Glaciers and the Red Bus in Montana, USA

In 2009 I took my first-ever trip to the USA, courtesy of the Montana Office of Tourism and Virgin Australia. My resulting newspaper article about a visit to Glacier National Park never went online, so here it is for your enjoyment...

Everything about Montana is big, from the towering Rocky Mountains in its west to the sprawling plains of the east.

And up the top of its “big” list are the glaciers and peaks of Glacier National Park, a spectacular spread of craggy mountains, glacial lakes and huge chunks of ancient ice nestled between them.

“It’s incredible to first timers,” says our driver and tour guide Jana Grindheim. “People don’t know about Glacier, it’s not as famous as Yellowstone. But it’s like nothing they’ve ever seen, and they’re just amazed at the mountains.”

As we progress into the park past the waters of Lake McDonald I begin to see what Jana means, via glimpses of enormous sharp-edged peaks to the northeast. The evocatively-named Going-to-the-Sun Road may be flat and spacious now, but soon it’ll be transporting us upward, past rugged mountains on one side and a sheer drop on the other.

Though its namesake glaciers are shrinking as the climate changes, those that remain are diverse and magnificent, especially within the Many Glacier Valley in the park’s east.

However, the mountain scenery alone is sensational enough to prompt a visit, and we’ll be getting a full dose of it as we traverse the entire Going-to-the-Sun Road from Apgar to St Mary.

The road is a story in itself, an epic construction project completed in 1933.

It borrows its name from a mountain along its route, named from a Native American Blackfeet legend about a deity who came from the sun and taught them how to hunt, then returned home after leaving his image on the slopes.

We’ll be hugging the narrow road in a vehicle that’s a tourist attraction in its own right, one of the park’s fleet of Red Buses. These bright red open-topped vehicles, resembling an extended car with a fold-back roof, each hold 17 people and have been used for tours of the park since the mid-1930s.

With its sleek lines and a radiator grille that looks like it was swiped from an art deco limousine, our Red Bus is a very stylish way to explore Glacier. On top of all that, Glacier is the only national park to still be operating these classic vehicles, as other parks retired their fleets decades ago (take that, Yellowstone).

The Red Bus drivers are a special breed are known as “jammers”, a name inherited from the days when the gears of the vehicles would grind and jam as they hauled their passengers up the slopes.

Our jammer for the day, Jana, is fond of her daily grind. “I get to drive on the beautiful red buses that everybody loves,” she says, “And I get to see Glacier National Park, the most beautiful place in the world, every day.”

Sounds like a recipe for job satisfaction to me. And as we pass beyond Avalanche Creek and its picturesque boardwalk through the cedars, the landscape opens up, we begin to climb, and I see what she loves about the place.

For it is grand - there’s no other word for it. Beyond the cedar forest the mountain slopes stretch high above us, bare and craggy as they reach sharply defined peaks, tinged purple in the midday heat.

The most startling formation is the Garden Wall, a long narrow ridge of sharp, rocky projections streaked with horizontal bands of colour. It’s so narrow that in places it would be possible to sit astride it, with legs dangling along each slope.

There are also signs of how powerful Dame Nature can be when she rubs her hands and gets down to work. Pausing the bus, Jana points out a massive trail of damage down the slope above us, where dozens of trees lie fallen.

This was the work of a mighty avalanche that plummeted through some time during winter, blocking the road; because it’s closed during the icy months, no-one saw it happen.

To the west is the beautiful Heavens Peak, at 2739 metres one of the higher mountains in the park, with a dusting of snow despite the Indian Summer warmth.

We’re reminded again of the park’s lofty snow and ice as we pass the Weeping Wall, a section of rock constantly flowing with run-off from the glaciers above.

Finally, having passed a profusion of impressive peaks and peered down into distant tree-lined valleys, trying to not think too hard about the tiny stone wall stopping errant vehicles from plunging to their doom, we arrive at Logan Pass.

