There's a typical Indian dog on which all others seem to be based. He – or she – is mid-sized, standing about knee high to a typical adult and is most likely to be gingery brown although black and tan varieties are also common. What…Read More

There's a typical Indian dog on which all others seem to be based. He – or she – is mid-sized, standing about knee high to a typical adult and is most likely to be gingery brown although black and tan varieties are also common. What you won't often find is a fully black dog or a 'something and white dog' – the gingery brown is the mark of the Indian dog. In most of India he's short haired although his mountain cousins grow longer coats to cope with the cold and they certainly need the extra help.

The typical Indian dog has a pointed face, a slightly 'foxy' look, and a trim body since few get fed regularly enough to run to fat. Many have curly tails and depending on how much trouble they've got into in their lives, they may be missing part of that tail – Indian dogs are not overly blessed with road sense and the lucky ones will escape with only the loss of part of their tail.

The favourite activities of the Indian dog are scavenging, running around with their pack and, best of all, finding a sunny patch to sleep in – never mind if it's in the middle of the road or right behind someone's car, a dog's gotta soak up the sun.

Most of these typical Indian dogs have no official home although many will have found a family or shop to adopt. Most Indians – with the exception perhaps of Muslims who I’m told believe dogs to be unclean – seem quite happy to have a dog about the place if that dog chooses them as its humans. Dogs massively outnumber cats on the streets of India and it's much rarer to come across a cat.

The Indian dog is low maintenance and he won't expect you to groom him, take him to the vet, get his inoculations or buy him presents – he certainly won't expect you to get him neutered. In return for his offer of something akin to affection and a bit of barking if anyone comes to your home, he'll expect little more than your warmest patch of sunshine and a few kitchen scraps. He won't expect to be fed twice a day – he's more than capable of dealing with keeping himself fed as he strolls the streets with his canine buddies.

In a city he may – if you've neglected to give him a good place to sleep – choose to roam the streets with his friends, howling loudly long into the night. Whilst this is amusing for a short while it grows stale very quickly. Indian girl dogs will produce pups with regularity and these will be some of the cutest little critters you've ever seen. However the tourist should take care not to be lured into petting puppies or full sized dogs. At best they'll have fleas, at worst you'd better hope you paid for your rabies jabs, the ones that cost a fortune and need redoing every 3 years. Cute means 'look but it’s better that you don't touch'.

Very occasionally you'll see a dog that doesn't meet the norm of the highly evolved and perfectly adapted Indian ginger dog. In the Himalayas we came across a couple of small white fluffy dogs and a number of what appeared to be pedigree Alsatians. We even saw two St Bernards who looked right at home in the mountains and are even better adapted to the snow than the archetypal hairy version of the standard mutt. However all of these other dogs will never match up to the standard Indian dog in terms of survival skills and adaptation to their environment.

In the cities you may occasionally come across pedigree pets but these are restricted to well-to-do areas. If you've got a dog that’s not evolved to take care of himself (and one that's worth quite a lot of money) then you can't just let it go out and stroll the streets. You'll need to hire a walker or have a spare servant or two to take him out for exercise and toilet breaks. You'll not want your posh top dog to be hanging out with the local boys – especially if she's a girl – so if you don't want your dog mixing with the wrong kind of dogs, you'll need to make sure that it's rarely off the lead and that any potential suitors are kept away. We met the owners of an upmarket Delhi B&B whose small pedigree pooch had been shaved and stitched after an altercation with a monkey in the garden. The poor little thing was all fluff and no fight and came off much the worst in the negotiation.

It may seem like a strange thing to say, but I’ve passed many an Indian hour watching local dogs doing their thing. I fall in love with most of them, especially the cheeky ones, the ones with the bent tails or the ripped ears but when they’re out running around the streets at night howling like banshees, I’m ready to go out with a sling shot and ping rocks at the lot of them.   Close

After a long day of tourism, we were pretty much ready to head back to the hotel for a snooze but Mr Singh, our driver, had other instructions and wasn’t letting us go anywhere until he’d ticked off all the attractions on his list. The…Read More

After a long day of tourism, we were pretty much ready to head back to the hotel for a snooze but Mr Singh, our driver, had other instructions and wasn’t letting us go anywhere until he’d ticked off all the attractions on his list. The last of the day was to be the Vashista Temple. It’s located in the village of Vashisht just a few miles outside of the city upstream of Manali and on the opposite river bank.

Getting there took about 15 minutes as we passed along winding narrow roads. We had no particular expectations but were surprised when we arrived in a bustling little place, stuffed with tourist taxis. Everywhere else that we’d been had been very quiet and in most places we were the only tourists there – in fact sometimes the only people there. We realised there must be something a bit special about this place. We also solved the mystery of why there were no backpackers in the main city – quite simply they were all in Vashisht.

We still didn’t know what we were about to see but we left Mr Singh with a characteristically vague "back later" from us and a smile and a head wobble from him. He headed off to find a cup of tea and we set off up the hill, passing all the evidence of backpacker focus. Somebody had lost his passport and was offering a reward via posters pinned up on wooden electricity poles. Restaurants offered ‘international’ cuisine – including (and not temptingly) Israeli food as well as plenty of pizzas and easy foreign tourist food. Bars advertised cheap beer and film shows and if you were looking to get a massage or learn about meditation, this was clearly the place to be. I could almost taste the banana pancakes in the air.

We saw the temple just as we heard the sound of drums and horns and spotted a crowd of locals gathered around a small square. A young cow bellowed indignantly as two men tried to milk her in a pit in the middle of the square. On the buildings around the square, people were sitting on the upper balconies, looking for a better view of what was going on.

