Getting to Pune....

If you read the previous post you will have seen the first part of my journey to Pune to meet my friend Richard. I jumped in a rickshaw from the ashram in Tiru to the bus station, then got lucky as one of the Villapuram buses was almost ready to go (well you think they are almost ready to go). I found myself a seat right at the front where I could sit with my backpacks. Being at the very front means you can communicate with the driver when you think you are closing in on your destination... You can also watch him as he tries not to fall asleep focusing his blood shot eyes with a heavy furrowed brow.... It makes the journey more predictable. In that I mean it's possible to see the build up to the accident ahead of it actually occurring, thus being able to brace oneself for the high velocity exit through the bus windscreen in to the pile of whomever or whatever the bus driver has just collided with.

As I sat waiting patiently on the bus more and more passengers climbed aboard. Once the aisle was comfortably full we began our 2 hour journey to Villapuram from Tiruvannamalai. As the journey progressed we seemed to pick up more and more passengers. Where these folks were actually fitting I have absolutely no idea, I think it was something to do with the laws of quantum physics, the same thing that allowed motorcyclists to avoid our huge floundering vehicle when it seemed there was nowhere for them to go.

Each time we stopped to allow more passengers to board I felt many pairs of eyes burning in to me. It was as if the 900 or so standing passengers were being put out by the westerner sitting at the front.... I just sat and watched placidly as the India countryside swerved around in front of me, the overly loud air horn gaining constant attention from the over zealous driver. Incredibly there did come a time where the driver began to ignore potential passengers at the side of the road in favour of the buses suspension holding out for the remainder of the journey. It seemed that he had decided the bus was finally full to it's unofficial capacity, literally fit to bust, with a passenger load of somewhere around twenty two thousand most of whom seemed to be carrying their lives around with them along with one westerner also carrying his.

I was not looking forward to getting from the front of the bus to the doors midway down the bus. Courtesy and civilised actions are frowned upon in much of India's public transport systems. It is every man and woman for themselves. The bus driver gave me advance warning of my approaching stop one stop ahead, but I didn't see any point in prolonging the stress. The bus stopped and I surged down the aisle with both packs dragging behind me, beside me, in front of me, above me.... everywhere! Then I was off.... Easier than expected. A fifteen minute walk and I was at the train station with two hours to wait.

The Chai Man loved taking pictures...

I'd checked the status of my ticket during the morning and it was showing WL3, which meant I was Waiting List 3, which also meant I didn't have a seat on the train. Had there been three more cancellations I'd have been on! This was not going to stop me jumping aboard and hoping to make something happen. A young local 'Chai Seller' sat with me on the platform attempting to speak English. He was so loud all the platforms could hear him. I think he'd been so used to shouting 'Chaiiii, Chaiiii, Chaiii' over the years, that his volume switch had perished. Nonetheless it was fun chatting. His endeavours to communicate were heart warming, and he was fairly understandable. I bought a chai and a little deep fried piece of something to eat. 10 minutes later
he poured himself a little chai and me one, free of charge, whilst we continued our 'conversation'.

A little after 4pm, the slightly late running Mumbai Express pulled in to the platform. I found the carriage I'd tried to book online, 3 Tier Air Conditioned Sleeper, one class above the Sleeper Carriage which doesn't have AC. I found an empty seat/bed and staked my claim hoping no one would show up. I was shattered having not slept the previous night due to the mosquitoes on Arunachala. I crashed out at about 4.30pm to be woke by someone wanting their seat/bed.... Darn. I moved a couple of seats down the carriage and found a top tier, clambered up, but didn't unpack just in case I was rudely awakened by someone with an official confirmed seat number again. I popped my ear phones in and fell asleep listening to Elbow (the greatest band to ever come out of Manchester). 10.30pm I was once again awakened by someone reaching through the curtain shaking my leg. Apparently I was in their seat.... I was a little groggy and bleary eyed as I clambered back down apologising as I went. I needed to find the 'TT', he's the Ticket... Inspector guy. I lugged my backpacks to a space between the carriages, where there was a sink and two toilet cublicles, it wasn't the most desirable place on the train. In the corner, beside the exit door between the carriages, below two wall hung fire extinguishers was a single arse cheek sized blue square seat. I plonked myself down, feeling shattered and disheartened. I should have sought out the TT as soon as I'd gotten on the train, he'd have sorted things out. My knees blocked the door from between the carriages sat one way, and blocked the exit door of the carriage onto the platforms when I turned the other, it was going to be a very long journey. I pulled my big rucksack between my legs and balanced the smaller rucksack on top. I leaned over from the waist allowing my head to lol forward resting it at an awful angle in a vein attempt at getting some rest. The various positions were doing nothing for my neck injury. Each time I dropped off in to an exhausted sleep a few minutes later I would wake only to have to reposition my head slowly and carefully so as not to do any further damage to my already painful neck.