It’s the highest point on the road and a natural spot for a break, with its visitor centre and sign marking the location of the Continental Divide, which runs right through the park. A geographical curiosity, this line divides North America into two sections from which all water flows downhill toward either the Pacific or the Atlantic, depending on which side it falls.

Logan Pass is also a rest stop along the park’s numerous hiking trails. While the rest of our group troops off to have a look at the neighbourhood, I linger by the bus to ask Jana about hiking. Being Australian, however, I’d be a little nervous about the idea of encountering bears along the way. Has she ever seen any?

“Oh yeah,” she says casually. “In the Many Glacier Valley, just over these mountains, there are a lot of grizzly bears. By the Many Glacier Hotel you can see them, not ten feet away.”

I’d rather be viewing them from a bit further away than three metres, but Jana is reassuring. “I’ve never had any dangerous situations with bears. Usually when you see them they don’t care about you, unless you scare them.”

Making a mental note not to scare any bears, I return to the topic of hiking. Does she have a favourite walk?

“I have several,” she nods. “There’s one, Gunsight Path, which is a 20 mile hike with a backpack. It’s incredible. You hike up past lakes, snowfields, waterfalls, and camp at Lake Ellen Wilson. It looks like an infinity pool, dropping off the edge of the earth.

"You also have an option to continue to a glacier. The other one you can do from here is the Floral Park hike, and you walk across Sperry Glacier on the way. There are rivers and crevasses and it’s amazing.”

It’s almost an anticlimax to get back into our old Red Bus and drive east for the descent to St Mary, sighting the Jackson Glacier as we go.

But I do get a small adrenaline rush when we briefly leave the bus to walk through the trees to look at the tiny Wild Goose Island in the middle of St Mary Lake.

We might see a bear, I imagine. But we don’t, not even a small one.

As we head out of Glacier, I discover that Jana is on her way out as well.

“My husband and I fell in love with the park the first time we came here but now we’re joining the Peace Corps, and we’ve got one last hurrah with the mountains.”

Will she miss being a jammer?

“Yeah,” she says firmly. “Best job in the park. Best job in the world.”

For details of the Red Bus Tours in Glacier National Park, click here.

A Walk Through Literary Dublin

Statue of Oscar Wilde
in Merrion Square, Dublin.

On this trip I travelled courtesy of Tourism Ireland and Aer Lingus. This story arose from my 2011 visit to Dublin but never went online, so here it is for your enjoyment...

“We call him ‘the prick with the stick’,” says tour guide Pat Liddy, cheekily referring to a statue of the writer James Joyce which stands proudly in busy O’Connell Street, Dublin.

It might seem disrespectful, but inventing such acid nicknames is a casual hobby to Dubliners, who’ve applied them to many statues in the Irish capital.

For example, a busty statue of Molly Malone, who sold “Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh” in the famous song, is commonly known as ‘the tart with the cart’.

It's all in good fun, says Liddy, smiling as he returns to his pint of Guinness in an atmospheric old pub which is, as it happens, an former haunt of Joyce’s.

It seems somehow fitting that we should be on a literary walk that’s immediately ended up at the pub, given the central role of such establishments in Ireland’s social and cultural life.

Pat Liddy outside Mulligan’s, Dublin.

Having left Trinity College, which contains the famous Book of Kells, we were assaulted by a driving rainstorm that appeared from nowhere, and have taken refuge in Mulligan’s until the weather eases.

It’s a classic Irish pub, with a dimly-lit back room where we sit around chipped old timber tables, a huge gilt mirror on the wall behind us.

Mulligan’s has a literary pedigree of its own, says Liddy, as a longtime hangout of Irish Times journalists and of Joyce, who mentioned the establishment in his landmark novel Ulysses.

The outside of the pub is even painted with the date of Bloomsday (June 16th, 1904), the day in which the novel’s story is set.

As we sip Ireland’s most famous beer, Liddy tells us about the wealth of writers that the city has produced. For a city of a million people, Dublin has a remarkable back catalogue of literary heroes, including Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Samuel Beckett, George Bernard Shaw and Jonathan Swift. And let's not forget Bram Stoker, whose popularisation of the vampire lives on to the present day.