In the middle of the square stood a young barefoot couple, he in saffron robe topped off with a rather unattractive grey sweater, she in a white dress with embroidered edge and draped in a deep red, gold trimmed scarf. She was wearing her best jewelry and the two were joined by a pink scarf tied to each of them. Next to them stood another man, older than the first, but wearing the same saffron robe and a rather smart navy blazer. He was tied by a pink scarf to another young woman, dressed very similarly to the first. Beside her was an older lady dressed in the same way. I guessed – but wasn’t sure – that the two couples were getting engaged or married and that the older woman was the mother of the second woman. Of course, it was only a guess. We couldn’t ask the others around us as we were the only foreigners watching the events.

Back in the pit, the cow had gone and several men in impressive hats were lighting candles or lamps. One held a bunch of burning twigs and the drummer and horn blowers stopped their musical exertions for a while.

We were baffled about what was going on but rather enjoying being a part of it (whatever it was). Then my husband suggested that whilst everyone was distracted by the ceremony, perhaps we should nip into the temple since it would be quieter. A few minutes later when we were inside, we heard the musicians and the ceremonial party leave the square and head off up the hill past the temple. I’ll probably never really be sure what was going on but it was a rare opportunity to witness a ceremony that was clearly important to those who were involved.

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Whether you book directly with Indian hotels or use international hotel booking sites, sooner or later you’ll probably come across the concept of ’24 hour check-in’. I believe – though I can’t be sure – that it’s a uniquely Indian idea and it’s one which…Read More

Whether you book directly with Indian hotels or use international hotel booking sites, sooner or later you’ll probably come across the concept of ’24 hour check-in’. I believe – though I can’t be sure – that it’s a uniquely Indian idea and it’s one which can be very useful and may save you a lot of money, or conversely could see you stressed to the max about being thrown out on the streets in the middle of the night.

The idea of 24 hour check in is that you can arrive at a hotel at any time of the day or night, and the room is yours for 24 hours (or 48, or 72 and so on) from the time you arrive. It sounds fairly obvious but it’s an unusual model for hotels to use. In most countries, if you want to arrive before the official earliest check-in time, or leave after the latest check out time, you will find it’s either impossible or you’ll be charged an extra night (or part thereof) for the extra time. Since we like to travel by rail in India and most ‘overnight’ trains roll into town ridiculously early, the standard European idea of killing time until 2 in the afternoon just won’t work. Many Indian cities are completely inactive at 6 or 7 am and your assumption that there’s sure to be somewhere at the railway station to have breakfast and kill time, or you’ll roll into a McDonalds for an egg McMuffin and a read of the newspapers, just isn’t feasible.

In Mangalore we had a 24 hour check in deal. We rolled up to our hotel at about quarter to six in the morning, thinking we could sit in the lobby for a couple of hours and then check in. That really wasn’t an option. Whilst they subsequently didn’t have a problem with us hanging around the lobby in the day time after we’d checked out, the night manager clearly couldn’t conceive of two Brits wanting to sit around when they could be in their lovely room.

Whilst this meant we were showered and in bed by 6.30 am, the nagging fear at the back of my mind was "What the heck are we going to do when they throw us out at 5.45 am in two days time?". Fortunately we’ve been in this position many times so we knew what to do.

First things first, on the day before you leave, go and ask reception if you can have a bit longer. Ask nicely, look a bit pathetic, and hope they take pity on you. It’s not good for any city to have foreign tourists sitting on the street at day break looking sad and dejected. Our last night was a Sunday which is traditionally the quietest night of the week so we had a good chance of an extension but unfortunately it was also a holiday and the hotel was almost full. We were told we could stay until 7.30 am. If you can’t get any extra time for free, try to negotiate to pay for a few hours. We’ve never had to do this – but if charm and looking pitiful won’t work, an offer of a cash payment may persuade a receptionist. If the hotel knows that they won’t have new clients arriving until the afternoon, you may be able to get a bit longer. I would also recommend that you email the hotel before you arrive to let them know you’ll be coming at a ridiculous time. That way you have a better chance of a room being ready, and you’ll have done your best to keep them informed – and made a small deposit in the ‘favour bank’ for when you’re ready to ask for one back.

A few years earlier when we’d stayed in Hampi, we knew that at the time we’d arrived – around 6.30 am – there were no staff to check us in. We’d been shown to an empty hut by a young assistant and told to come back later to do the paperwork. Consequently we knew that at 6.30 am on our departing day, nobody would be available to check us out. They happily gave us a free extension to 10 am. Staying in an upmarket B&B in Bangalore, we appealed to the lady owner for a little longer, and made sure she got something from us by agreeing to book our taxi to the airport through her rather than going elsewhere. In Hyderabad, we got so friendly with the owner of a budget hotel, making sure he knew we’d be writing reviews when we got home, that we were offered a few more hours free of charge.

24 hour check-in is a great bargain and if you know how to use it, it can save you a lot of money. Just take care to keep on good terms with the hotel, be nice to everyone, take time to chat to the front desk staff and don’t just stay in the room and hope they won’t notice. Ask, ask nicely and if you have to, pay a little extra if you can. If you can’t, be sure to ask to leave your bags whilst you go off and kill time somewhere else. Sadly, it’s very rarely found in the biggest cities or in highly touristic places but check when you book to see if it’s available. If you’re arriving really early or very late, it can mean you avoid paying for an additional day’s accommodation.

