En route to Simla

It's a four hour plus drive to Simla and the road winds its way up the steep hills that are cloaked in cloud in places. Hard rain at times too. Until you experience overtaking a slower vehicle on a blind bend with a killer drop on one side you don't really appreciate karma. "If it's my time to die, then so be it." Trouble is, I don't particularly want my time to be the same as yours.

We stop for a break and tea at a hillside hotel. Rooms have views over the valley and monkeys roam freely amongst the tables and chairs in the gardens. The tea is weak and milky, but it's hot and welcome. The traffic trundles by below us.

I'm getting a feel for our group; they've come from all over the UK and beyond. One guy is from Washington DC, another from one of the 'stans; Ireland, Romania, I've even heard there's a guy from Brussels of all places. Well it takes all sorts.

I'm on the swings, but I'd better move - a monkey above me is pulling at fruit from the tree by the swing and I'm in danger of becoming collateral damage.