Liddy is a great story-teller, and he’s easily diverted into amusing anecdotes from his life and tour work. He chats about his son’s train journeys through Asia and Russia, and tells us about having to explain Oscar Wilde to foreign visitors. There’s also a witty story about the time he had to sing Handel’s Messiah to a group of German visitors who’d never heard of it.

Oscar Wilde's birthplace, Dublin.

The beer and the craic are very diverting, but we have pavements to pound. The rain clears and we're off again, through the atmospheric historic streets south of the River Liffey.

We’re entering Oscar Wilde territory here; as we stroll, Liddy points out the former St Mark’s where the great playwright was baptised.

Then we arrive at 21 Westland Row, a respectable facade featuring a big blue door beneath a fanlight.

This is where Wilde was born, and an inscription within a stone wreath credits him as ‘Poet, Dramatist, Wit’. Those are words I’d be happy to have on my gravestone, I think, as we move on.

Our next stop is Sweny, an attractive small shopfront which was featured in Ulysses in its then role as a pharmacy. It was here that the book’s hero, Leopold Bloom, bought a cake of soap with a lemon scent. Remarkably, it remained a pharmacy right up to 2009, when it passed into the care of a group of volunteers who run it as a bookshop and an unofficial shrine to Joyce.

You don’t have to be a fan of Ulysses to appreciate the shop’s atmospheric interior, packed both with books and reminders of its apothecary days. There’s even a drawer full of old photos once developed here, to show visiting kids who may only be familiar with digital shots.

Wendy Conroy at Sweny, Dublin.

The remaining space is lined with new and second-hand copies of books by Irish writers of all eras.

It’s a great place for visitors to acquaint themselves with both the classics and the lesser-known gems of Irish lit, and to pick up some reading for their travels.

Behind the counter today is Wendy Conroy, a passionate fan of Joyce’s master work. “There are Conroys all the way though Ulysses,” she points out.

Not that Joyce was the only star of the written word to hang out in this neighbourhood. “Wilde and Yeats may well have stood where you’re standing,” she says.

From here it’s a short walk around the corner to Merrion Square. Opposite the park stands the house where the young Oscar grew up, and in the park itself is a wonderful surprise - a colourful statue of Wilde which was unveiled in 1997, over a century after being imprisoned for his homosexuality.

A symbol of his 21st century rehabilitation and popularity, the unconventional statue depicts Wilde lounging in a colourful jacket on a large rock, a smile on one side of his face and a grimace on the other. The mixed expression may be a reminder of his mixed fortunes, as perhaps are two smaller nearby statues of his wife Constance and an anonymous male torso.

The plinths of these statuettes are adorned with many of his famous sayings, one of which seems to sum up Wilde’s sensational life: “There is only one thing worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about”.

Davy Byrne’s, Dublin.

Heading back toward the bars and restaurants south of the Temple Bar district, we pass another pub mentioned in Ulysses: Davy Byrne’s, where Bloom ordered a gorgonzola sandwich and a glass of Burgundy.

Though the pub has been renovated in a swish modern style and now specialises in seafood, it’s still a meal you can order there today.

Then, finally, we finish at McDaid’s. It’s a popular pub which has retained its original character, furnished with bookshelves, tiled panels and a high timbered ceiling.

This was a haunt of postwar playwright and novelist Brendan Behan, says Liddy, at least until the one-time IRA member was barred. It was also, inevitably, frequented by Joyce and the other Irish writers who milled around this part of Dublin.

It’s been a great tour. Via Liddy's enthusiastic and colourful delivery, the city's great books and their writers have come to life - and even though I haven't read all of them, I go away with a hunger for their work and an understanding of how much Dublin loves its stories.

Pat Liddy’s Walking Tour of Literary Dublin is available on request. See www.walkingtours.ie for contact details and other scheduled tours.

Stirred, Not Shaken: The London of James Bond

In 2008 I visited London and attended a James Bond memorabilia exhibition at the Imperial War Museum, entitled For Your Eyes Only. 

