EPIC TRAIN JOURNEY TO VARANASI

Recently lots of unusually positive occurrences have frequented my travels..... Small, almost insignificant some would say. But I continue to visualise my day to day wanderings as I'd like them to turn out. Seeing them as already having happened if you will.

I rose early on my last morning at Goan Corner in Hampi. 6.15am to be exact. It hadn't rained during the night which made for simple, clean and easy tent and mat packing.

I ordered a monster breakfast of two boiled eggs with wholemeal toast, banana porridge and a cup of ginger lemon mint tea to set me up for the journey ahead telling Chamilla that I would return to feed on her wholesome fare after my invigorating cool bucket wash.

I needed to be at the river crossing for 8am to ensure plenty of time for reaching the train station 10am. Bus connections didn't always go according to plan, and I was unsure of how frequently they ran to Hospet. Maybe I'd get a rickshaw if there was someone heading my way. Faster and straight to the train station door.  If I shared it would only cost about 80p.

Ross, Quinn, Esther, Vanessa and a few others who hadn't said goodbye the previous night or left the previous day came out with hugs to send me on my way. I mentioned to Esther how great it would be if one of the guys had a motorcycle. It would save me a 12 minute walk to the river crossing.

Ross (Scottish guy who literally lives a few miles from the Point of Ayre (Northern tip of the Isle of Man) came over to wish me good luck, and then
asked, 'Do want a lift to the boat?' Brilliant!

As we bounced our way to the river crossing the little TVS motorcycle bottomed out crunching and scraping due to the surprisingly excess weight of two slender built Celts. Thanks again Ross.

I'd spent the previous day visualising a 3AC carriage for my train journey to Varanasi.... But when it came to booking there was only the sleeper carriage left. Fine, at least there were a few tourist quota tickets left and the sleepers are great.

Having crossed the river I slowly and deliberately tackled the steep steps on the otherside. As I ambled a Parisian lady called Virginie approached and asked if I was heading to Hospet. 'Yes' I replied. A few seconds later a Japanese lady pursued me and asked if I knew where to catch the bus from and how much it cost. I provided directions and the cost, a mere 15 pence. A rickshaw driver growled 'Thank you, yes, thank you' in my direction, suggesting the free information I'd just provided had cost him a fare to Hospet. Unfortunately no one trusts the rickshaw drivers for a fare price. They bring this on themselves. After waiting ten minutes for a bus I could see Virginie was becoming a little anxious. I suggested we share a rickshaw together. £1.80 later and we were arriving at the train station with a level of efficiency that usually unbeknownst to me. With an hour in hand we dropped in to a litle 'Greasy Spoon' Cafe as we'd know it in the UK.... A little darker than the ones in the UK, but with an ample supply of fried goods and tasty thali. Having already eaten I ordered a black coffee for my second kick start of the day.

Virginie is 42, the same age as Amanda. A pretty lady with dark, wavy hair and a big smile. She is a professional photographer and is currently embarking on a little film project. Over our hour in the cafe Virginie went in to the depths of her complex love life, I shared mine.... Obviously it continues to be with my wife even though she cannot seen.... Virginie listened sympathetically providing positive feedback.

Like Amanda, Virginie suffers great anxiety. Virginies anxiety is connected to travelling alone for the first time through India. It is not her first time in the country. Seven years ago she put forward and idea for National Geographic who commissioned her to fulfil a piece in India. It cost her 3,000 Euros to complete. The Nat Geo pay cheque covered her expenses, with a handful of Euros left over. I think she was a little deflated by the financial settlement, and who can blame her.

As I sat and chatted with Virginie I hoped to help her cope with her ongoing travel anxieties. As for me, I am the complete opposite. As I travel I worry very little. What is there to worry about? Deal with things as and when they happen. Worrying about 'what ifs' is one of the greatest wastes of time we humans can commit our time to. But we've all done it, or we all do it. Virginie would worry about getting sick, hurt, arrested for someone stashing drugs in her bag, etc etc. Me, I leave my bag hoping to find drugs in it (joking!). I don't worry about sickness, it only makes you sick and I don't worry about getting hurt. I'd probably trip over and break my ankle if I did. I have to stress, I don't go taking stupid risks that could endanger my life. When travelling I'm a great advocate of using common sense. I don't fear being robbed, mugged or having anything stolen. Even when I feel that I may be sat with a group of dodgy undesirables, rather than feeling uncomfortabel I simply try to make friends with them whilst I'm trapped in their company. I trust everyone until they abuse this great privilege. I say everyone. When I say everyone I mean every Indian that isn't trying to 'sell' me a service or a piece of tat..... I have a general disdain for the majority of rickshaw drivers and some local Indians who try to take advantage of their location with a sole aim to rip you off with outright manipulative lies. This is not the majority of locals. Who can blame the ones that do try. It's a hard life in many of India's big cities, unless of course you have an education, job, trade or business money can be difficult to come by.

Virginie was hoping to meet a couple of Italians and a Brazilian at the station. What's the chances of such a coincidental gathering of nationalities at Hospet train station I hear you ask? Well she'd already met a group consisting of said nationalities whilst in Hampi and she was also privvy to the fact that they were hopping aboard the very same train.

To her delight they appeared on the platform half an hour ahead of the train.

As these guys were the subject of her little film, Virginie was extremely pleased to see them.

We all boarded the train to Londa. It was a short seven and a half hour journey. The carriages were fairly empty so there was plenty of space. A rare treat on India Rail.

We arrived in Londa at 4.20pm just over
two hours until the next train to Itarsi. I read for a while then meditated and chilled.

