We escaped from the hotel as soon as we could this morning and went to the station. Siliguri is really just a sewer with a rubbish dump on it, so it was nice to escape. We pushed past the crowds of soldiers waiting at the ticket counter and waited on the platform for the train to arrive, fighting off the beggars and the men offering us lunch. The train was really really tiny, with a single first class carriage, one second class one, a luggage car and an engine, and well-deserving of its nickname "the toy train". We found the carriage and the seats (I cunningly pushed the backrests forwards so that they faced the right way) and got settled, until a man came in wanting to sit where we were. He explained that the 'WL' on our tickets meant Waiting List, and that there was no guarantee that we'd get to sit down. That seemed a bit unlikely, as there were twelve seats in the first class carriage and only three people there so far, but we dutifully waited on the platform looking bemused until some men told us to get the ticket validated at the counter. Mikey went off to do this, but the train was about to leave, so the men called him back and we sat down anyway. At exactly 9am, the train left the station and we were on our way.

We sat nervously for about half an hour, expecting at any minute to be thrown off the train, but as we left Siliguri itself, we relaxed and decided that if we had to, we'd hire a jeep to take us the 60 miles up the hill. The train was supposed to take six hours to do this journey, so we just sat back and enjoyed the scenery. Which, to start with, was anything but scenic. The area of train track round the station was smothered in excrement and people squatting to produce more. Other people had washed their laundry in a sewage-filled river and were laying the sheets out on the soiled gravel along the rails. We passed over the river where women were wading with baskets of clothes and others were sifting through the silt for shellfish. It was a horrible sight, and the sides of the tracks produced a horrible smell, so we closed the windows against the flies and hoped the world would go past faster.

More people got on the train and still no-one asked us to get off, even when one woman had to sit on the spare seat at the back. We knew the guy in front of us had a waiting list ticket too, so we were just following his lead. Slowly but surely we left Siliguri and headed out into the country side. There were pigs and dogs rummaging in the rubbish heaps, and children washing in puddles. A lot of men just sat by the tracks and watched the train go past. All the way up the hill, people would wave at the train, and I delighted in waving back. What was funny though was that most of the children seemed to have no idea what they were doing and were just shaking their hands in the direction of the noise without looking for any response. Quite often the children would see the two foreigners in the train and stare a bit or look away shyly if we waved back.

We started to climb the hills and the towns gave way to villages. The scenery became more and more beautiful and every now and then the train would go through a zig-zag manoeuvre to gain height over a short distance. When this happened and the train reversed for a moment, the diesel fumes went the other way and I could smell fresh air and greenery, something that I've not had the chance to experience for several weeks. It was beautiful.

As we ascended, the local people changed. Their facial features became less and less Indian and more Oriental, and while the women still wore saris and salwar kameez, they had hand-woven shawls and the men had acquired woolen hats and knitted jumpers. The houses had prayer-flags on them and were painted bright and pastel hues, torquoise and purple being the most common. There were painted flower pots of chrysanthemums and dahlias on the window sills and small villages where every house touched the one next door. Everyone stood in their doorways shaking their hands at the trains and smiling at the strangers. It was a very peaceful, very beautiful journey.

The road followed the rails for much of the trip, and the train's whistle signalled every junction between the road and the track. It was nice to see cars giving way to something! There was a lovely view as the track and road disappeared off into the distance, and the steam engine could be seen by its plume of white smoke far ahead of us. The plains of India faded into smog below and the Himalaya foothills rose beside us. Angry, evil-looking monkeys chased the train and one another. The air grew colder and fresher as we ascended and banana trees gave way to bamboo and alpine flowers. It became clear that the journey was taking longer than was expected, and we stopped in a small town called Kurseong for a while. After an hour or so, a little steam enging chugged past, and eventually replaced the diesel one at the front of the train. Another hour passed and I got out to have a look round the station. I found a little bakery that sold 'coconut macronis' and I couldn't resist. It was funnier than it should have been and I fell off my seat in a fit of giggles that left me crying, possibly in relief, that we'd left India far behind us.

We finally left Kurseong and the diesel fumes were replaced with the infinitely preferable smell of coal smoke, and we heard the leisurely chug of the steam engine all the way up the hill. The journey took a total of eleven hours, with frequent stops along the way to make more steam. The poor old engine could only manage about three miles without running out, so there were many long pauses. I read my book for a while, a nice one about an Australian girl who moves to India, that almost makes me like the country, and when I put it down, the girl next to me noticed the picture on the cover, of am Indian-style goddess, and asked to read it. She flicked through it for half an hour and handed it back to me. Three minutes later she touched my arm and asked me what I was wearing round my neck. I try and explain that it is an Egyptian symbol called an ankh but end up saying it's for good luck. She nodded. A minute or so later she touched my arm again and asked if I was married. All the guide books say to say yes to that question, so it always feels like I'm lying and everyone knows it when I say that I am. I introduced Mikey. Then, seeing a possibility for conversation, I aksed the girl if she was married. Over the course of an hour, I learnt that her feet are painted red because she is engaged and that she lives in Darjeeling but her future husband is in Siliguri, and then she gave me a necklace. It just appeared in her hands, she showed it to me, pushed it into my hands and then round my neck. I objected as much as I could, but I didn't want to seem rude. I have nothing to offer her: the only things in my bag are my camera, my computer and my toothbrush! She asked for my address and I did likewise: this way I can send her a postcard from England to thank her. She sat, shivering for half an hour, so I handed her my sarong that was also in my bag and she tried to wrap up warmly under the thin material. I felt very self-consious wearing a stranger's jewellery, though.