If you arrived stupidly early and went straight to bed, and if your rate included breakfast, tell them when you check in that you’d like to use your breakfast from the first day on the day that you leave. We happily (and greedily) stretched our breakfast out to two and a half hours by drinking lots of coffee and reading all the papers. Nobody seemed to mind or even to notice that we were taking our time.
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When we told people our holiday plans included a weekend in Mangalore, we got used to their reactions. Most would correct us – thinking that we were obviously a bit stupid or suffering from speech impediments. "Ah yes" they would say "Bangalore, centre of India’s…Read More

When we told people our holiday plans included a weekend in Mangalore, we got used to their reactions. Most would correct us – thinking that we were obviously a bit stupid or suffering from speech impediments. "Ah yes" they would say "Bangalore, centre of India’s IT and call centre industries". We patiently repeated ourselves and insisted that we were indeed going to Mangalore and, having previously been to Bangalore, we were in no rush to go again.

To some degree I can understand their confusion. Bangalore is famous all over the world; Mangalore is barely famous even inside India. OK, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration but not too much. We went for several reasons. Firstly – in the tradition of the great climber George Mallory, we went ‘Because it’s there’. Secondly, we had an open invitation to "Come and see my city – and see how much nicer it is than Bangalore" from an Indian friend and thirdly, it just happened to be conveniently between Kochi and Goa. Faced with an extraordinarily long train journey or two slightly more manageable ones, we decided to change our tickets and chill out by the sea.

Mangalore is a coastal city in Karnataka, just over 200 miles west of Bangalore. Whilst in Europe that would be a three hour drive, you can expect to take the best part of a day by road. Fortunately we approached from the south by rail on an overnight train from Kochi. The city has a population of just short of half a million, making it the 21st largest city in India though it’s a mere minnow compared to the major cities of Delhi, Mumbai or Kolkata

It has a long tradition as a port and ranks as India’s 9th largest based on the amount of cargo it handles. It’s also the main port for coffee exporting and handles a lot of agricultural products from the fertile and tropical areas nearby. None of this is going to have you reaching for your credit card and planning a visit. Actually, if you’re looking for world class attractions, you’re unlikely to choose Mangalore but it does have a surprising amount of rather fun things to do if you’re looking to pass a couple of days and aren’t expecting the Louvre or Buckingham Palace. You will probably struggle to find too much information about what to see and do – in fact I think my guidebook allocates no more than a few column inches to the city. However, go with the right attitude and you can find charm in this place. Fortunately we got a good briefing from our friends on what was worth a look.

If you can, do try to find a way to get to the beach. We were lucky to be taken to a stretch of spotless sand near to a club for merchant navy people. In any European city it would have been packed with sunbathers, but late on a Saturday afternoon we had the place to ourselves. We were also privileged to get taken to a ‘club’ – one of the sports and social societies to which our friend and her family belong.

On the Sunday we indulged in masses of Mangalore tourism. One of the most unique things about the city – and do be surprised because it’s never happened in any other city we’ve visited in India – is that auto-rickshaw drivers DO use their meters, even for tourists. I have a greater chance of winning Miss Universe than getting a Delhi taxi or rickshaw driver to use his meter but in Mangalore, all we did was smile, tap the meter and say "Please". Not one driver challenged us. Mind you, they don’t see many tourists.

First stop was the spectacular Kadri Manjunath Temple, a complex of temples along with some astonishing statues, a bathing pool and plenty to see. From there we headed to the Bejai Museum, one of the oddest (and lamest) museums we’ve seen in a country with plenty of competition for that honour. Lunch followed in one of the city’s air conditioned malls and then we flagged down another driver to go to the Sultan Battery, an old (and no longer very original) riverside fort. Our driver refused to leave us there because he knew what we didn’t – that it was a five minute attraction and one from where we’d never be able to find a driver to take us back. I handed him my notebook with the last of our must-see attractions, St Aloysius chapel, and he not only drove us there, but hunted for someone to show us around, sat and listened to the guide and then took us back to the hotel – again recognising we hadn’t a clue where we were and would get lost if we tried to find our own way.

Faced with killing time for a few hours before our train the next day, I’m ashamed to say we did wander off and find another mall, wandered round the shops and drank over-priced cappuccinos. It’s fair to say that you could probably squeeze most of what we did into a 24 hour visit to the city and if you had longer, there were a few more temples on offer but I’m confident we saw the best – and possibly some of the worst – of what the city had to offer. If you have limited time, my recommendation would be to see the Kadri Manjunatha temple and St Aloysius chapel. You won’t miss much if you skip the museum and the Sultan Battery.

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Some holiday days are just packed full of things about which to write reviews and our day in the Himachal Pradesh town of Manali was such a day. Before noon we’d visited a major Hindu temple, strolled round a museum of local culture and visited…Read More

Some holiday days are just packed full of things about which to write reviews and our day in the Himachal Pradesh town of Manali was such a day. Before noon we’d visited a major Hindu temple, strolled round a museum of local culture and visited the lamest so-called amusement park we’d ever seen. And there were still a couple more places to see before dinner.

Hopping back into our car, we asked our driver, Mr Singh, where we were going next. Actually since Mr Singh spoke only slightly more English than I speak Hindi (and that’s about two dozen unconnected words) the conversation was rather more a case of us getting into the car, giving Mr Singh a meaningful and expectantly excited ‘where next?’ look and hitting the road. We were off to Manali town centre to explore what it had to offer. We parked up just south of the city’s main street, known as most pedestrian streets in India are, as Mall Road. We parked in the sort of multi-storey car park that looks unfinished and may well be so. Mr Singh pointed through the car park to a brightly coloured temple and pronounced "Sir, Buddhist temple, very good sir" and then turned to point in the opposite direction saying "Sir, Van Vihar". The fact that this latter attraction didn’t get a "very good sir" was noted. We agreed to meet up again in 3 or 4 hours time and said we’d come back and find him.

It’s an observation based on multiple experiences with Indian drivers that they will always find you and when you think that maybe, just maybe, you can sneak up and catch them out by coming back early, they will be there, like the shop assistant from the old children’s cartoon, Mr Benn, the driver will always magically appear.