It was a little over an hour until midnight on Sunday, the train was set to arrive in Pune at approximately 5pm in the evening on Monday.... 18 long hours away.... What was going to be a very long journey, was potentially going to be a very long, very uncomfortable journey, but Richy Rich is worth it.

At 5.33am I was nudged awake by one of the train helpers. On his wanders through the carriages he'd spotted an empty seat/bed. 'Sleep, sleep.' he said gesturing me to follow him. I'd been 7 hours sat upright, to leaning on my tiny, uncomfortable seat. My body from my neck down to to my toes had been twisted and contorted in an attempt to seek physical comfort. I hobbled and swayed like a broken hunchback dragging my bags with me knocking in to feet sticking out from behind the curtains of the various bays. After crossing two carriages we reached my bed.... I thanked him profusively, then crashed out. It was wonderful to stretch out and find comfort at last. I woke shortly after and watched the orange light of dawn lighting the India rural countryside, then drifted in and out of sleep as the chai and food sellers started mounting and dismounting the train between stops. 'CHAI, CHAI, CHAI...' 'SAMOSA, SAMOSA, SAMOSA...' 'BREAD OMLETTE, BREAD OMLETTE, BREAD OMLETTE....' I drifted off again.

White on Green

Gathering Hay

Smelly....

Slow Shutter Impressionist Painting Style 

Slow Shutter - Abstract Landscape

Later as I filled my filter water bottle from the non drinking water tap between the carriages, I was ordered not to drink that water, by a local. 'It will make you sick!' he said.

'My bottle has a special filter on it.' I started to explain.

'It won't work.' he said matter of factly.

I saw little point in explaining any further, as another smiley local gent who was travelling with his wife and children said he had plenty of fresh water, and brought me to fill my bottle. We chatted briefly, he was a lovely helpful man. My filter bottle would have worked, though it was nice of the man to step in to protect me from what he thought would lead to a bout of serious Delhi Belly, or worse.

An hour or so before the train pulled in to Pune Junction I became rather peckish. I just needed a snack to tide me over before enjoying a late meal with Rich once he finished work at 10pm.

As my belly began to grumble in anticipation of some Indian snackage, a young guy was making his way along the carriage. Whatever was on offer smelt delightful.

I watched him as one bay up from min he swiftly constructed a cone from newspaper and then proceed to load it with spice coated fresh red onion, sprouted seeds and some sort of dried fish, all finished with a squeeze of lime and some chilli sauce.... Yum!.

I was slightly put off by the fact that the young man was using his hands to load the newspaper cones with said tasty morsels, no gloves or anything, and hygiene can be a problem in India. But I was very hungry and the smells as I mentioned were divine.

He finished serving the lady in the next bay up, then abruptly sneezed in to his hands. My hunger waned almost immediately, I allowed him to walk by sniffling the remnants of the snot and germs that had not made it to his hands from his agitated nostrils. Obviously things could have been worse, he could have sneezed in to his hands after I'd taken my third mouthful, so I was pleased to remain hungry for a little longer.

An hour later I dismounted the train and headed to meet my friend Richard in Pune.