A Quick Trip to Shimla

This week, I went to Shimla. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I'm glad I was finally able to go. Vandana is applying for her student visa to the Czech Republic in the fall. As a part of that, she had to get a background check done at the passport office in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh's state capital. When she told me of her plans, I half-jokingly said, “Take me with you.” The more I thought about it, the more I actually wanted to go. She got the go-ahead on Monday night, so I got up early on Tuesday morning and ran to the bus stand in Dharmsala to buy our tickets, we boarded a bus that night, and by Wednesday morning, we were in Shimla.

During the British Raj period, Shimla was the summer capital for the colonial government. It is high up in the mountains, perched along the ridge line. Streets are steep and winding, cut through by occasional narrow staircases. It's like McLeod Ganj times ten, at least, without the Tibetans.

We arrived in Shimla at something like 6:00 AM, having slept hardly at all the night before on the bumpy, winding bus ride. Vandana was staying with the family of her best friend in a town a little farther down in the valley, but they didn't have room for me as well. Almost as soon as we got off the bus, Vandana hailed a taxi and headed for her friend's house. I was left with a wave in the general direction of the main square. I walked briskly off in that direction, dodging eager taxi drivers, but I soon realized I was being followed by a Kashmiri man. Every time I paused to try to figure out where I was or where I was going, he would wave a badly folded brochure in my face and insist that I let him take me to a nice hotel. I told him, “No, go away,” multiple times, but he ignored me, and continued to follow me, trying to get my attention, for almost five minutes until I finally screamed at him, swearing I would call the police if he didn't leave me alone right then. That was a bluff, of course, I didn't know how to call the police, but it was enough for him. Alone on narrow streets where almost no one was about yet, all the stores close, I was terrified that he was still following me.

I took off blindly, shadowing a young Indian family, hoping that they were heading for the center of town, and that they would provide some kind of protection if I were to get harassed again. I followed them up hill and staircase all the way across Shimla to the city's second bus stand. That was when I realized I was completely lost. I back-tracked and asked directions from a few shopkeepers who were just setting up for the day. The deserted, winding streets of Shimla were disorienting. Again, a Kashmiri man tried to catch my attention, promising me a cheap hotel. I quickly told him off and fled.



After a few more wrong turns, I finally arrived in the main square of Shimla, but my victory was short-lived. I was immediately accosted by a cluster of Kashmiris, all trying to get me to go to one hotel or another. I think I had to yell at them once or twice to get away, and then took off in the direction of what I thought was a hotel I wanted to stay at. That turned out to be another wrong turn. I found myself at another end of the outskirts of Shimla. Returning to the main square, the Kashmiris were on to me again. Again, I fled. At that point, I was nearly in tears.

Lonely planet mentioned a coffee shop near by, so I figured I could sit down, have some tea and some much needed breakfast while I figured out where exactly I was going to stay. The constant harassment from these hotel porters had worn away my resolve and I could no longer decide where I wanted to stay. Every time I got close to a hotel, they appeared, frantically demanding that I go someplace else with them. Obviously, it was all for the commission they would get for referring a customer.

I walked up and down mall road looking for my coffee shop, but nothing was open. I stopped and asked for directions a couple of times, but was unable to find it. Finally, one woman told me that it was out of business. I hit the proverbial wall. All emotional fortitude I had left completely collapsed. I found an out-of-the-way bench and cried. I was hungry, but there was no place open to eat. I had some snacks with me, but after seeing viscous monkey fights already that morning on the streets, I was afraid to open my food for fear of getting attacked by monkeys myself. I was tired and worn down by the Kashmiri porters' harassment. I didn't know what to do any more. It was probably one of the lowest moments in all of my time in India.

I called Vandana in tears, telling her I wanted to go back home to Dharmsala right then. Vandana tried to calm me, and asked her hosts for advice. They told me to go to a particular hotel right on the main square. I should dry my tears, and walk quickly and confidently past the Kashmiris. I should check into the hotel, eat something at their restaurant, and then get some sleep. I did exactly that. But even as I climbld the stairs to Mayur Hotel, I saw a single Kashmiri man waiting for me at the bottom, in case I decided that I didn't want to go to that hotel after all.

In all my travels, I've never broken down like that before. I'm surprised at it myself, how deeply getting lost, all that harassment, and not being able to find a safe place to sit really got to me. I don't mean to paint Kashmiris as all bad. All of them Kashmiris I met in Kashmir were wonderful, respectful people. It was the nature of these men's jobs to recruit people to hotels, and as I was pretty much the only foreign tourist on the street at that time of day, all alone, and clearly needing a hotel with my backpack conspicuously on my back, I bore the brunt of it. So, lesson learned: one needs to have a hotel picked out ahead of time and go straight for it. That would have saved me so much stress and misery that morning.

The rest of my time in Shimla was very nice, if deliriously tired. After a nap, I met up with Vandana in the afternoon. She had already taken her paperwork to the passport office and was free to be a tourist with me. We had lunch, snacks, and shopped. In the evening, I went with Vandana to pick up her paperwork, which was completed without a hitch. Our main objective for the trip was accomplished. We went our separate ways for a good night's sleep.



The next day held more shopping and eating. Vandana's hosts owned a nice multi-cuisine restaurant (Qilaa, I highly recommend checking it out if you ever find yourself in Shima) on the Mall Road in Shimla, so we spent a good amount of time hanging out there, and stored our bags with them. Vandana was looking for a good backpack for her time in Europe next year, and I found a cheap sleeping back for my volunteer time in Japan. We also discovered the loveliest little cotton textiles shop I have ever happened upon in India. I admit to going a little bit crazy. I came out with lengths of six different kinds of cotton that I plan to make into shirts or other western clothes once I get back to the US. It was lots of fun.

Our bus ride back, however, was no more fun than the way there. I will be glad to be done with Indian night buses through the mountains. There is just one more left, on my way to Delhi in two weeks. All the same, the finality of that is a little frightening.

Final two weeks, here I come!