We decided to start with the ‘very good sir’ temple, more correctly known as the Himalaya Nyinmapa Temple and headed down a side street in the vague direction where we expected to find it. A large number of the (many) Buddhist temples I’ve visited have involved nose-bleed and cramp inducing climbs up the sides of mountains so it was a relief to find a temple sitting in the town and not requiring anything more strenuous than a brief, flat stroll to find it.

Most of the population of Manali are Hindus and traditionally there has been a religious dividing line that runs through the Rohtang Pass with Buddhism to the north and Hinduism to the south. There are now also quite a lot of Muslims, some of them fleeing the troubles in Kashmir in search of more stable places to live and work. But the influence that led to this temple being built in Manali is more recent. Manali has an influx of Tibetan Buddhists after the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1951 and this is one of the temples used by those refugees.

The temple complex is laid out in a roughly square plot surrounded by the town’s side streets. It seemed to me that it took up a block of the city. A grassy enclosure was surrounded by fencing and a row of small rooms which I would guess were accommodation for those studying there. Within the square were a yellow-roofed temple, with a smaller rectangular building set to one side, a smaller yellow roofed building whose purpose I didn’t understand and a stupa, the traditional Buddhist reliquary. Next to the stupa was another small building. The most striking things about the buildings were the golden rooftops and the beautifully painted wood work.

A narrow pathway leads up to the temple with flowers growing alongside. The building stands three storeys high with the roofs sticking out over the building below. A large porch stands in front of the building and was covered in intricately painted pictures of flowers, leaves, the odd demon and symmetrical patterns. We took off our shoes and I paid a camera fee of 20 rupees (about 25 pence) to take my camera inside. The light was good and I was optimistic that I’d be able to get some good shots.

I struggle with Buddhism. Not the beliefs so much as the terrifically complicated iconography. I’m fine with churches, mosques and Sikh temples, and pretty good at understanding Hindu temples too, but I have a bit of a mental block on Buddhist temples. We spent 2 weeks being lectured at by a guide in Ladakh and another fortnight in Bhutan, but after a while it all washes over me. So if you know your Buddhist iconography, please give up now before my ignorance offends, move on, and don’t hang around to shake your head at my ignorance. Thank you.

The main deity is a two storey high gold-faced statue of a seated Buddha. From the ground floor you can see him only up to mid-chest level and to see the rest you’ll need to go upstairs. He cuts through both levels with the temple seemingly constructed around him. On the ground floor there are smaller statues to either side as well as glass-fronted wooden book cases holding the holy texts used by the monks. These look a little like stacks of coloured paper and fabric. We also saw a drum for use during meditation and a row of brightly painted boxes which may well have contained the monks robes. Brightly coloured paintings covered the walls which were not already covered by book cases. On the opposite side of the seated Buddha was another wooden case with small carvings inside and in front of it. A bank of coloured light bulbs seemed to be replacing the traditional butter lamps and candles and no doubt keeps the risk of fire to a minimum, even if they aren’t as atmospheric. Painted scrolls hung from the walls and the brightly painted wooden columns, small intricate paintings were leaning against a small window and I spotted a peacock feather duster propped in a corner.

We headed upstairs to look the big Buddha in the eye. On the upper floor a balcony surrounded the Buddha, decked out with more of the coloured light bulbs we’d seen downstairs as well as small metal bowls of water. To one side of the Buddha was a red demon-like figure with skulls around his head, brandishing a staff with another skull on top. To the other side a slightly less scary statue of a gold faced figure balanced up the scene. The Buddha sat beneath a yellow-frilled canopy suspended from the deep blue painted wooden ceiling.

The topmost floor of the building is not accessible to visitors so we headed downstairs again to walk around the outside and turn the prayer wheels. Rows of these sit along three sides of the building and I always like to take the time to turn them as I pass. With very few visitors around, we had plenty of time to turn each and I mentally chanted in my head the standard prayer wheel mantra. I find this helps me to think about nothing except the act of turning the wheels themselves and it always feels very therapeutic (unless I’m being chased around a temple by a large school party, at which point my thoughts may be somewhat less than pure and holy). The wheels should always be turned clockwise with your right hand and you should always walk around a Buddhist temple in a clockwise direction. I’m sure there are very holy reasons for this but on a practical basis, it stops you bumping into people.

Before leaving we left a donation in the box, put our shoes back on and retraced our steps along the pathway. This was the first Buddhist temple of this particular holiday and whilst it’s neither particularly historic, nor particularly beautiful, I hate to miss an opportunity for a quiet moment and a bit of prayer-wheel turning. If you’ve already seen lots of temples and are arriving in Manali from somewhere that has many more such places, you could probably give this one a miss, but we were just ‘warming up’ for the next day when we’d be heading to Dharamsala, the home of the Dalai Lama in exile and a place with plenty of temples to see.
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You don’t go to Manali by accident; you have to really want to go there and make quite a lot of effort to do so. By car, it’s a full two days driving from Delhi assuming you only drive during the daytime when the light…Read More

You don’t go to Manali by accident; you have to really want to go there and make quite a lot of effort to do so. By car, it’s a full two days driving from Delhi assuming you only drive during the daytime when the light is good. You really wouldn’t want to take your chances on India’s Himalayan roads after dark. Actually if I’m honest, you don’t want to drive on any of India’s roads after dark. On the first day of our trip we drove (or rather I should say ‘were driven’) from Delhi to Shimla and then a couple of days later we took the road from Shimla to Delhi.

If time is tight and money no problem, you could take a flight. There is a small airport nearby which has connections with Indian Airways to many of the biggest Indian cities but they are quite expensive. You cannot take the train as the lines stop where the hills start – with the exception of the Toy Train to Shimla.

