband to bystander, looking desperate: “Could you please tell us the way to Kacheri Adda?”
Young man, seated on a stationary motorbike and chatting with someone: “Where in Kacheri Adda do you need to go?” We enlighten him.
Man: “That’s not too close, and the way there is confusing. You could get lost… why don’t you follow me? I’ll guide you there on my bike.”

Round 2 to another Pahari.

Scene 3: Dr Khanna’s Diagnostic Clinic. I’m sitting in a small room waiting to be called in. Next to me is an elderly lady who’s come with her daughter, now with the doctor.
Lady, in a sympathetic voice that makes me suddenly feel like I’m with my mum: “What happened to you?”
I tell her. More sympathy, more solicitude. More unconditional love.

Round 3 to yet another Pahari.

Scene 4: We are at the Dr Rajendra Prasad Medical College Hospital. The lift isn’t working, and the orthopaedics department is, of all places, in the basement. And the ramp is broken in places. I can’t walk at all, and the wheelchair is in terrible condition and gets stuck. My husband’s struggling; I’m trying to do what I can to help when a total stranger, an elderly man, arrives. He helps my husband lift the wheelchair (with me in it) to get it going again.

And that was just Round 4. There were many more, more instances of people who made us feel we weren’t alone, people who went out of their way to help, to do even a little bit extra that would make me comfortable.

People who proved that the proverbial sweetness of the Pahari isn’t a myth.