Lush green tea plantations descending endlessly down near vertical hills, three deep stacked sleeper trains filled to the ceiling with six to the bunk, jeep rides climbing up carved out roads through mountains, abandoned monuments and grand houses laying behind imposing heritage sites, hawkers haranguing you to buy flowers, gifts and anything else they have on offer, curling mountain railways with open doors letting in the fresh air, fighting to keep a place in queues when everyone around you rushes past you to cling at the grill in front of the attendant, tempting fate every time a rikshaw driver cuts into an invisible space between cars; everything you do, from the moment you find a place to sleep to the moment you wake again, is a constant barage on your senses.