I first became aware of this city after meeting two Americans in a campsite in Ladakh. They had trekked for something like 40 days to get from Manali up to Ladakh and I was seriously impressed. A hundred years ago, I believe Manali was pretty much the end of the line for civilisation and transport, with the really big mountains starting just beyond the town and the roads not going much further. It was the southern end of an ancient trade route up through the Himalayas to Ladakh and beyond.

These days Manali is a tourist hub for adventure sports fans with skiing in the mountains and white water rafting in the Beas River Valley. You can also find inexpensive places for paragliding, pony trekking and other such pursuits. Although Manali and Shimla are both at very similar altitudes of just over 2000 meters, they feel like different worlds. Shimla clings to the side of the mountains whilst Manali nestles in the river valley. Shimla has a population pushing 200,000 whilst Manali’s is a more modest 30,000. The influence of the British in Manali is much less marked than in Shimla with only the hardy few, mostly military men, making it so much further north. There are some similarities though. Both have main streets called ‘The Mall’, both have several interesting temples, and both are favourites with Indians looking to escape the heat of the plains and head for some potentially seriously cold weather.

The main attraction in Manali is the scenery and the most popular attraction is a drive up to the Rohtang Pass, at almost 4000m altitude. The road to Rohtang is lined with stalls renting ski-gear and warm clothes, rubber boots and ski equipment so nobody needs to take their own. I would advise to check if there is actually enough ski to snow before paying money for such things as we saw some seriously funny instances of people attempting to snow on an inch or two of snow-covered rocks. Paragliding places are available on the way up and once you reach the top, you can walk or take ponies further up the mountainside.

In Manali itself you will find a rather small town centre with a maze of shops and restaurants laid out around the central pedestrian street called The Mall. Attractions in the centre include a Tibetan Temple Complex, a small wooden temple on the Mall itself, a shady woodland park called Van Vihar and of course lots of places to just wander around. Slightly out of the centre you fan find the Hadimba Temple. This temple is hundreds of years old and built of wood with a fascinating roof structure. It’s also surrounded by ancient tall deodar cedar trees. Watch out for the ‘bunny ladies’ who pounce on unwary tourists and force their fluffy white angora rabbits onto them for photographs (and money). Near to the temple is a small museum of Himachal Pradesh Culture.

The lamest attraction in town must surely be The Club House which offers a third-rate set of what appeared to be poorly maintained rides and attractions as well as quite an interesting old building. I’m not sure which ‘Club’ it was ‘House’ to but its attractions are unlikely to impress most visitors.

The Vashishta Temple a couple of miles outside the town and well worth a visit offers several small temples as well as natural hot springs for bathing. If neither of those things appeal, it’s worth a visit just to look at the views. It seems to be an area popular with backpackers and was one of the busiest places we visited in Manali. If you are willing to travel a little further, the white water rafting centres are about 40-50 minutes drive south of the town and you will also find a weaving centre and angora rabbit farms.

Manali is a strange little place that’s quite unlike most towns we’ve visited in India. We visited for three nights which meant one day for going to Rohtang and another to see all the local sights. If you want to raft or ski, book longer – but be aware that when it’s cold enough for skiing, you won’t want to raft so you’ll probably choose one or other activity depending on the weather. Since we were content to just wander and observe, two full days was just about perfect for us.
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Shimla is a wonderful place which is quite literally built clinging to the side of a mountain. Maps of the place are almost useless since any two dimensional representations of an almost vertical city can't hope to give you any kind of accurate idea of…Read More

Shimla is a wonderful place which is quite literally built clinging to the side of a mountain. Maps of the place are almost useless since any two dimensional representations of an almost vertical city can't hope to give you any kind of accurate idea of how far apart things are – or more importantly how steep the route between them might be.

After a morning in Kufri, we asked our driver to drop us by the 'lift' on Cart Road at the eastern end of the Mall and then arranged that we'd see him again three and a half hours later. Most of the city centre sights are in areas where cars are not allowed so if you want to explore, you need to get dropped off by the road side (or in the car park) and then work your way up to where the action is. If you're feeling really energetic and you have a good sense of direction, you can find a route up the hillside climbing hundreds of steps. Or, if you've only just arrived in the mountains, it's much wiser to take the lazy route before you over-do things and take a nasty hit from the altitude. If that's the case, you need the lift that joins Cart Road to the Mall.

It's worth thinking about access to the city centre if you are booking a hotel in the pedestrian area. There will always be lots of porters, small wiry men and women who can be seen dragging fridges and luggage up steep inclines but many visitors will feel really bad about expecting someone to put themselves through physical torture carrying their bags. If you want to have any chance of taking your own bags, it's best to use the lift and then walk the less-steep roads at the top.

Cart Road runs parallel to the Mall but 100 feet below it. That might not sound like a lot but please take my word for it, it's a tough climb at altitude.

There's a small ticket booth where you can pay 8 rupees (about 10 pence) per person to use the two-part lift system for getting up the mountainside. The lifts themselves are very small and would hold no more than about 8 people at a time. Despite the small capacity, we've always been able to get in the next lift that appeared.

The first lift takes you vertically up and then leaves you at the end of a walkway which joins the two lifts. Don't hang about looking at the view or the second lift might go without you and if the one following you is full there might not be room for everyone to fit in the next lift. The second lift takes you up to the Mall level where you need only to walk a short distance to reach the road. Turn left up the slope and the road will take you past all the shops and restaurants to the historic buildings, Scandal Point and the Ridge.

