On an exhilarating trek in the foothills of the mountains, Imogen Stubbs finds awe-inspiring sights and an India that confounds her preconceptions.
• Audio gallery: Imogen Stubbs talks us through her trip to India

I never did take a gap year and so missed the experience of "doing" India shared by so many of my friends. They returned clutching miniature Buddhas and elephant-print batik and spent the next few months in the bathroom enlightened, humbled and traumatised by their experiences in a Third World country. It somehow made me feel India was not for me.

Twenty-five years and Michael Palin later, when I found myself planning a journey to the Himalayan foothills with my friend Serena, I was still apprehensive - in spite of the fact that violent crime, drugs, beggars, TB and drought are now potential worries for any Indian tourist planning on
"doing" London.

Just before leaving, I had an infuriating credit-card query and, on phoning to clear it up, realised that I was ranting at som  poor man in an Indian call centre.

We ended up having a lovely chat about my trip, probiotics and Shakespeare. He told me to take pencils, not sweets, to give to the children and never to look a tiger in the eye.
                                                                           'Everything provided had been simple and eco-friendly and - most
                                                                                                                        importantly - economically helpful but unobtrusive for the valley people'
He also urged me to understand that the Western notion of India as a quaint mix of the exotic, the squalid and the ancient was being joined by a new India with an exhilarating, educational thrust that would make as deep an impression as the shanty-town poverty we would encounter. "There is much darkness still beneath the lamp, but the light is shining brighter and brighter."   

My mother kept a sewing-box full of coloured cotton reels. Growing up on a dark barge in London, I loved opening the box and drinking in the colours. Arriving in Delhi was just like that, only on a vast scale. And then there were the banyan trees and the garlanded cows…                                                                

Delhi seemed infinitely cleaner than I expected, thanks to the number of vehicles running on compressed gas. An elephant trundled along the dual carriageway, but it was the pot-holes that embarrassed our driver: "I apologise for the bumps in the road - they are contributing, I'm sure, to making you so very tiresome."

At the India Gate, constructed by Sir Edwin Lutyens as a memorial to the 90,000 Indian Army soldiers who died in the First World War, there was an almost carnival atmosphere: boys selling whistles, balloons and candy floss - and families picnicking everywhere.

Among elderly men in Delhi, there seemed to be a belief that putting henna in their hair would make them look younger. It doesn't - it makes them look like old men who have dunked their heads in ketchup.

Towards evening, we visited the mosque in Old Delhi. Rows of men knelt deep in prayer - taking calls on their mobiles, nevertheless…

Inevitably, we saw the city's darker side. We were approached by beggars but there was no aggressive hassle.

Not wanting to seem too earnest, we had brought stocking fillers rather than pencils for the children - a box full of little plastic bears that appeared to be skating. But when the youngsters started eating them, we had to snatch them back; in tiny print on the box it said, "Choking hazard" and "Made in India". We stocked up on pencils.

From Delhi, we travelled to Almora in the Himalayan foothills by first-class sleeper, which consisted of tiny bunk-beds, a rusty fan and a broken lock. We stayed awake playing poker and, as dawn rose, leant out of the windows to gaze at the hazy blue hills and mango trees all around us.          

We were met by a driver who had recently "had Danny DeVito, yes please". His habit of dropping "yes please" into every sentence was rather like a charming form of Tourette's.

As we arrived, children were flocking to school. "Scruffy" did not exist - even among those emerging from the gutter. They looked proud, purposeful and Brylcreemed. This was our introduction to the overwhelming drive for education.

As we arrived, children were flocking to school. "Scruffy" did not exist - even among those emerging from the gutter. They looked proud, purposeful and Brylcreemed. This was our introduction to the overwhelming drive for education.

There was a family atmosphere, but complete privacy. The daughter was studying William Wordsworth and Thomas Hardy and we soon discovered that literature is a common language and English is spoken by almost everyone.

The owners took us to visit Panchachuli, a women's weaving co-operative. The factory sold beautiful products but did not accept credit cards, so we went in search of a cashpoint.

We passed decaying colonial buildings, skinny cows and hairy pigs. We heard the Muslim call to prayer as we passed a Hindu temple next to a Methodist church.

Eventually, we stood in line, joking with the locals but looking like rich tourists. It was a big plus when my card was rejected.
          Children are fascinated by their picture in Serena Gordon's camera
At sunset we met up with Kamir, our guide for the four-day trek that lay ahead. He opened his bag and whipped out vodka tonics: "An ancient tradition - Sundowners. Welcome."

We fell asleep by a blazing fire, clutching hot-water bottles. Somewhere in the dark valley below, a leopard and her three cubs also slept. We woke early to glimpse the ghostly presence of the Himalayas through the red geraniums and pine trees. There was a genuine, rather astonished silence, finally broken by the laughter of women chasing their goats in the fields beneath us. As we finished breakfast, our porters and horses appeared.

The beginning of our trek took us down a terraced valley through woods to a river. Some boys were "fishing" - standing in the water and whacking the fish on the head with mallets. It seemed surprisingly effective.
 

The peasant dwellings here are quite particular: pretty white houses with shutters but no glass in the windows. The area is unspoilt and primitive, electricity being virtually non-existent. This didn't stop the men following the progress of India's cricket team - squatting among their cattle, listening on ancient transistor radios.

