Member and Globetrotters Club travel award winner in 2009, Doreen Tayler recounts the second half of her journey of a lifetime…to follow in the footsteps of Kim, Rudyard Kipling’s most famous character. Enjoy her very readable writing and be inspired to submit your own proposal for the 2010 award The Ant

To recap: Kim set off from Lahore to look for his heritage, while acting as a disciple (chela) to a lama who is searching for Buddha’s River of the Arrow. I picked up Kim’s trail at Amritsar station, en route to Ambala (then Umballa), which was his first stop.

During the British Raj, Umballa was an important garrison town. It was the permanent headquarters of the British military in India and of strategic importance being on the Grand Trunk Road, which stretches from the Khyber Pass to Calcutta. It is still a military cantonment, but of little significance, – a bustling, extremely dusty town and I soon had to ditch my contact lenses and resort to glasses. There is little of interest for foreigners here, and I met none, but there was an excellent English Book Shop with everything from John Grisham to Freud. Browsing for hours one afternoon, the manager to my delight asked me, ‘Would ma’am care for tiffin?’

‘Jains’ Sodawater Factory. Estd. 1940’ was a real find. Located on the main street, a bouncer guarded the entrance – that was weird! Why? Frequented mainly by parents and their offspring, I had visions of children rioting if they ran out of Hot Chocolate Fudges or Munchurian Pizza. Just inside the door and above the cashier’s head, smiling benignly down at the customers, are the Jain family portraits: the founder grandfather, his son, and grandson, the current owner, who graciously advised me on the dishes. Tough call, but I would recommend ‘Jain’s special Thali’ and ‘Jain’s Special Dream Boat’ – after having tried to munch my way through the American style menu.

Kim’s (and now my) mission in Ambala was to locate a certain Colonel Creighton’s bungalow. Here Kim delivered an encoded (espionage) letter, en route to Varanasi (then Benares). I managed to locate a bungalow of the right age and description, but who knows? In the same vicinity near the station, is the bomb-damaged remains of the church of St. Paul’s which was built in 1857 – a victim, and a memorial of the Pakistan- India war of 1965-6 (now standing in the grounds of a posh private school). It was built in 1857, and although photographs were not allowed, I managed to take some by saying my father married there in 1930. I doubt Kim paid much attention to St Paul’s as British churches were commonplace. He did though, inadvertently stumble on his father’s old regiment, and as a result lost his freedom and was sent off to be schooled at St Xavier’s (in reality La Martiniere) in Lucknow, temporarily parting company with his lama.

Map courtesy of http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Main_Page

So next stop was Lucknow, and as with Ambala, I was a viewed as a curiosity, and instantly helped when I was lost or looked anxious. I hired a cycle rickshaw to take in the town’s many ancient sites, before exploring La Martiniere. The building was originally a Gothic chateau with four enormous octagonal towers and was built by a French soldier of fortune in 1793. He left instructions that he wanted it was converted after his death into a school for the rich and well connected. During my visit, a Bollywood version of St Trinians was being filmed and they were shooting a scene with nubile youngsters dressed in school uniform, who sang, and danced, with the girls provocatively sashaying through the many quads. Kim missed out there.

Not far away is The Residency, where the Indian Mutiny began resulting in a five month bloody siege in1857, which cost the lives of two thousand British and saw much hardship as well as acts of great sacrifice and bravery. The museum and cemetery are haunting and well kept. However, the complex is preserved to celebrate the verve and expertise of the rebelling Indians who overcame the cornered British residents. Nevertheless, within seven months the British had resumed power. Many boys from nearby La Martiniere (which closed temporarily) helped run dangerous missions for the besieged Brits – events not much before Kipling’s time. Kim did not though spend his school holidays in Lucknow, he roamed the country, and frequently was sent to Simla for extra-curricular schooling in the art of espionage.

Shimla is a real joy. I took the sleeper train back to Ambala for the journey to Shimla. Then at nearby Kalka I changed trains and took the little toy town train that climbs the sixty-five miles up to the hill station – and takes six hours! Honeymooners thronged my train, the giveaway being the brides’ hands decorated with henna. Shimla is where the British Raj spent seven months of the year escaping the heat of the plains. No traffic is permitted in the Mall, nor is spitting or littering. Bliss. Peeing wherever though still proliferates.