To flesh it out into a travel feature, I then arranged to join tour guide Simon Rodway's on-demand James Bond tour of Mayfair and St James.

I met Simon [pictured right] a few times over the years after that, taking his 2011 tour about the history of the area around the new Olympic stadium, and corresponding about other matters. 

We got on well, so it was a shock when I discovered last year that he'd passed away from cancer in 2015; you can read his obituary in The Guardian.

As a tribute to Simon's memory, here's the account of his James Bond tour I wrote up in 2008...

Simon Rodway of Silver Cane Tours is a one-man walking tours company, an agent with a licence to stroll. Among his repertoire of walks around the British capital is The London of James Bond, though it focuses more on the life of author Ian Fleming than his fictional creation.

“I don’t know if many people read the books now,” says Rodway as we meet outside Marble Arch tube station, pointing out the author’s work has been overshadowed by the cinematic James Bond’s adventures.

As a result, the walk through well-to-do Mayfair and St James gives Rodway an opportunity to highlight the connections between Fleming’s lesser-known life and the literary 007.

Starting on Park Lane, we head into Mayfair, passing the house where Fleming was born. After that, we pass by Grosvenor Square, home of the American Embassy, a surprisingly hideous concrete fortress.

It’s not hard to imagine spymasters and their agents meeting in this neck of the woods during the Cold War days. In fact, forget the Cold War – Rodway points down the street to the hotel where Russian ex-spy Alexander Litvinenko was poisoned with a radioactive substance in 2006.

A stop outside the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve club prompts Rodway to speak of Fleming’s wartime role and the way it planted the seeds of James Bond in his mind.

Particularly influential was Fleming’s role as planner for an elite unit of commandos who specialised in intelligence gathering.

According to Rodway, the author was also inspired by Sydney Cotton, a Queenslander in the RAF who was well known for his technical brilliance and innovative gadgetry.

Cotton may well have been the author’s model for Bond’s gadget man ‘Q’.

We stroll through Berkeley Square, beneath its attractive plane trees, to the Fleming Collection.

This family-owned art gallery usually showcases the work of Scottish artists, but today is hosting an exhibition of Bond novel covers from around the world, as part of the the centenary of Fleming's birth. It’s a striking visual reminder of how far and wide 007 has been received over the decades.

As we pass from Mayfair into St James, Rodway mentions an old saw: “St James for the gentlemen, Mayfair for the ladies”.

It’s true that St James Street has a certain masculine identity, with solid, dignified buildings housing gentlemen’s clubs like Boodles, of which Fleming was a member.

It also contains a series of shops outfitting said gentlemen with handmade shoes, fine wine, and hats.

There's even an outlet of Italian firm Beretta, a name familiar to Bond fans as the first gun favoured by the secret agent. There's no sign of weaponry through the ground floor windows - only clothing – but Rodway tells me there’s a gun shop upstairs.

Finally, we reach Dukes Hotel, a tasteful establishment discreetly tucked into a side street.

There's an elegant restraint about the hotel’s decor, its cocktail bar featuring low blue velvet chairs at small circular tables.

It’s a cosy refuge, much favoured by Fleming as he sipped cocktails here, chatted to the waiters and devised the famous line “shaken, not stirred”.

Intriguingly, our waiter, a tall white-jacketed Italian from Elba, tells us firmly that their signature Bond-related cocktail should be stirred, not shaken.

Apparently the agitation would spoil the flavour of the vermouth in the Vesper, a martini devised by Fleming for the first Bond novel.

He then proceeds with a flourish to make the concoction at our table, pouring from vast frosted bottles of Beefeater gin and Potocki vodka from Poland.

It’s a potent brew, a strong, bitter cocktail for sipping rather than gulping, served with style (and some tasty green olives).

“This bar was where Sean Connery came in 1961 when he’d landed the movie role, for one of these babies,” says Rodway, holding his cocktail aloft. “Then Pierce Brosnan followed in 1995.”

As I sip my Vesper, I decide I'd rather be a hero than a  Bond villain. Heroes don't get to take over the world, but they do enjoy the better drinks.

