Pleasantly uneventful flight from Delhi to Dehra Dun. A highly confident young man approached us in the departure lounge at Delhi airport - must have been around 9. He was off to Simla. Anyways, we chatted for a while (his English was great), and then he said that he really liked Rob's big, big hair, and whilst I was laughing, he quickly asked if I was Rob's Dad. That shut me up.

Yeah, so Kingfisher turbo prop to DD - about an hour's flight. Brilliant views of the Gangetic plain. DD is just beyond the first range of hills at the NE top of the plains north of Delhi. I think the mini-hills are Shivaliks. Taxi from DD's Jolly Grant Airport up into the hills to Mussourie - an old hill station from the days of the Raj. It's about 2km above sea level, which seems pretty high, until you look North from there into the foothills of the Himalaya - they're proper mountains.

Mussourie was ... excellent. It seems to be a very long high street, snaking along a flattish ridge at the top of the hill. Getting there involves a couple of hours of impossibly insane driving up endless switchbacks - but it's worth it. We walked from one end of the main road to the other a couple of times - took a cable car ride to the top of Gun Hill (where the Brits used to fire a gun every day at noon to mark time), which had the most spectacular views of the misty mountains to the North.

Monkeys. Human-powered ferris wheel. Tiny children rooting through massive skip-bins. Cows. Relentless beep-beeeep-beep of car horns (no traffic in Mussourie itself, this noise just floats up from the switchbacks below).

We stayed at a swanky hotel, just off the end of the Mall. I think Rob wanted something more authentic, but, as his Dad, I put my foot down, and went for unashamed luxury.

On Sunday morning, we walked forever to the Happy Valley. A beautiful morning, following another snaky road, overlooking wonderful wooded hillsides. There's a Tibetan abbey there - seems like the right place for it - so calm, so peaceful.

And then walk back to Mussourie, taxi back down to Jolly Grant, Kingfisher back to Delhi, and Vinod back to the Taj, just in time for a swim in the lovely lovely pool - marred only by the armed guard walking around. I saw the manager come out, and explain to the guard that it's no use wandering up and down the poolside - he'll get much better coverage of any invading gunmen by staying in the corner and sweeping across the pool. That sort of thing tends to take the edge off an evening swim.