I loved Shimla: it was cool, fresh and compact and despite the profusion of concrete, still retains its colonial aura. The stately English Renaissance Vice regal Lodge atop Observatory Hill, shows how our viceroys lived in splendour. The ghostly reminiscence of Victorian grandeur seeped out of the town’s ‘Ridge’ area, wandering round the British built library and the Gaiety theatre at Scandal Point (named after the reputed abduction of a British lady by a Maharaja in the nineteenth century), I envisaged the thrill of amateur dramatics and state balls with the ladies being ferried from their bungalows by manual rickshaws, wearing all their finery and bedecked in jewels. Kim spent much time here at Lurgan Sahib’s (really A M Jacob’s) antique shop, learning camouflage and observation techniques, and although I could not find the shop, I found Belvedere where Jacob lived, by asking a lady in the street if she knew its location. ‘You mean Jacob the magician’s house?’ she responded, ‘Belvedere is just further on from the library and is now a girls’ school. I’m the headmistress!’ Maybe he was working his magic again, for most characters in Kipling’s book were based on real characters.

It was with reluctance I dragged myself away from Shimla, which is surrounded by hills and houses precariously atop houses, is running alive with mischievous monkeys. Kim too enjoyed its refreshing atmosphere, and every autumn returned reluctantly to school. When Colonel Creighton deemed him ready to leave and join the Great Game – (spying), he rushed off to meet up with the lama in nearby Benares, (now Varanasi), and so that was where I now headed.

‘Varanasi is fruitcake’ said an American tourist I met in Delhi, and he wasn’t far wrong. I did not get to the hostel I intended, I was back in the tourist nightmare of being a walking wallet, but no matter, my rickshaw driver’s choice was just fine – the food was watered down and de-spiced somewhat but that is apparently to suit foreigners’ taste. Western bakeries abounded and most people who approached me were trying to lead me to silk shops, assuring me they gave any commission they made to charities! I had not even put my bag down before I was booked into a river trip to see the burning gnats and the nightly river ‘show’ following on from my hostel’s ‘temple tour’. At less than £5, excellent value I figured.

Eyes followed wallets and rickshaw drivers followed tourists, with holy bolies everywhere. The craziness of Varanasi has to be experienced to be believed. Kim does not mention much about the oldest city in the world but met up with his lama at a Jain temple. However, it was not clear if it was the one in Varanasi or Sarnath so I visited both. Sarnath is greener and less manic than Varanasi but full of coaches waiting for Indian tourists to return after visiting the many temples and interesting museums in this holy old enclave where Buddha was purported to preach under a tree.

My trip ended with Kim and his lama at Saharanpore after travelling up to the hill station of Missorie via Dehradun. Saharanpore is an industrial town surrounded by fruit farms. I stayed just one night. On walkabout, it seemed full of drunks and rough sleepers. I had been warned several times by well-wishers not to stop there, but I felt totally unthreatened and again spent much time in an English bookshop. The short train ride to Dehradun, famous for its public schools (Gandhi went to one), is where I caught the bus up to Missoorie, which is situated in the foothills of the Himalayas.

Missorie does not ban but does limit traffic driving through its centre. It is a magical place surrounded by woods and snow-capped mountains. You only have to walk some half hour out of the small town and you are in a trekkers’ delight. This area again attracts honeymooners and weekenders from the plains. Unlike Shimla though, there is no civil service industry. The shops just sell souvenirs, most from Tibet and Kashmir. The British presence can still be felt: there are Christian churches, polo schools and private schools. Kim went further into the mountains in search of foreign spies, nowadays if he did the same, he would meet mainly Tibetan refugees and the occasional foreigner who attends one of the several language schools at nearby Landes. Next to the clock tower (the British built many, as the locals did not own watches) is the fabulous Clock-house Cafe which caters mainly to the language students. It is not quite up to Jain’s Sodawater Factory, but their homemade cheesecake, brownies and apple pie take some beating. Kim missed out there as he loved his ‘sweetmeats’, but he thwarted the foreign spies; his lama found the River of the Arrow back at Saharunapore and we leave Kim poised on the cusp of being a latter day 007, albeit alone.

And being alone on my travels was not a problem, more a boon, and no doubt because I appeared approachable. It was flattering at one hotel where a wedding reception was taking place, to be asked my room number by several lascivious middle-aged male guests. My age, however, was a constant source of interest and when I was asked it, I always quoted Oscar Wilde, “Any woman who tells you her age will tell you anything!” This was greeted with hoots of laughter and seemed to suffice, people always wanted to chat and to ask me if I liked India. Finding a room – rarely more than £10 – was never a problem. So to those of you who have not been to India, I would merely say, ‘Just go!’ It is safe, it is cheap, it is fascinating, and the people are curious, helpful and enchanting. It has the lot. Oh yes, and the food is good too!