Between North and South Korea: Into the DMZ

I was hosted on this visit by the Korea Tourism Organisation.

Today I had the chance to do something I didn't have time for the last time I was in Seoul: visit the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) between North and South Korea.

The tour run by Panmunjom Travel Centre takes the traveller to a number of sites connected with the border, culminating in a brief visit to the Join Security Area (JSA) itself - the heart of the DMZ, where the two Koreas literally meet in a small 'negotiation village'.

Interestingly, we were joined on the bus by a North Korean defector, a woman who fled the north in 2011 with her daughter. It was fascinating to ask her questions about her life and former country as we headed to our first stop.

This was the Mount Odu Unification Observatory, where one can gaze upon North Korea across the point where the Han and Injin Rivers meet, forming the border at this locality. Across Korea the DMZ is four kilometres wide by agreement; but at riverine sections like this, it narrows significantly so the two countries are only a few hundred metres apart.

We then visited the Freedom Bridge, across which prisoners of war returned after the Korean War ended...

... and nearby, saw this massively damaged locomotive which had been trapped between the opposing forces, and later moved within South Korea as an an emblem of the conflict:

The highlight of the day was the visit to the JSA, a slow process involving barricades, checkpoints and passport checks - even a dress code inspection, as North Korean soldiers used to take photos of sloppily dressed Westerners to use as propaganda with their people.

Finally we stood inside the simple blue conference room at the heart of the zone, constructed so the border literally runs through the centre of the conference table.

We were allowed a few minutes to take photos, as long as we didn't bother the South Korean soldiers who were our escorts and protectors.

Here I am standing briefly within North Korea, with my military protector. The door behind leads to even more North Korea... but I didn't fancy stepping through it.

Our video briefing earlier had, after all, described the JSA as "the most dangerous place in the entire Korean Peninsula."

In the circumstances, I was glad to get out of there in one piece.

Find details of the Premium Panmunjom Tour at this link.

Mysteries of French Island

I was recently hosted on a tour of French Island, in Western Port Bay southeast of Melbourne. This was a test run for a new series of tours being offered in conjunction with the ferry service which links the island to the mainland.

This was an intriguing invitation. Though it's long been possible to reach the island by ferry, there was no way to get around once there. There's no public transport on French Island, and its road surfaces aren't ideal for cycling.

I knew only a little of the history of the island; specifically that it was named in 1802 upon the visit of the French ship Naturaliste, part of the Baudin expedition to Australia. Other than that, it was a closed book to me.

The first thing I saw after disembarking the ferry was this impressive 4WD vehicle which Naturaliste Tours had purchased to penetrate to the most difficult parts of the island, which is largely a national park:

There's a lot of interesting wildlife on French Island. On our way to its southeast corner we passed this difficult to see echidna, shuffling along in the grass by the side of the road:

Then we broke out from bush into this large open space, an abandoned farm which had an eerie desolate air, with its empty farmhouse and old (but recently re-roofed) chicory kiln:

Near a nearby rocky beach, our guide pointed out many discarded shells, remnants of millennia of Aboriginal use of the foreshore:

On our way to French Island Vineyards, we spotted a koala up a tree:

The winery was a decorative contrast to all this wild nature, and we sampled some its wines while having lunch:

 

We finished our tour with a visit to the striking wetlands at the other end of the island, proof of the variety of its landscapes:

Then it was onto the return ferry to Stony Point on the mainland, and two trains back to Melbourne's CBD. Well worth the trip, and a fascinating insight into a lesser-known island on the city's doorstep.

Details of Naturaliste Tours' French Island tours can be found by visiting its website.

A Day in Jasper, Canada

On this trip I was a guest of Destination Canada and Tourism Jasper.

During my recent trip to Canada I had a day free in Jasper, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. This period was dictated by the timetables of two VIA Rail trains I was catching - The Canadian up from Vancouver, then the train northwest to Prince Rupert. So I hadn't thought much in advance about what I'd do in the town.

