Conceived by the British as a summer getaway for its greenery and elevation, Shimla is a hill station town popular amongst domestic tourists. Built into the side of several westward facing hills, it is a lovely and progressive town where smoking is banned, littering is a punishable (and strictly enforced) offense, traffic is seriously curtailed and heritage buildings are maintained and preserved; in short a pedestrian's paradise.

From Manali it is 250km away and a scenic 9h drive, though our lead footed driver gets us here 2.5h early, throwing us around like tictacs in a pillbox as he careens around tight corners and hairpin turns that overlook the jade waters flowing furiously below. At intervals I spy what seem to be inaccessible mandirs or temples on the opposing cliffs and learn that they are serviced by a network of ziplines, pulleys and rickety transport baskets. The ziplines look like little more than strands of dental floss and when my father asks what he'd have to pay me to take a ride I tell him that he can't afford it.

By the time we arrive in Shimla, the white knuckled ride leaves my parents a little rattled, but all is forgotten as we are greeted by the view of the city. Multi-colored tenement houses crowd one another, cascading down the westward facing hills while the setting sun bathes them in russet gold. Pops remarks that they remind him of the favelas of Rio and although I've never been I have to agree.

Shimla during the tail-end of sunset. Above a man sells fresh coconut on the Mall

We stay in a beautifully maintained heritage home, once the residence of a prominent British officer and now in ownership of a supposed descendant of a Raj. By her skin tone, the readiness with which she offers this information, and the way she talks down her nose to us I'm inclined to believe her. Being the low season for this part of India, we snag the master bedroom for a bargain and even get breakfast thrown in (puri bhaji for me, eggs and toast for the parents).

Over the next three days we take in the sights: the Hogswarts-esque Viceregal Lodge, shopping along Mall street, I climb 1km to see the three storey Hanuman statue -my favorite Hindu diety- while my parents get a taste of the Kafka-esque Indian bureaucracy as they (try to) secure train tickets and change money. But the best thing to do here in Shimla is to simply walk. In a country known for its congestion and over-population, Shimla is an oasis of personal space, clement weather, beautiful views, and friendly and helpful people. No cow shit, no traffic and no touts trying to scam you for every cent you're worth. I could easily spend a week here reading, writing and taking photographs.

While here I discovered the wonderful institution that is India Coffee House. This place looks as if the clock struck twelve in 1940 and never moved again. It is patronized mostly by local men of a certain age, all smartly dressed in blazers and ties, or sweaters over collared shirts, and sporting the thick black rimmed glasses that were fashionable long before they were appropriated by the hipsters of my generation.

I'm in love with this place

Over coffee and absurdly cheap eats even for India, they congregate around dark wooden tables and talk animatedly about gentlemanly things (I'm guessing). Else they're alone reading the Hindustan Times in a quiet corner being served by flunkies with peacock-like headdresses. No iPads, iPhones or iAnythings here; just good conversation and the printed word. With the wood paneled walls and mosaic floors, the aroma of coffee and dosas, and the sight of busboys in crisp white uniforms clearing tables under lazy ceiling fans, it's an intensely atmospheric place that is wonderfully reminiscent of a bygone age.

Service has the efficiency of a dirty HK eatery in Tsim Sha Tsui with empty plates being cleared away instantly and bill brought unprompted if nothing else is ordered. I end up eating three dosas and nursing four coffees just so I can spend enough time here to take it all. By the time I leave am absolutely wired.

When we board the toy train bound for Chandigar I'm a little sad to leave. Shimla seems like my kind of place and is so refreshingly different from what I thought India was. But we're headed to Delhi after a brief pit stop in Chandigar and I'm excited to see what it has in store for us.

The toy train ride is an experience worth taking and serves as a quaint introduction to the other great legacy left behind by the British: the country's expansive railway system. It's a great opportunity to mix with the locals and has all the romanticism that's usually associated with rail travel; strictly kept time tables, names printed on manifests posted outside each carriage, luggage handled by porters and the chief conductor checking and punching tickets. As we watch the landscape drift past through large windows, green hills give way to hinterland and before long we find ourselves in Chandigar, the city before the big city. Bring it on.

Our car on the toy train. Mom and pops in the back. Above the toy train engine

One of the many stops from Shimla to Kalka

A chai walla gets inundated with orders on our two minute pitstop

Flunkey #1 takes a moment while Gandhiji looks on. He's the only one that gets to wear that red peacock like headdress