Welcome to our third newsletter for WWW.INDULGEDTRAVELER.COM our luxury travel/lifestyle magazine for affluent Boomers.

ATTENTION TRAIN BUFFS

I loved my train set when I was young and was delighted, years later, when my son wanted trains, tracks and all the gimmicks.

I'm still passionate about those rail-loving vehicles . . . except now my aim is for the larger, unique railway cars from luxury to quant. I've done the Rovos Rail in South Africa, Eastern & Oriental in Laos, shorter trips on the Eurostar, for a day in Paris and back to London and my favorite that is in India. And here I go again.

I had been to Darjeeling a few times but never on the World Heritage-Listed Toy Train.

Siliguri's New Jalpaiguri station is where I started my train travel.

The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway, with its narrow two-feet-wide gauge rails, was founded in 1878 in the Northern Bengal State - the route from Kolkata (then Calcutta) to Darjeeling. When this unique means of transportation began it was for those who had the time and money to undertake this formidable journey away from the unbearable heat of India's large cities to the cooler climes of the Himalayas. On this trip, instead of the original steam engine which still exists, it was a diesel engine that ascended the various terrains.

I was to be met by an official who was to have my precious train ticket. Not only wasn't he there with my pre- arranged first-class ticket but, in fact, no ticket had been booked, nor had they ever heard about my arrival. This meant that I didn't have a seat on this small, five-coach train. With The Darjeeling Toy Train being the narrowest of the regular narrow-gauge trains, there isn't the flexibility to even squeeze in one extra person. So seating became a wait and see situation.

Being school break, families looked forward to the coolness of the various hill stations and also to an occasion to show and explore the continuous changing scenery in this stunning, hilly territory.

Only after the train had arrived was there a head count. I did finally get the only available seat in the entire train that was in the second class section. So with the largest piece of luggage of any other passenger, (after all, I was going to be in India and Bhutan for three weeks), I was helped onto this tiny, 24-seat car by a most obliging gentleman. And even with the little space, there seemed to be continuous movement among my fellow passengers as they changed seats, walked up and down the very narrow and short aisle, chattered in loud voices on cell phones in various dialects and even sang along to the tunes on their iPods.

Although the trip isn't that long, approximately 90 km (about 54 miles), the train that dates back over a hundred years doesn't seem to have changed much and still takes about 8 hours to reach the nearest station to Darjeeling. The constant blasts of train hoots remains in a time warp. I wondered if that annihilating noise would soon stop but finally realized that it was part of the 'charm' and character of the journey and one just had to get used to the hoots, hence the very loud conversations.

My window seat was next to one member of a family of five - two others sat in the facing seats and the last members across the very narrow aisle. All were taking their vacation. They were chatty and friendly, wanted to know about Canada and how it was that I was traveling alone. They all spoke impeccable English. I liked the parents and their intelligent teenage children; one wanted to be a doctor, the other a lawyer. They offered me cake and crackers, I offered them whatever I had in my bag and realized that I should have bagged far more edibles.

Sukhna, a wild elephant and leopard game sanctuary was a stop at which a white-clad steward ran to tell me that a first class seat had become available.

I could have changed my seat but I didn't. It would have been an insult to this fine family and I enjoyed being with the "locals". However, I'm sure the seats were more butt-friendly in first class.

The pace was slower than I had imagined. The train crawled at about 10 km per hour, as it hugged and clung to the side of the highway and deepening valleys. Snapping photos of the ever-changing scenery became my past time and the photos actually came out clearly because of the lack of speed. I could actually grasp some of the branches that came through the open window. That was our air con. As we started climbing, we were so close to the edge of the precipice that keeping up my conversation with my seat mates was imperative

The complex curves and loops were both dazzling and frightening, the tortuous route unchanged since its conception, as the coaches crisscrossed the various public highways while cars stopped, without the aid of gates or sirens, to let us pass

From the avocado and green tea estates, the terraced rice fields where women were planting for the next season, to the thick, very green forests and the sight of an occasional hare or jungle fowl, we crept higher and higher.

My concern was that this seemingly fragile train would tip over. However, the exhilarating and constantly changing foliage, from thick forest to exotic wild greenery, took my mind off the various unscheduled stops due to a need to change or alter the tracks. Rangtan, Choonbutty, Tindharia, Gayabari , Mahanadi, Durseong, Tung, Sonada, Ghum were the scheduled station stops

An unexpected one was Gayabari, just one stop before my meeting place in Kurseong, 5000 feet above sea level. A wheel had fallen off the train in a most difficult of locations, next to a small cliff. We were told it would take 2 to 3 hours, 4 hours when in India, to fix this part. A soft rain had started to fall and I had already been on the train for 5 hours. I concluded that I had to get off the train and find a van cum taxi to get me to my meeting place. With already 11 people squeezed into a normal sized van, I pleaded and sat in the front seat with three others, certainly an unlawful number but who was counting! At Kurseong, I was met by one of the drivers from the heritage-listed, Windamere Hotel, on Observatory Hill in Darjeeling. The evening's chill was settling in and a blanket was folded over my lap for the trip, along with a bag of edible goodies for Darjeeling, ( 7500 feet above sea level).

Darkness was setting in. The hotel gateman saluted my arrival and several staff members were there to assist me and guide me to my grand suite.

My trip on the Toy Train had ended prematurely but it gave me the taste and adventure that I had yearned for.

Railway buffs should consider this trip as a reminder of a style long gone. One would suspect that by now these coaches would be in a museum but the Toy Train is the stuff of which railway legends are made and, with all its glitches, the Toy Train is still a fine experience.

Checked in at Windamere Hotel, I realized that this had been one of my best adventures with an opportunity to meet some kind Indian people, and to see extraordinary and ever-changing scenery.

Windamere Hotel's proprietor, the late, Sherab Tenduf, who became a dear friend, also happened to be the man who saved the Toy Train from being auctioned off. So train buffs revel in the two meeting rooms filled with books dedicated to trains.

The trip so slow, but the memories everlasting.

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