Turned out there were plenty of options. As Jasper is a popular holiday town in a beautiful location, there are lots of short tours and eating choices for visitors. Here's what I did with my day in the mountains.

1. Motorbike tour. In the middle of town is the base of Jasper Motorcycle Tours. It takes visitors on tours to nearby lakes and lookouts, perched on the back of, or in the sidecar of a Harley-Davidson.

There was a certain amount of theatrical dress-up involved, as the guest gets kitted out in leathers first:

Then it was off into the mountains outside town for a while, for a taste of the open road and some impressive scenery:

2. To the heights. After my motorcycle jaunt, I headed to the base station of the Jasper Skytram, a cable car that runs to the top of Whistlers Mountain (and whose staff seemed mostly Aussies!). From the top there are great views of the township and the surrounding mountains:

3. Dinner in the woods. To finish off the day, I had an excellent dinner in the atmospheric dining room of Tekarra Lodge, just outside town.

A set of cabins built in the 1940s, the Lodge has a certain retro charm. I was also told that its restaurant was haunted (but maybe just by the ghost of that deer on the wall...). There was certainly a Twin Peaks vibe to the decor.

I didn't meet any ghosts after dark, but the intersection of the Miette and Athabasca Rivers seemed a good place at which to finish my Jasper day. The next morning, I had a train to catch.

Walking Tours of San Francisco

I stayed in San Francisco as a guest of Railbookers.com and San Francisco Travel, and paid my own airfare to the USA.

When I visited San Francisco in 2015,  I joined some great (and quirky) tours, and researched several others. Here's a list for you to consider the next time you're heading to SF...

North Beach Underground. Covering the Kerouac trail in the neighbourhood most closely associated with the Beat Poets. The tour visits the Beat Museum but also expands to take in the district's rough-and tumble history, from the 19th century Sydney Ducks gang to the illicit pleasures of the Prohibition era. See walksftours.com. [Note: I wrote an article about this tour for The Age.]

Emperor Norton’s Fantastic San Francisco Time Machine. Fun tour of memorable and unusual moments in the city's history, led by a guide impersonating one of its greatest eccentrics. See emperornortontour.com.

Mural Tour. Learn about the murals of the Mission district covering six blocks from Balmy Alley, in the company of an experienced muralist. See precitaeyes.org.

Chinatown Alleyway Tour. Walk through the back streets of this vibrant neighbourhood, hearing about the trials and triumphs of the city’s Chinese community. See chinatownalleywaytours.org.

Haight-Ashbury Flower Power Walking Tour. Set the controls for the 1960s in this tour of the hippie-era hub, epicentre of the Summer of Love. See haightashburytour.com.

Gold & Guns in Downtown SF. Take a journey back to the rough-and-tumble gold rush era, when San Francisco’s waterfront was dodgy and dangerous. Includes cocktails. See walksftours.com.

And finally, finish your tour day with the fun of Beach Blanket Babylon, the long-running satirical musical revue staged in North Beach. Here's my report on the big-hatted fun.

Walking Old Delhi, India

A few years ago I visited India's capital Delhi, hosted by Thai Airways, and joined a memorable walking tour of the oldest part of the city. As its original publisher has now removed the resulting story from the Web, here it is again for your enjoyment...

There’s only one way to really discover Old Delhi, the 17th century city laid out by Moghul emperor and Taj Mahal creator Shah Jahan: and that’s to walk it.

Though the government of India is centred on the geometric streets of New Delhi, the 1930s city constructed by the British colonial rulers, Old Delhi has more historic appeal.

Off pulsing Chandni Chowk, the district’s incredibly busy main street, are dozens of narrow alleyways leading to shopping precincts and eateries.

It’s not an easy place to navigate as a pedestrian. Which is why a guide from local company Delhi Heritage Walks leads a group through the organised chaos of Chandni Chowk and its back streets.

Forts and temples

The walk begins at the grandest end of Chandni Chowk, at a T-junction opposite the massive Red Fort, once the palace of the Moghul Emperors. Its outlines are hazy in the early morning, but I can make out the Lahore Gate opposite the walk’s meeting point, the Sri Digambar Jain Lal Mandir temple of the Jain faith.

