(If you are uninterested in reading a brief philosophical and sociological reflection simply skip down past the train picture. I won't hold it against you).
Before I left on my adventure, I'd been warned by many people (both familiar and unfamiliar with India) about the depressing poverty and filth that I was bound to encounter - especially in Delhi. I had no idea then how one might 'prepare' oneself for that kind of encounter, afterall - my life of relative affluence in the US didn't offer many opportunities to steel myself against such ugly things.
Or did it?
At the risk of making a comparison that some may find offensive or inadequate, I didn't find the areas I visited in India to be any worse or more potentially depressing than some places I've visited in Sonora, Mexico. Sonora is arguably the poorest part of Mexico, and rural Sonoran villages are strikingly similar to many of the small roadside communities in India (only in India, they have water). I found the people in India to seem happier and more welcoming than those in Sonora (understandable given that on this continent I represented a rare and exciting resource whereas in Sonora my presence is one more reminder of tension, conflict and arrogant imperialism).
Does that mean that my visits to Mexico 'prepared' me for what I encountered in India? Who can say? I know that I wasn't depressed by the poverty, disgusted by the filth or embarrassed by my own health and wealth. Maybe it's because I'm just that insensitive, or perhaps I got lucky and didn't actually see anything horrific. But, who knows, maybe I was able to look past some drifts of trash and the hobbled beggars and see a people who took tremendous pride in themselves and their country regardless.
That's not to say that there weren't things that I was totally unprepared for, however. For example:
The Train Station in New Delhi. Not quite the 'hive of scum and villainy' some described - it was actually relatively clean and free of lepers and maimed beggars. It was, however, a bustling chaotic explosion of people, trains, stairs and chimed-messages. Not a place for those with a crowd phobia or personal space issues. Heck, it's not much of a place for clueless foreigners overburdened with luggage and jet lag regardless of phobias or neurosis.
The passenger train system in India is the 3rd largest in the world, and is second only to China in the number of passenger-miles traveled every year. It's how India travels, and with more than 6,800 stations and 63,000km of rail to maintain - India Rail is the largest employer on earth. Delhi alone is the departure point for 170 trains each day. It's big business, and for Indians - it's a system that they see and use every day.
For tourists - it's like a 3D real life video game without a user's guide.
We arrived in our Trekker's Triple Bag Technique gear with over an hour and a half to find our train - we figured we had plenty of time. What we didn't realize was that it would probably take us years to really figure out how the train station operated. But we didn't have years. Before we even entered the station, an official looking man standing near the (completely ineffective) security check somehow figured out that we were not from 'round there and attempted to help us. When he realized we were taking the Radjahni Express he hurried to let us know that it was delayed by 10 hours and that we should go to the travel agent office just down the street and get new tickets for a different train that would be leaving in just a couple of hours. We were shocked - 10 hours! We'd already checked out of the hotel! The more we pressed him for details, however, the more confused we got until he waved us in the direction of the agency then walked off into the crowd.
We'd be warned by our guide book to be wary of scams near the train station, but the gentleman had been so official looking and so helpful... But the travel agent was a long walk away and we were already tired of carrying the double bag burden. Rather than give up now and haul the luggage around any more, we went into the train station, figuring we'd be able to get more info at a ticket counter or information desk. Although we found no such monster (even after a LOT of looking), we did manage to find an actual uniformed official who informed us that the RJ was not, actually, delayed at all but was expected on time at Platform 12.
Scammer #1 narrowly averted.
So the good news was we had all the tickets we really needed. The bad news was that we were at Platform 1 - and there were 3 sets of long staircases to climb and descend to get to Platform 12. We merged into the interstate-highway-traffic of human bodies moving through the station and made it all the way across to 12, only to see no train and no real indication of where we were supposed to be. Sarah asked again, only to be told that we were actually supposed to be at Platform 2.
Um...right...
Sweaty and slightly winded, we looked around briefly trying to make sense of the multi-lingual signs and all the messages chiming in over the PA system. We couldn't understand any of it. The train numbers didn't match out tickets, they didn't list the names of the trains at all, and the voice on the PA was speaking in English but was still completely unintelligible. Even the signs written in English seemed to be like a cryptogram - the words all made sense by themselves but the messages they conveyed were a mystery.
Sarah and I agreed that we wouldn't make any progress with all of our worldly possessions strapped on our bodies. We dumped our luggage in a heap which I sat on while she left to find someone or something which would help us get sorted out. As she disappeared into the sea of humanity, I tried my best to look like a composed luggage defender and woman of the world. From the open stares and agape mouths I think I might have been failing. Men in particular were captivated by the lone white girl with the frizzy curls and mounds of bags. I think a child might have screamed. I was so glad when Sarah returned with an official who helped us secure 2 coolies to carry our bags and get us to the correct platform.
Coolie: a poorly paid railway porter with a brass ID plaque tied to his arm who easily climbs and descends staircases carrying a 40lb bag balanced on his head while talking on his cell phone.