When we stopped at a waterfall, Kamir produced some unbelievably delicious rhododendron juice. It is unique to the area because of the wealth of spectacular rhododendrons.

The walk was enchanting. It required agility and stamina but nothing extreme. And the riding was fun - although the horses were so skinny it was like straddling large greyhounds.

We stayed in a hamlet overlooking an emerald valley. The earth-floored room was clean and the food simple and safe. The village children were enraptured when they saw themselves on our digital camera and attached themselves to us. When we retreated inside, they started to chant. We looked out to see a mass of giggling faces dancing to a made-up song.

A villager who was inordinately proud of his generator and a stereo system bought by his son set up two chairs and insisted we watch the stereo while it played sitar favourites. We sat inanely grinning at the monitor lights while the moon rose behind us and little fires appeared all over the hills like so many fireflies.

We were rescued from our strange vigil by some old women and we exchanged the words for "moon" and
"stars". They were fascinated by our teeth. We were frankly horrified by theirs…
 

When we departed, on horseback, the whole village waved us off. Just before we left an old woman clasped my hand and said: "I wish I had your job." I was both humbled and saddened
 

At the top of a hill we stumbled across a tiny school established by the British in 1938. A small group of children was studying beneath a picture of Gandhi surrounded by slogans: "Always respect your elders; education is the biggest donation you can give; keep the environment clean; love life." It was an inspiring sight and, as we dispensed more pencils, the teacher looked mystified but grateful.
 

Later, while picnicking by a ruined temple, we were approached by a barefoot, toothless old man. He insisted on taking us to his tiny fly-ridden room. Above his bed hung a plaque: "Ex British Army Chander Singh Naik". Yet again I was reminded of our complex colonial relationship with this country.

That night we were housed with a young married woman who lived with her children and an ancient couple.

Sadly, she was not able to mix with us - this being a male privilege still. She had studied law at college and it was impossible not to be aware of the intelligence bursting to be expressed. Our presence was inadvertently feeding the craving for a more fulfilling life.

We could only reflect that there is an obvious drawback to mass education if tradition does not adapt    Education is a serious matter for pupils at a village school near Almora
 at the same pace.

We spent our final night in an awe-inspiring location with clear views across oceans of hills to the snowy Himalayas rising up like the crest of a tidal wave. In the evening, the whole village sat around two big fires. Musicians played the song of the rice-planting and the song of the shy couple while women in flamecoloured saris danced. The children joined in and, rather less gloriously, so did we - our performance totally eclipsed by a marvellous old crone who resembled a geriatric Madonna.

The final stage of our journey led us through forests like Californian cedar woods to an ancient temple where monkeys chim-chimineed across the tomb-tops, spitting at the dodgy men trying to entice female tourists into dark shrines.

The whole trek had felt unique and special. Everything provided had been simple and eco-friendly and - most importantly - economically helpful but unobtrusive for the valley people. Can trekking here maintain its integrity and continue to provide visitors with a sense of genuine novelty and exploration? I hope so.

Our next destination was Corbett National Park. The drive was endless and stomach-churning and we had to endure our driver's favourite singer: "He was soldier in the army, ye  please, who is finding this astonishing voice." We wished he had stuck with the army, yes please.

Down from the mountains, it became almost tropical, with sugar cane and straw huts and cattle everywhere. Before entering the safari park we were told about the dangers of tigers and hormonal elephants and crocodiles. The drive, in an open Jeep, took three hours. I wasn't feeling very intrepid and was trying to psych myself up in case we were attacked by wild animals.

We saw some frogs, but nothing else except a Nissan hatchback and a one-legged chicken. It didn't get much better. The government-run hotel was ghastly and surly guides kept telling us that it was the wrong season for viewing animals.

As we were leaving, a miracle occurred: we saw a distant flash of black and orange. It was a tiger's bottom and no more decipherable than a fleck of ash - but then the point was not to look it in the eye.

I felt a vague blip of adrenaline and then we were on our way out - pausing to observe some plucky terrapins dangerously close to an alligator.

On the journey back to Delhi, we passed a vast rubbish dump. Clouds of screaming birds hung over filthy mountains that seethed with little creatures - tiny scavenger children, for many of whom it was home. Outside our hotel a sign for DVD players announced "Life is good" and "Say no to plastic bags" while beneath it emaciated beggars huddled in plastic-bag tents.

That contradiction seemed to encapsulate confident, rapidly modernising India: a country where 300 million inhabitants still subsist on less than $1 a day. In its diversity it is exasperating, but also exhilarating - harrowing, yet ravishing. One does sense that "the light is shining brighter and brighter".

India trek basics

Getting and staying there
Imogen Stubbs and Serena Gordon travelled to India with Tim Best Travel (020 7591 0300, www.timbesttravel.com).

The company offers a 10-day itinerary including stays in Delhi and Almora and the Shakti Village Walk, costing from £2,240 per person (on shared room basis). The price includes international flights, accommodation, transfers, sightseeing tours with guide, monument visitors' fees, porters' fees and all meals and drinks during the walk.

A three-night extension, taking in a visit to Corbett National Park, costs from £610 per person, including all transfers, game drives and accommodation in the newly-opened Hideaway River Lodge beside the Ramganga river.