I'm in Shimla today, having arrived late yesterday afternoon.

Since I last wrote, I spent another wonderful, fruitful day and a half meditating at the Mahabodhi Temple, and left feeling that I want to return sometime soon (though not on this trip) for a longer stay. Some call it the Navel of the World, and I can see why: I experienced it as a place with tremendous spiritual power. I felt so clear-minded and heart-opened by the time I left! Uh, I had acquired several more Bodhi Tree leaves, too (they all fell either directly on me or right in front of me, honest).

To get to Shimla, I took an autorickshaw ride back to the railroad station in the nearby, larger town of Gaya. While in Bodh Gaya, I'd been somewhat dreading my return to Gaya, since I knew that I ought to get there during daylight hours (I arrived about 4 pm), and then would need to wait at the station until my train arrived at 3 am the next morning. I had feared that I'd not have a moment's peace, between the railway children (who live at the station and beg for a living), ill-intentioned men (I'd thought I'd get a pass on this problem now that I'm middle-aged, but no), and the touts. I followed a suggestion from B to request a retiring room. There are a few of these rooms at Gaya station, and they are common at Indian rail stations. They're meant for travelers who have a long layover. I asked at the enquiry office and learned that all were full. So I asked for their advice about a safe place where I might wait for my train. They kindly led me to the First Class Ladies' Waiting Room (though they could see that my ticket was for 3rd class). That waiting room was a real haven, thanks to a stern lady stationed by the door who chased out all intruders. I wasn't bothered by anyone (except mosquitoes) and had some pleasant conversations with others in the room. I even was able to stretch out a bit for brief rests, along with everyone else. The long wait for my train that I'd been dreading ended up being a companionable and not so uncomfortable experience, after all.

The next challenge was to manage to find my train's platform and my train car in the middle of the night in the dark. I'd been concerned about that, but it proved to be easy: my train pulled up along the platform just outside my waiting room, and my train car was nearly right in front. I found my own berth without too much trouble, and stretched out for the remainder of the night. So much for worrying about things in advance!

From Gaya to Kalka takes you across a long swath of north India, so it was a long ride. I spent the rest of that day and the following night and early morning in that same train compartment, along with five other people and lots of luggage. I had a good conversation with one of the women in the compartment who spoke some English and was glad to have the opportunity for a conversation. She has a son in New Jersey and has visited him there (the U.S. is so clean!, she commented; she enjoyed her two months there).

She asked about me, and learned that I'm unmarried (the U.S. and India are quite different in this respect, I commented) and that I have been working as a scientist (my shorthand for how I describe the interdisciplinary job I recently left). She greatly approved of how I'm living my life, unlike many who've been a bit shocked to get this same information. It's essentially unheard of for a middle-aged Indian woman not to have been married. She excitedly passed along my information to the two other women sharing the compartment with us (I can't follow Hindi conversations in any detail, but sometimes I can pick up some of the general topics). And she wistfully commented to me that she wished she could have had a life like mine--the first time I've heard that response. She also reflected that India's biggest problem is "too many people," and that for some not to have children should be encouraged. Long after she had left the train at her station, the others in the compartment were still discussing what they'd learned of "Madame" from the U.S.

Finally, the train pulled into Kalka station late morning yesterday. I readily found my next train: the Shivalek Express, which is the most deluxe of the several versions of the "toy trains" that travel from Kalka up the steep hills to Shimla. It cost all of $6 for a 6-hour train journey, including a nice midmorning snack and lunch--I'm glad I splurged. Even though I'd already spent so many hours on a train by then, it was fun to travel slowly up and up into the hills in this train, as it chugged through dozens of small tunnels and over a few bridges. In places, the outer track came within inches of high dropoffs, which added a certain frisson to the experience. As we climbed, we could see farther and farther across the hills and valleys surrounding us, and the terraced fields and small towns that cling to the hills. And it was interesting to watch the vegetation change as we gained height (Kalka is down in the plains, and Shimla is at more than 7000 feet). I especially appreciated a zone where palm trees and pine trees grew together on the hillsides (though I didn't capture a good picture of them).

By the time we had reached the elevation of Shimla, though our pleasant, sunny day had been replaced by thick, dark clouds, sleet, wet snow on the ground, and a cold breeze. We shortly pulled into the Shimla rain station, and I descended. My mood had darkened a bit by then, along with the weather, and I was realizing how tired I was. I'd been warned by Lonely Planet of the hotel touts that wait for tourists at this station, and indeed, I was soon targeted by a few, each of whom followed me closely, inveigling insistently, until each in turn finally gave up. Burdened by my luggage, I plodded obstinately up the steep streets into town in the sleeting rain, intending to look for a particular budget hotel, but confused by the twisting streets and unwilling to slow or stop to review my map for fear of drawing more touts. Eventually, I recognized the sign for another budget hotel listed in Lonely Planet, and headed straight for its door.

