A little more random detail, and some anecdotes.

We really did need this couple of days of downtime in Nainital to rest. Our legs are feeling good, we've had lots of sleep and we're ready to make a move again. Tonight we take a night train from Kathgodam to Haridwar, and we'll arive late at night. Aside from another little bout of tourista that I'm struggling with we're in fine form.

The walk was sublime. Apart from the obviously stressful issue of Brian's pretty serious case of the flu, and resulting low energy, we had an amazing time. Without question the most beautiful hike I've ever been on, all 140km of it.

At the trail head, Munsyari, we started at the valley floor, which was very jungle-y and lush. Lots of banana trees and dense bamboo, humid and moist, fragrant. Big colorful butterflies everywhere, lots of monkeys, mainly langurs. As we climbed and the vegetation became more sparse, through Bugdiar and Rilkot, we saw a whole new palette of butterflies and birdlife. Around Martoli the really great views started opening up and we were in vast alpine meadows, just below the tree line. The meadows smelled incredible too, lots of creeping thyme in purple flowers, sage and oregano. There had been more rain than usual for the time of year and consquently lots of wildflowers.

I was enchanted by the mostly deserted stone hill villages. The tiny populations of these ghost towns eke out a living a long walk from the nearest motorable roads, relying on the herders moving sheep and goats, and the porters with their mules to bring them rice, tea, dal, rice, etc. It's very peaceful.

We were very warmly received in these villages. This trek is still rather overlooked by the international trekking scene, a figure we heard was about 100 foreign trekkers visit a year. The Milam glacier trek is popular amongst the rapidly increasing numbers of Indian trekkers, we met a lot of Bengalis. This is a trend we're pleased to observe, Indians exploring their own country. The villagers welcome the extra income from trekkers passing through.

I loved the women, and made a few really special connections. Most notably was Prema, at Pacchu. We liked each other immediately, and we were giggling and hanging out within minutes of meeting. I would guess Prema to be about 35. Her 5 children are living in Munsyari to attend school, in fact pretty much the whole Milam valley is eerily devoid of children. As there are no schools most of the children are away from their parents in Munsyari. Prema's eldest is 16, her youngest 7. There are only 4 permanent residents in her ghost town village and I sensed she was lonely for female companionship. She spends a lot of time gardening and listening to her radio. I spent a lot of time in Prema's smoky candlelit kitchen and we giggled and smoked bidis and had protracted conversations consisting mainly of hand gestures while I watched her cook and helped her with her chores. These are obviously not electrified valleys, so people cook on wood fires. She constantly pushed food and tea on me with the determination of a Jewish grandmother. We were there for two days and I could tell she was sad to see us go.

When we were in Burphu I was really upset by the conflict between our guide, Prem, and the kindly grandfather-figure who had put us up for the night. For the most part we were happy with our staff, Prem and the porters, his son Darminder and friend, Kisan. It's clear that Prem is quite different when drunk and it was a shame. While he patched things up the following morning both Brian and I were seeing him in an altogether different light and we never really let it go.

The walk out was tough, as we were pretty wiped and covered some serious kilometers in two days. The last two days and the horrific 12 hour ride on the "chicken bus" was grueling, and I feel we both had to dig deep to get through it.

Where we are now, Nainital, is kind of like the Niagara Falls of India. Lots of obviously honeymooning couples and vacationing families, cleaner and tidier than is the norm for cities, and full of hotels. The perfect place to have rested a bit. The pretty kidney-bean shaped lake is covered in nicely decorated big wooden canoes-for hire.

I'm totally intrigued by the countless porters who fill these hill towns, and much of my people watching is spent observing them. Many are Nepali, and most are teenagers and young men. The have their own community and hang out in little packs when relaxing. They have a really cute Huck Finn-like vibe to them. The best parallel I can make in North America is bike messengers. As the streets are steep their work is to shuttle everything from supplies and stock for stores and restaurants, people's luggage and groceries, propane cans, basically anything anyone wants moved somewhere. Their method of carrying stuff is the tumpline across the forehead, and they're astonishingly strong, carrying loads that seem impossibly heavy. Despite the fact that they work bent forward at a 45 degree angle, all day long, when walking unburdened they have beautiful erect posture, with wide shoulders and long necks. Stand up straight, folks!

In urban India if you ever need help with directions, or you're having a language problem and need assistance, don't ask an adult. Indian kids learn their English alphabet before written Hindi, and most have excellent English. It's really cute to watch them speak fluently with a look of total surprise as they realize "hey. I'm speaking ENGLISH, and she UNDERSTANDS me!", quite possibly speaking to a foreigner for the first time. When I compliment their English they look totally incredulous and say "REALLY?"

Enough for now. We're off to get a little bite to eat, grab our packs, and take a shared jeep taxi for a couple hours to the train. Off we go to a new region.