The price is high enough to deter many of the locals from using it but so cheap that you'd be a fool not to use it at least once or twice. Of course it's tempting to take the lift up and then walk down but if you choose to do that, allow more time for finding your way down and pushing through the crowds. You'll have plenty of opportunity to show how fit and healthy you are just walking around Shimla but I recommend taking the easy route into town and using the lift.   Close

Till about 15 years ago, the options for going out for a coffee were fairly limited in Delhi. All the five-star hotels, and some of the other upper-rung hotels, did have their own coffee shops, but these were (and still are) exorbitantly priced—especially if all…Read More

Till about 15 years ago, the options for going out for a coffee were fairly limited in Delhi. All the five-star hotels, and some of the other upper-rung hotels, did have their own coffee shops, but these were (and still are) exorbitantly priced—especially if all one wanted to do was meet up with old friends over a cup of coffee. Or if one was in a hurry and wanted to grab a sandwich somewhere along the way.

Then, in 2000, Barista made its debut in Delhi, bringing with it good coffee, cakes, sandwiches—better than what was formerly available at the government-run ‘coffee homes’, but nowhere as expensive as the coffee shops in hotels.

Over the years, more have opened. Some, like Café Coffee Day, are home-grown. Others, like Costa Coffee, Gloria Jean’s, and The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, are part of multinational chains. Almost every major market in Delhi now has at least one of these stores; some have multiple brands. Even small neighbourhood markets often have at least a Café Coffee Day.

How do they stack up?

1. Barista:
Barista was the first major chain to set up coffee stores in Delhi, and they’re pretty prominent all across town—you’ll see Barista stores, both big and small, in most major shopping areas. There are generally two types of Barista stores: the regular ones, and the Barista Crème ones, the latter offering a wider range of dishes, including made-to-order stuff such as pastas and potato wedges: nothing fancy.

The usual fare at Barista consists of a range of readymade sandwiches (be ready for limp lettuce!), small pies and tarts, quiches, and a variety of muffins, cakes (cream and/or chocolate laden ones seem to predominate). A lot of their savouries tend to cater specifically to Indian palates, so if you see anything labelled ‘spicy’ or ‘masala, you can be pretty sure it will be spicy. The un-iced cakes and muffins are inconsistent: mostly, they’re fine enough if you’re visiting in the early part of the day; beyond that, you might end up something pretty dry.
Strengths: Their range of coffees, which are pretty good, since they’ve tied up with Lavazza. Decent range of decaf too, and good cool drinks, including seasonal specialities like mango-based beverages in summer.

2. Café Coffee Day: A friend of mine, who’s a pastry chef, swears by Café Coffee Day’s espresso: he says it’s the best in town. Another acquaintance, also a chef, turned down an offer from
Café Coffee Day to be their consultant chef for the food menu—because he thought the image of the chain was pretty downmarket. (He also happened to overhear a pimp brokering a deal with a customer while having coffee at a Café Coffee Day outlet, so that may have influenced his decision).

My main grouse with Café Coffee Day is… well, everything. For one, their food is the pits. Too many Café Coffee Day outlets list a number of sandwiches, puffs, pies, etc on the menu, but the display counter (which is essentially all they offer) will have a few greasy samosas, some aloo bondas (spicy potato croquettes), and a couple of other equally spicy, oily and unappetising items. Sweets are in a minority, and about the only un-iced ones you’ll find are brownies, mostly not great.

Also, their more exotic drinks (like a recent one that I tried, called a ‘cinapple’—a cold coffee with cinnamon and apple flavouring) can be disastrous. The one I had was prettily layered, but I wasn’t told to stir it. So, while I got so-so milky coffee for most of the drink, the last swallow consisted of a glug of nauseatingly sweet artificial apple-cinnamon flavour.
Café Coffee Day have recently been renovating their outlets and opening more high-end stores (one in Khan Market, for instance). The menus sound a whole lot better and more extensive (we haven’t eaten a meal at one yet, though a brownie I had was a vast improvement on the usual Café Coffee Day brownie).
Strengths: The hot coffees, especially the ‘usual’ ones, like the espresso, cappuccino, mocha, and latte, are decent enough.

3. Costa Coffee: Originally launched in the UK, Costa Coffee has a number of outlets in Delhi now, and is certainly a step up from Barista and Café Coffee Day. Perhaps not as far as the coffee goes—Barista and Café Coffee Day do sell coffee as good as Costa’s—but definitely when it comes to food.

Costa offers a wide variety of sandwiches (including ones not made with boring old sliced bread, but also panini (our favourites are the mushroom and cheese, and the herby roasted chicken panini). They also have savoury and sweet pastries, with good croissants, chocolate twists, and chilli-mushroom puffs, among others. And they keep revamping their menus, to add interesting new dishes now and then: the latest are a range of bite-size snacks you can order with your drink, such as tiny shepherd’s pies, chai latte custard tarts, etc.
Strengths: The food, which is generally superior to that of Barista or Café Coffee Day. And their service, which tends to be mostly more efficient than I’ve noticed in the other chains. The fact that Costa Coffee actually make it a point to employ hearing disabled people as servers, thus giving greater opportunities to people who might otherwise be sidelined, is a major point in their favour, as far as I’m concerned!

4. The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf: Our favourite. Our absolute favourite—which is why my husband and I keep wishing The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf would open more stores in Delhi (I’ve only seen three stores so far, two in Delhi and one in NOIDA).

Besides the fact that it has a great range of coffees, The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf gets a thumbs-up from us because it also offers some lovely, unusual teas (vanilla Ceylon, anyone? Or Japanese cherry? Or some equally exotic, wonderful flavours?) Also, while the range of food isn’t huge, it’s wide enough to offer you several choices of pasta, sandwich, puff, etc—and it’s good. Our particular favourite when we’re really hungry is the delicious chicken pesto cream with spaghetti.