The front desk staff were a bit dour, but a room was available for a good price, and I asked to see it. I laughed when I was ushered into it. Lonely Planet describes this hotel (Hotel Gulmarg) as a honeymoon hotel, and indeed, the room contains mirrored ceilings and walls and a big circular bed--decor that Lonely Planet characterizes as "gloriously chintzy." I was clearly not the target demographic. Still, a sodden German motorcyclist traveling alone didn't hesitate to check in, and other guests going in and out the front door looked normal, so I checked myself in. I enjoyed a hot shower in my over-the-top room, and when I couldn't find BBC on the TV, I settled for watching the second half of the Fellowship of the Ring and then The Andromeda Strain on HBO, happy to invoke the "any port in a storm" clause.

After a few hours of deep sleep, I awoke ready to get breakfast, visit an ATM, and make my onward travel arrangements. I was less interested in seeing Shimla itself, though I'd been looking forward to it before. When I left my windowless room and went out the hotel's front door, though, I was surprised by a brilliantly blue sky and crisp rather than chilly weather. With my spirits brightening with each step, I found my way up and up the pedestrian walkways that make up central Shimla until I reached the Mall and the Ridge, the narrow pedestrian streets that top the ridgeline that the town occupies.

Finally, I was able to look across to the opposite side of Shimla's long ridge, and I was surprised to see, stretched out along the entire northern horizon, the high peaks of the Himalayas, which shone starkly white against the blue sky. This was my first-ever view of this range, though I'd occupied much of my teen and college years reading accounts by the mountaineers who first climbed these peaks. I am impressed by the size of these mountains. I've lived in mountain country nearly all my life, including summers spent working at Denali National Park in Alaska. But these mountains--even seen from a distance and even compared to Denali (Mt. McKinley)--are enormous, and many of the highest peaks looked remarkably steep and sheer. I can easily see why they've haunted mountaineers' dreams for decades.

After a pleasant breakfast in a restaurant on the Mall and a read of today's Times of India, and then a visit to the bus station to book a bus for the town of Mandi tomorrow morning, I was ready for some walking. I decided to hike up Jakhu Peak, directly above Shimla on the same ridgeline, to the Hanuman temple at its top. I'd been mulling over whether to do this hike since first planning to visit Shimla. Its main challenge isn't the elevation (though the peak is more than 8,000 feet high) or the length (it's less than an hour), but the resident "monkey menace": hundreds of rhesus monkeys who live on the peak and can harass walkers. They especially like to steal glasses, I was warned by Lonely Planet, other guidebooks, and later a concerned lady selling prasad (offerings for the temple) along the trail. I went anyway, and was happy to rent a stout walking stick from a vendor at the bottom of the trail, for use in fending off any glasses-snatchers. Cost for this little bit of peace of mind: 10 rupees (about 20 cents U.S.). I also tucked my best pair of glasses into the bottom of my pack, wearing my spare pair instead, and I pulled my wide-brimmed Seattle Sombrero hiking hat securely over my ears (further secured by its chin strap) to further repel invaders.

Up and up I walked through the pine forest and increasing numbers of monkeys large and small, breathing hard at this high elevation, to the top, where there's a pretty temple, and enormous statue of Hanuman under construction, and marvelous views in all directions. I sat on a bench examining the Himalayan peaks and surrounding ridgelines with my binoculars (wrist strap firmly around my wrist), while carefully keeping an eye out for any monkeys moving in for the kill. One in particular seemed to have noted that I was the only glasses-wearing person on the peak, and silently followed me as I made my way from bench to bench to admire the views. My own furry Gollum! But neither he nor his colleagues managed to snatch my glasses, and I made my way back down the trail to the Mall, where I've (obviously) found an internet cafe.

Tomorrow morning, I head for the town of Mandi, which is about half-way to my ultimate destination of Dharamsala. From Mandi, either tomorrow afternoon or early the following day (depending on bus timing), I'll head up to the nearby town of Rewalsar, where I hope to spend a night or two. It is a holy place for Tibetan Buddists (who call it Tso Pema) because it was there that Padmasambava, founder of Tibetan Buddhism, meditated in a cave before travelling to Tibet. I hope to visit his cave and explore that area. On returning from Rewalsar, I plan to catch a bus on 15 March to Dharamsala.