As it gets dark, the local lads jump on the train and hitch a ride through the dusk and up the hill. They all cling to the outside of the train until one of them works out the latch and they pile in. They're a rauccous bunch and are soon engaging everyone in some sort of banter, whether we understand it or not. Mikey used a handwash spray and the boys think this is wonderful and ask for a go. They have absolutely no idea what it's for or what to do with it, so they all follow their leader in rubbing it into their hair as styling gel. Then they ask me for something and I don't understand. The man in front offers them a bag of peanuts which they share with the rest of us. Then the boy asks again and points to my biscuits. I give him the pack and they all cheer. Finally they ask the two Japanese girls for something and come back with handfuls of crackers that they offer round. It's very strange having these lads on board and their party, but a nice atmosphere.

It's dark by now and there is a beautiful shower of sparks wherever we go from the engine or chimney or whatever it's called. It's like the train to Hogwarts, and I feel all Christmassy. My bair is full of coal-nits from the smoke when I put my head out of the window. A man jumps onto the train (they all just jump in and out, I wish I could!) and shooes the boys away. The exchange used the words 'first class', 'reservation' and 'paid for tickets' so I think he was telling them to go outside. They did, but opened the windows to lean in and keep warm.

One of our stops is near the top of the hill and the station is full of warmly-wrapped Tibetans in woolly hats and leather jackets. There are even some monks here, with parkas under their burgundy robes. A shop displays a sign that proudly declares, "Pork sold here!" and there is a delicious smell of cooking meat and barbecues and coal smoke and bread. It reminds me that all I've eaten in 48 hours is a bag of crisps and a coconut macroni. I'm starving! A small boy puts his head through the window and introduces himself as Merrymax. I shake his offered hand and he runs away giggling, only to reutrn with his friends.

It's cold, there are no lights on the train and we've been on it for eleven hours. Despite that, the track up to Darjeeling is delightful: the town is built all the way up a series of hills and ridges and every house is brightly lit. They are all beautiful six-storey places with huge windows, and they smell of coal fires and warmth.It looked like Bethlehem on those lovely olden-days Christmas cards, the way all the roofs joined up and the lights glowed in the coldness.

We finally made it to Darjeeling! We grabbed our bags from the luggage car and headed off in search of our hotel or a rickshaw to take us there. There were no rickshaws, no taxi touts and no-one offering us anything so we walked, almost staggering under the weight of the bags, our lack of food, the freezing night and the steep paths. The only thing I noticed was that there were no cows on the roads and no poo at all anywhere. I like this place already! We didn't want to ask anyone directions to the hotel for fear they'd sell us to somewhere else, but a man with an army uniform, a woolly hat and a gun asked us where we wanted to go and I told him. He pointed up the hill for us. We walked for miles and miles (maybe one) and up dark, rubbley stone steps and down dark alleys. We found our hotel and almost collapsed in the restaurant downstairs. 'Reception is on the fourth floor,' they said, and we climbed eight thousand steps.

The lady at reception had been waiting for us all afternoon but realised the train was late. Two Tibetan men took our bags from us and insisted on carrying the small ones too, explaining that our room was up another two flights of stairs. We must have looked totally exhausted! They balanced them all on their heads and ran up the stairs. We followed more leisurely. We were shown into the best room in the hotel, a massive attic room with low eaves and dormer windows that would open onto the Himalayas one way and the entire town of Darjeeling the other. The lead porter put our bags down and ran to bring us "Welcome Tea" which was very welcome indeed. He even separated the milk, tea and sugar because he knew we were English. The Indians just boil it all up together with cardamom until it's almost too thick to drink. This was lovely.

He then told us that he would let us sleep tomorrow because we were very tired and wouldn't bring Bed Tea until 9am. He asked if we had any laundry and I could have hugged him because my clothes were stiff with coal dust and Siliguri dirt. We promised we would have by the morning! We tipped both the porters and they seemed pleased, and I noticed that they both did the lovely thing where they touch their right, receiving, arm with their left hand. People in the parts of Malaysia and Thailand closest to Burma did that when we were around and I really liked it. Both men were impressed that Mikey returned the gesture, and shook our hands.

We had our tea and ran downstairs to the restaurant for real food: a sandwich and some spicy Tibetan tomato soup. On our way up the stairs again, looking at the stars in a beautiful, icy-clear sky, we both thought that we could stay here for a fortnight and then come home!