The guide today is Kanika Singh, a history graduate with a detailed knowledge of Moghul-era Delhi - and in fact the majority of the tour group is made up of Indians interested in their own country’s history.

Kanika explains that Sunday morning is the best time for the walk because it’s the only time that the area is quiet enough to lead a group; though 'quiet' is a relative term in Delhi, as there are plenty of people around us, strolling, sitting, shopping and cycling.

Martyrs of history

Squeezing along the cracked pavement between motorcycles and other pedestrians, the group follows Kanika as she points out merchants’ houses from the 19th century, their attractive facades now plastered with advertising.

Nearby there's a very respectable looking bank wherein the manager was killed by rebels in the uprising against British rule of 1857.

On a lighter note, a stall titled The Famous Jalebi Wala sells the deep-fried rings of sweet batter known as jalebi.

Further on, there’s another reminder of the diverse spirituality that’s at the heart of Indian history and culture: the Sis Ganj Gurdwara, an important Sikh place of worship.

It was on this spot, says Kanika, that the cruel Emperor Aurangzeb murdered a Sikh guru in the 17th century, which led to the later erection of this temple in his memory.

Alleys lead to the square

After passing a decorative blue and white fountain, Kanika suddenly leads the group off the main street into a narrow alley, pointing out a popular stall selling daulat ki chaat.

This fascinating sweet Delhi specialty is made from frothed milk, saffron, pistachios and sugar, and decorated with the edible silver leaf known as varq. It’s a light, insubstantial treat with an unforgettable taste, and the more poetic merchants will tell you it requires an additional dose of moonlight to get it just right.

There’s no time to sample any, however, as Kanika leads onward while explaining how these areas stretching back from Chandni Chowk were formerly nobles’ estates enclosed by walls and gates.

Most of these boundaries were pulled down by the British to aid movement, but the odd gate still remains. Kanika points to one, a solid metal structure behind a stationery stall.

Returning to the main road, the space suddenly opens out. Here was once a public square, with a pool that reflected moonlight - which is what Chandni Chowk means, moonlit square.

The European-styled building opposite was once the British-built Town Hall, though it’s watched over nowadays by a statue of early independence leader Swami Shardhanand.

A holy oasis

Crossing the road and entering another alleyway, we take a moment to inspect the interior of a small Hindu temple with a beautiful central canopy.

It’s dedicated to the Hindu god Lord Shiva, but surprisingly it’s also a family home. Kanika says the owner sells tea in the alleyway in front of the entrance on weekdays, and indeed there’s a small teacup-shaped sign hanging on one side.

The smallness of the temple is in sharp contrast with the vastness of the Fatehpuri Mosque, the next stop on the tour.

Named after a wife of Shah Jahan, the founder of the city, it’s a congregational mosque with a spacious open-air interior within its walls. It’s a peaceful place to visit on a Sunday morning, as visitors walk through its interior holding their shoes in deference to the Muslim tradition of entering a mosque without footwear.

At the far end is a structure with graceful arched openings and a central dome, wherein the imam preaches his sermon on a Friday, the Muslim holy day. In the centre of the vast courtyard is a decorative water tank which worshippers use for ablutions before prayer. Perched along the edge of this are people, sitting quietly as if in contemplation.

After the hectic street, this is the perfect place to take a moment to draw breath, relax and appreciate a dash of serenity.

Chillies give way to a view

Nearing the end of its Old Delhi adventure, the group enters the Gadodia Market, a covered space given over to spice merchants. This is the place to buy chillies, and the pungent aroma of the hot red peppers seem ground into every stone within the market.

From here, the group enders a battered old stairwell and climbs to the top of the building. There’s a sweeping view of Old Delhi from this point, taking in minarets, gates, the fort, Chandni Chowk, and all the Delhi residents who make the old city such a memorable place for a Sunday morning exploration.

For more details and to make bookings, visit the Delhi Heritage Tours website.