The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf also do the best cheesecakes I’ve had in any coffee store in Delhi, and their muffins and cookies are good, too.
Strengths: The quality of both food and beverage, and the range of beverages on offer.

5. Gloria Jean’s: Like Costa Coffee and The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Gloria Jean’s too isn’t homegrown: this one’s originally Aussie. It doesn’t have too many outlets that I’ve come across (and one that I particularly liked, at Basant Lok, has shut shop). While Gloria Jean’s do have some good things on their menu (a fantastic roast chicken sandwich, for example, and some good chocolate chip muffins), they’re terribly inconsistent. I’ve had excellent food at the Basant Lok outlet, and terrible food—stale lamingtons, dry-as-dust brownies—at the Vasant Kunj outlet, just a couple of kilometres away. Also, while their non-vegetarian food is generally good, the veggie options tend to be either swamped in spice or overcooked (or, worse still, both). Not a good choice if you’re vegetarian.
Strengths: Not sure I’d put anything here, because you can never be sure, they’re so variable. Unfortunately, even the range of coffees they offer is rather limited. Tea drinkers can hope for maybe just a couple of options here.

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'Not Very Bollywood At All' by Richard Beeching is one of the funniest first hand accounts of a trip to India that I've ever read. It follows the adventures of a cricket fan who followed the England cricket team on the 2001 test series. I…Read More

'Not Very Bollywood At All' by Richard Beeching is one of the funniest first hand accounts of a trip to India that I've ever read. It follows the adventures of a cricket fan who followed the England cricket team on the 2001 test series. I bought it earlier this year as a Kindle book and wasn't expecting too much.I've read very good and very bad Kindle 'books' about people's experiences of travelling in the country that I love and this is the best so far. I fear that the advent of easy 'blogging' and relatively easy e-book publishing has led a lot of people – many of whom should probably have kept their travel experiences for the eyes and ears of long suffering friends and family – to launch themselves onto the market as 'travel writers'. Many produce dull dull dull accounts of the minutiae of the traveller's day or show themselves to be extraordinarily ignorant about the places they've visited. Richard Beeching is not one of those people – he's funny, he pays attention and his observations get right to the point of what it's really like to travel on a budget in the world's biggest democracy. He's absolutely, painfully honest about just how crap life can be in between the sublimely brilliant bits and that's why I'd recommend 'Not Very Bollywood at All' to anyone considering independent travel in India for the first time.


Beeching is one of those writers who manages the very English trick of being horribly funny whilst seemingly trying hard not to be. I would want to have a beer with this man and talk about trains and toilets – honestly! Whilst my interest in cricket is minimal, I found Beeching's 'first time in India' observations to be so authentic and so understandable that I warmed to his tale very quickly. This isn't really a book about cricket – cricket is just his reason for chucking in his job, leaving his divorce behind him and going off to do something different. He's not one of the dippy hippies off to find an ashram and search for themselves – instead he's a very English 'bloke' accidentally tripping over himself between test matches.

The organisers of the 2001 test series were not kind when they set the locations for the matches. The tour could so easily have taken in some of India's great cities but it didn't. With the first test in Chandigarh (a soulless place that's a lot like Milton Keynes – Beeching calls is 'an architectural abortion'), the second in Ahmedabad (an alcohol free city thanks to its association with Gandhi and a predominantly Muslim one, visited at the time of growing tensions with nearby Pakistan) and the last one in Bangalore, the most boring big city in the sub-continent. If these three places had formed my first introduction to India I think I wouldn't have gone back. Equally the cricket was unexciting with India winning one test and the other two ending in draws. When the tour was over Beeching decided to stick around, partly hoping to get romantic with a Welsh television producer who needed some advice on the laws of cricket and would be around for the One Day Series, but also because something about India had got under his skin. He just wasn't ready to go home. I suspect nobody was more surprised than Beeching. He claimed he went to "watch England play cricket, go beserk in Goa and then leave". He hated his life and "fancied doing bugger all for a year".

He travels by train and by so-called luxury buses. He watches as locals defecate alongside the train tracks, sometimes exhibiting their skills of balance by raising a hand to wave as the train passes. He struggles to deal with full-blast Bollywood music on the buses – the price you pay for trying to keep the driver awake is sacrificing the sleep of every passenger on board. He eventually learns the twenty questions every Indian on a train is ever going to ask him but he's so English that he can't ignore them when they're fired at him yet again as he sits wedged between fascinated locals who want to stare at him. Yes, he knows Geoffrey Boycott is from Yorkshire and Nasser Hussain was born in Madras and agrees that undoubtedly Sachin Tendulkar is the best batsman in the world.

He mishears a few things with funny consequences:

"Rich Country?"
"Yes I come from a rich country, now please leave me alone!"

Then he realises his interrogator actually asked him "Which country?"

At one point he wonders why the locals are staring at him and another traveller, whilst totally ignoring an old man masturbating over a display of bananas. That's the authentic voice of Indian travel experience. He learns to see the beauty in the dirt. When a guy from Hounslow tells him that Amritsar is a dirty, smelly city full of hassle, he replies that it's "a dirty, smelly, bustling, vibrant city built around the most beautiful serene and spiritual experience you could wish for in a city of 2.5 million". He is – as you probably already guessed I would say – right on the button. That's exactly what it is. He's less generous about Ahmedabad – that's a "horrible place full of horrible people". I've not been so I can't confirm – but the reason I've not been is because I've heard it's a horrible place full of horrible people. He does admit that quite possibly not all of the 5.7 million inhabitants are horrible but "the 500 or so I (met) were mainly a***holes".