Our coolies took off toward Platform 12 with our bags on their heads and we struggled to keep up. Luckily, with our giant backpacks on top of them they were easy to keep a visual on in the crowd. They moved with speedy certainty past the crowded portions of the platform to a more open spot further down. It seemed like a random spot considering that there was no train yet. However, when it pulled in, it turned out that we were right in front of the car we'd been assigned to. They assured that we were the first in the car, settled our luggage and sat down to haggle a price with us (we should have agreed on that in advance). Once they left us, we realized that we had no idea how they had accomplished the task of getting us to the precise spot and seat we needed. If we ever did this again, we'd be at their mercy once more. However - at only 50rs per bag (about $1) - it was a price I'd gladly pay again for someone to navigate that mess for me.
The train arrived, unloaded passengers and luggage, reloaded and departed in a space of time that would have made a budget airline operator blink twice. We had purchased our passage in the 3-tier AC class. This is more or less the least expensive of the 1st class options (the lower class cars do not have AC and are dependent upon windows for cooling). 1st Class AC consists of the little separate berths with a locking door, 2-tier cars have 2 levels of sleeping berths (one upper, one lower) separated by curtains. 3-tier is just a little tighter, with a middle berth that folds down at night for sleeping. As our trip would be over 20 hours we'd be learning very well how comfortable the accommodations were.
Luckily, we were berthed with a family of 7 - a mother, father, aunt and 4 girls (we say girls, but we later learned that 2 were out of college professionals - they just seemed very young) returning from a family vacation to Agra. While their English was limited, they were very sweet and easy to share the space with. Just one berth over was a family with 2 very young children who were going bonkers in the small space, so we were definitely aware of how fortunate we were.
What follows is 20 hours of moving across an unspeakably flat landscape. The train averaged about 45-50mph, only slowing for a few stations and stops along the way. The porter served several meals and tea - most of which we skipped at the advice of various travel guides who report dodgy hygiene on the trains (which seemed to be true when you went back to the porter/kitchen/bathroom car). We'd brought some treats purchased in the market before we boarded, which we shared with the family (though I think they disapproved of our selections). When it was time for lights out, we folded up the 3rd bunk and turned out the lights. Although it was still the middle of the day by Tucson's time zone, we'd been through enough that day to help us get off to sleep.
I found sleeping on the train to be surprisingly easy. The car quieted down amazingly and the bunk, while hardly soft and cozy, was definitely more relaxing than an airplane seat. The motion was, as I'd expected, soothing and the air was circulating fast enough that I never felt like we were packed in quite like it seemed.
The next morning, the flatness continued - though a soft rain fell on and off and the dry farmlands had given way to a more tropical plant palette. Another entire essay could be written about the landscape we traveled through - not one of wild spaces but a constant repetition of small farms, tiny villages and narrow strips of food trees. We never got more than 300' above sea level, and we didn't drop much below 200'. I don't want to generalize for the rest of the sub-continent south of our route, but this strip is perhaps the least geographically-varied area I've ever witnessed. And every inch of it has been enlisted into human use.
As we neared the station at New Jalpaiguri, we finally began to see some fields of tea plants, banana trees and mangos. At last, we were getting to the foothills of that mighty mountain range we'd come to see: the Himalaya. Our traveling companions helped us gather our bags again (they were staying on towards their home in Assam) and wished us a good journey. We stepped off the train into a rainstorm on another busy train platform.
That step meant the end of our pre-planned travel arrangements until we got onto a plane again in Delhi in 18 days. Now the real adventure was beginning.
Before I left on my adventure, I'd been warned by many people (both familiar and unfamiliar with India) about the depressing poverty and filth that I was bound to encounter - especially in Delhi. I had no idea then how one might 'prepare' oneself for that kind of encounter, afterall - my life of relative affluence in the US didn't offer many opportunities to steel myself against such ugly things.
Or did it?
At the risk of making a comparison that some may find offensive or inadequate, I didn't find the areas I visited in India to be any worse or more potentially depressing than some places I've visited in Sonora, Mexico. Sonora is arguably the poorest part of Mexico, and rural Sonoran villages are strikingly similar to many of the small roadside communities in India (only in India, they have water). I found the people in India to seem happier and more welcoming than those in Sonora (understandable given that on this continent I represented a rare and exciting resource whereas in Sonora my presence is one more reminder of tension, conflict and arrogant imperialism).
Does that mean that my visits to Mexico 'prepared' me for what I encountered in India? Who can say? I know that I wasn't depressed by the poverty, disgusted by the filth or embarrassed by my own health and wealth. Maybe it's because I'm just that insensitive, or perhaps I got lucky and didn't actually see anything horrific. But, who knows, maybe I was able to look past some drifts of trash and the hobbled beggars and see a people who took tremendous pride in themselves and their country regardless.
That's not to say that there weren't things that I was totally unprepared for, however. For example:
 |
| Not my photo - but it captures what I couldn't. http://delhicitypictureindia.blogspot.com |
The passenger train system in India is the 3rd largest in the world, and is second only to China in the number of passenger-miles traveled every year. It's how India travels, and with more than 6,800 stations and 63,000km of rail to maintain - India Rail is the largest employer on earth. Delhi alone is the departure point for 170 trains each day. It's big business, and for Indians - it's a system that they see and use every day.