Before the train arrived we all checked our tickets to see who was where. Coincidentally I was in the same Sleeper Carriage and 6 bed berth as 'The Band'. Whilst Virginie's ticket far more expensive 3AC Carriage with it's Upper Berth was three carriages away. She was upset not to be with her band friends.

Was this the universe offering me up my 3AC Carriage???

'Want to swap Virginie?'

'You don't mind?'

'Not at all. In fact it was a 3AC Carriage that I initially wanted.'

'That would be fantastic!' Virginie replied.

So there I was tucked away in my own little upper side berth in an air conditioned carriage, and there was Virginie getting to spend tonight and tomorrow with 'The Band'. Everyone's a winner!

Virginie came to visit a couple of times the next day. We sat and chatted about life, love and books. We shared a couple of 'chais' and a couple of Indian coffees. She even took a couple of photo's of me which may at some point make it on to the blog. A photo of me in front of camera is a rare event on the blog.

This second stint on the railway line was another epic. Twenty three 23 hours. I managed to read a book and a half. The full book I read was called 'Into The Wild'. It's a true story about a young man who shows disdain for the modern way of life and heads off around America. Before leaving he donated his college fund of $24,000 to Oxfam, then hit the road in his old clapped out Datsun. After many months on the road he eventually ends up in Alaska. He wasn't fully prepared for what he met as far as the wilderness went, but he did pretty well, before falling foul of some dodgy wild potato seeds. He fell very ill, already weak due to not eating enough, and sadly, maybe predictably, eventually died. He lasted 4 months in the wilderness, which according to outdoors men is a bloody good effort! 4 weeks before his death he'd decided to leave the wilderness but trapped by high melt water rivers, decided it would only be possible to traverse the angry waters once the levels had fallen. True story. Very interesting, very moving.

I arrived at Itarsi, wandered up the train to say goodbye to the other guys (I'm a pretty unsociable creature at times, having remained in my upper berth reading for much of the 23 hours, along with chatting to Virginie), then found myself a quiet perch on a platform. I knew not where my next train came in. But it was 4 hours away, so it mattered little.

As a westerner in India sitting alone is a short lived experience.

'Which country?'

'What is your name?'

'How long have you been in India?'

'Where are you going?'

'Chai?'

'Samosa?'

….. and so on.

A couple of slightly inebriated (one definitely was) middle aged fellas decided to sit beside me. Two youths sat to my back. As the time approached 8pm various wanderers stopped and asked their standard string of questions as they drifted up and down the platform. The newly formed westerner interrogation group would chat amongst themselves from time to time, then burst in to laughter. Some folks may well have felt uncomfortable with this situation. I felt indifferent. I took out my camera (putting on a full display of very expensive photographic equipment, late at night in a train station), took photo's of them, showed them the pictures, then bathed in the laughter caused by seeing the split second in time captured in still. I went on to show them the inflatable solar lamp then shared some mosquito squashing time. Four hours passed in a flash (that's an exaggeration and I'd also have loved some time alone!).

As I sat wishing I could have half an hour to myself I picked up a heavily Indian accented announcement over the tanoy which suggested to catch my train it would be preferable if I took a seat on the far platform. I bid farewell to my platform pals and headed toward the bridge.

The train was on time. 9.20pm to be exact.

For the final 15 hours (which turned in to 16 hours) I was in a 6 berth Sleeper Carriage.

During the day time a long seats run adjacent to one side of the carriage, with another opposite. Knee to knee if you will. Room for 3 people either side. The back rest of these seats lifts to make a middle berth which hangs from chains supported by the upper berth above. The upper berth is always in a lifted 'bed' position, out of everyone's way. It is just like the top bed of a three tier bunk. Once the middle berth (the back rest to the seat) is lifted 3 people can sleep one side of the berth, 3 people sleep the opposite side. Outside the main berth separated by a tatty blue curtain is the narrow aisle which runs down through the carriage, on the other side of which is a lower side berth and an upper side berth, two more beds. Due to there being open barred carriage windows on the Sleeper Carriages there is no middle berth on the sides. These side berths run parallel to the side of the carriage, right opposite the main 6 berth area. The main 6 berth should seat a maximum of six paying passengers.

My ticket stated S3 (Sleeper Carriage 3) MB (Middle Berth) 50.

I wandered down the carriage finally reaching my berth. A western girl lay a top the upper berth to the right, two Indian ladies in the bed opposite. Both middle sleeping areas were still down forming the back rests for the bottom sleeping area, which formed the seats. 8 Indian men sat 4 each side. With my arrival this made a total of 11 people in this tiny berth. Their bags and huge boxes filled the floor and gaps under the seats. I have to say I wasn't impressed. It wasn't a warm welcome for me either. I told them I would like to put the seat up so I could sleep. That I'd been travelling 36 hours. With great reluctance they did so. I squeezed in to my little sleeping area which had been greatly reduced in size due to having to share it with both my backpacks. A couple of hours later the Indians got on the beds two a piece and with the remainder sleeping on top of each other on the bag littered floor.

It was a long (and cold) night.

It wasn't until mid morning when the carriage became a little more spacious. I got chatting with Andrea who was now opposite me on her upper berth. She'd suffered the same experience when she come aboard the train.

Five of the Indians in our berth had no tickets, but decided to take over the berth regardless. The TC's seem to just turn a blind eye. You have to be very firm to get your seat at times.

53 hours after leaving Goan Corner in Hampi, Andrea, 38 from Slovakia, and I shared a rickshaw to Old Varanasi. I'd been told by Virginie's Brazilian band member pal Egor to look out for the Family Guesthouse. £1.60 per night, clean, with WIFI and hot water.... HOT WATER!!!??? I couldn't believe it. After twenty minutes of trudging around we stumbled upon said guesthouse and took a room each.

My exploration of Varanasi would begin in a couple of hours.