Miscellaneous observations that made me giggle included watching tiny ants carrying away dead mosquitoes as he sat in the bathroom suffering a bout of diarrhoea. Actually rather a lot of funny bits relate to (squat) toilet humour. Having to wipe himself with 10 rupee notes, having a serious attack in a teepee and having to poo in a shower when the end of the corridor was just beyond his reach. It's not for the faint-hearted or weak of bowel. Similarly his feelings about monkeys are impossible to repeat without the use of more asterisks than letters. He doesn't like them – really doesn't like them. His account of taking drugs in Jaiselmer – the notorious combination of 'bhang lassi and bangh cookies' – reminded me of what my friend Alex got up to during our visit to the city although at least Beeching wasn't daft enough to send a tuk tuk driver off with his 'bhang money' and to expect him to return with the 'goods'. He fights off unofficial tourist 'guides' who "spoke excellent English but struggled to comprehend "No"". At one point he tests his theory that no Indian will ever admit they don't know where something is by walking a couple of blocks from his hotel and then stopping people to ask for instructions. Everyone waggles their head and tells him where to go. The only one who doesn't claim he's sure of the way is the only one who actually gives the correct directions. It's just all SO true.


I laughed, I grunted, I bored those around me by reading out snippets, and when I got to the end of the book I wanted more – much more – but there was no more to be found. I wanted to know who Richard Beeching was and whether he'd written anything else. And then it hit me that maybe he doesn't exist at all - or rather that Richard Beeching may not be his real name. After all Baron Richard Beeching was the man who shut down so may of Britain's railway lines and our Not Very Bollywood Richard Beeching spent 71 days travelling around on India's railways. I'm left wondering if it's just a nom de plume – an alias created to protect his identity from all the people he might have offended on his travels (or all the budget hotel owners whose accommodation was left less than sparkling clean) or just a mere coincidence.
Bargain!

This fantastic little e-book cost me a mere 77 pence and made me laugh until others questioned my sanity. If you've ever been to India, every wanted to go or even never shown the slightest interest in going, and if you have an open mind and can see the humour in upset bowels, this is a bargain. Go, buy it now.
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Landour began in the early 1800s as a convalescence centre for British soldiers. Among those who played a major part in looking after the recuperating military men were nuns: the ‘sisters’. Landour has long since stopped being a place to recover and recuperate, and the…Read More

Landour began in the early 1800s as a convalescence centre for British soldiers. Among those who played a major part in looking after the recuperating military men were nuns: the ‘sisters’. Landour has long since stopped being a place to recover and recuperate, and the sisters have long since moved out, but the memory of those days remains in the name of Sisters Bazaar. The ‘sisters’ of Landour used to live in a dormitory here, which is why the street has become known as Sisters Bazaar. It isn’t really a bazaar as such—not unless you consider two shops a bazaar!

This is a small, very quiet and sleepy little street in Landour, where a bunch of cottages—two of them partly converted into shops—line on side. Geraniums grow in pots hung in wire baskets from the eaves of the cottages. Birdsong can be heard from the deodar woods nearby, and there’s an air of unhurried, uncrowded charm that’s a very welcome break from the din of Mussoorie.

The other side of the Sisters Bazaar street is occupied by a long, low building with a stone rubble wall till about half-way up, and a dun wash above that. This was, when the nuns lived in Landour, the dormitory that accommodated them. Later, long after the nuns had moved out, the building was bought by legendary Hindi filmstar Dev Anand, whose family still owns it—we were told that his daughter Devina still lives there.

The biggest draw of Sisters Bazaar is Prakash Store, the larger of the two shops on this street. Prakash Store caters largely to the more Westernised of Landour’s residents (including the many foreigners who come to the Language School to study Indian languages). Besides the usual branded groceries that you’ll find in other shops in Mussoorie and Landour, Prakash Store also stocks a lot of imported foods: nothing terribly fancy, but old (and addictive) favourites like Mars bars, Nutella, snacks, canned food, even a few cheeses, such as cheddar.

More importantly, Prakash Store doesn’t restrict itself to only selling stuff they’ve procured; they also make some goodies. Chief among these are fruit preserves—the recipe dates back to 1926, and was originally obtained from the ‘sisters’ at the convalescence home. Strawberries, gooseberries (actually, cape gooseberries), apricots, plums, and other local fruit are made into jams and sold here. They also make cheeses—local cheddar and goat’s milk cheese among them—andyak’s milk cheese. Plus, they do some baking.

The day we visited Sisters Bazaar and stopped by at Prakash Store, they didn’t have any yak’s milk cheese (which was what we were actually interested in), so we skipped the cheese, and bought a few bottles of jam instead: plum, apricot, strawberry, and gooseberry. The baked goods section had some relatively mundane bread, cinnamon buns, and some very fragrant banana and walnut bread (in fact, one of the best things about going into Prakash Store—even if you don’t buy anything—is that you’re greeted with the aroma of baking. Lovely!)

We ended up buying a loaf of banana and walnut bread to have with our tea back at the hotel. Though it was nice and moist, it didn’t have as much banana flavour as we’d have expected. The jams, when we had them back home, turned out to be a hit or miss affair; the two jams we kept for ourselves—apricot, and strawberry—were vastly different in quality. The strawberry jam was just the right consistency, and tasted great. The apricot jam, on the other hand, tasted of nothing in particular (certainly not apricots), and was set pretty solid—too much pectin there, I think.

Other than this large store, there’s a tiny shop a few metres down the street. This deals in local goods and souvenirs: clothing (especially woollens), embroidered scarves and stoles, trinkets, handmade soap, and a range of organic foods, from unusual flours to raw sugar. It’s a nice (if cramped) place to buy stuff for friends and relatives who may not be especially keen on jams or cheeses.

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