For tourists - it's like a 3D real life video game without a user's guide.
We arrived in our Trekker's Triple Bag Technique gear with over an hour and a half to find our train - we figured we had plenty of time. What we didn't realize was that it would probably take us years to really figure out how the train station operated. But we didn't have years. Before we even entered the station, an official looking man standing near the (completely ineffective) security check somehow figured out that we were not from 'round there and attempted to help us. When he realized we were taking the Radjahni Express he hurried to let us know that it was delayed by 10 hours and that we should go to the travel agent office just down the street and get new tickets for a different train that would be leaving in just a couple of hours. We were shocked - 10 hours! We'd already checked out of the hotel! The more we pressed him for details, however, the more confused we got until he waved us in the direction of the agency then walked off into the crowd.
We'd be warned by our guide book to be wary of scams near the train station, but the gentleman had been so official looking and so helpful... But the travel agent was a long walk away and we were already tired of carrying the double bag burden. Rather than give up now and haul the luggage around any more, we went into the train station, figuring we'd be able to get more info at a ticket counter or information desk. Although we found no such monster (even after a LOT of looking), we did manage to find an actual uniformed official who informed us that the RJ was not, actually, delayed at all but was expected on time at Platform 12.
Scammer #1 narrowly averted.
So the good news was we had all the tickets we really needed. The bad news was that we were at Platform 1 - and there were 3 sets of long staircases to climb and descend to get to Platform 12. We merged into the interstate-highway-traffic of human bodies moving through the station and made it all the way across to 12, only to see no train and no real indication of where we were supposed to be. Sarah asked again, only to be told that we were actually supposed to be at Platform 2.
Um...right...
Sweaty and slightly winded, we looked around briefly trying to make sense of the multi-lingual signs and all the messages chiming in over the PA system. We couldn't understand any of it. The train numbers didn't match out tickets, they didn't list the names of the trains at all, and the voice on the PA was speaking in English but was still completely unintelligible. Even the signs written in English seemed to be like a cryptogram - the words all made sense by themselves but the messages they conveyed were a mystery.
Sarah and I agreed that we wouldn't make any progress with all of our worldly possessions strapped on our bodies. We dumped our luggage in a heap which I sat on while she left to find someone or something which would help us get sorted out. As she disappeared into the sea of humanity, I tried my best to look like a composed luggage defender and woman of the world. From the open stares and agape mouths I think I might have been failing. Men in particular were captivated by the lone white girl with the frizzy curls and mounds of bags. I think a child might have screamed. I was so glad when Sarah returned with an official who helped us secure 2 coolies to carry our bags and get us to the correct platform.
Coolie: a poorly paid railway porter with a brass ID plaque tied to his arm who easily climbs and descends staircases carrying a 40lb bag balanced on his head while talking on his cell phone.
 |
| Again, not my photo... |
 |
| This time it's mine... |
Luckily, we were berthed with a family of 7 - a mother, father, aunt and 4 girls (we say girls, but we later learned that 2 were out of college professionals - they just seemed very young) returning from a family vacation to Agra. While their English was limited, they were very sweet and easy to share the space with. Just one berth over was a family with 2 very young children who were going bonkers in the small space, so we were definitely aware of how fortunate we were.
 |
| The family was so sweet - they wanted the girl's photo taken with the funny foreigners. This is the 2 bunk side of the train car |
 |
| Mom, dad, aunt and the oldest daughter. The seat back folds up to serve as the middle bunk. |
I found sleeping on the train to be surprisingly easy. The car quieted down amazingly and the bunk, while hardly soft and cozy, was definitely more relaxing than an airplane seat. The motion was, as I'd expected, soothing and the air was circulating fast enough that I never felt like we were packed in quite like it seemed.
The next morning, the flatness continued - though a soft rain fell on and off and the dry farmlands had given way to a more tropical plant palette. Another entire essay could be written about the landscape we traveled through - not one of wild spaces but a constant repetition of small farms, tiny villages and narrow strips of food trees. We never got more than 300' above sea level, and we didn't drop much below 200'. I don't want to generalize for the rest of the sub-continent south of our route, but this strip is perhaps the least geographically-varied area I've ever witnessed. And every inch of it has been enlisted into human use.
As we neared the station at New Jalpaiguri, we finally began to see some fields of tea plants, banana trees and mangos. At last, we were getting to the foothills of that mighty mountain range we'd come to see: the Himalaya. Our traveling companions helped us gather our bags again (they were staying on towards their home in Assam) and wished us a good journey. We stepped off the train into a rainstorm on another busy train platform.
That step meant the end of our pre-planned travel arrangements until we got onto a plane again in Delhi in 18 days. Now the real adventure was beginning.
2 comments:
Wow...so different over there! Is Sarah for from Tucson or is she living in India and u joined her there?
Sarah is a friend from Tucson - we've hiked together a number of times. She was the 'experienced' world traveler of the two of us - an expertise that I definitely appreciated!
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