Himalayan Queen to Simla

Himalayan Queen Mountain Railway

The Himalayan Queen to Simla is just one of many great Asian train journeys. 

THE Himalayan Queen, one of India’s five ‘toy’ trains, chugs at a sedate 18 miles per hour from Kalka to Simla – the former summer capital of the British Period.

It is only 60 miles but you can feel the three per cent gradient of the narrow gauge track and impressive multi-arched viaducts make it clear what a feat of engineering this Mountain Railway was to build.

The train is crowded with Indian holidaymakers, travelling to enjoy the cool air of the mountain retreat. I snatch views of the Himalayan foothills as we round some of the 900-plus curves.

We wind through no less than 103 tunnels and every time the passengers shout, hoot, scream, whistle and do goat impersonations in the brief darkness.

At a lower station two young water buffalo graze beside the platform, while the purple flowers of the feathery jacaranda trees colour the landscape.

Stone walls are covered with flowering creepers but in many places you can see the jungle is trying to reassert its control.

The children on the train are delighted with their excursion and hang out the windows; huge grins on their faces.

Former Viceregal Lodge, Simla

Soon the scent of pine trees fills the air and then Simla hoves into view – a picturesque tumble of buildings on the mountainside surrounded by forests of deodar, oak and rhododendron.

At a cool 2,076 metres (6,811 feet) Simla was a popular British base from the 1830s onwards and became the summer capital in 1864.

The ex-Viceregal lodge could have stepped straight out of a Walter Scott novel and its flower beds sparkle in the sunshine after a typical Simla rainshower.

Now the gothic structure is known as Rashtrapati Niwas and is used by the Indian Ministry of Education as well as being a tourist attraction.

Strolling along the Mall, Punjabi matrons pull their cardigans closer over their saris. I am sure they are indulging in Simla’s traditional pastime – gossip.

Christ Church, Simla

Christchurch is golden in the late evening sun but I plunge into the dim rabbit warren of a bazaar, which clings vertiginously to the hillside, in search of Rudyard Kipling’s unforgettable boy traveller: Kim.