The Indian Railway of Chaos...dun, dun, dun
Originally posted April 16, 2003
We were told by a number of people that if we don't take a train in India, then we haven't really traveled to India at all. With that in mind, we booked two train tickets from Kolkata to Varanasi. Not that we needed much convincing that a train was the way to go - Indian buses are suicidal - speeding along and swerving in and out of traffic uncontrollably. In our six-day stay in Kolkata, we read about several accidents involving buses losing control. It's just not that uncommon. So the "how" was set. The "where" wasn't so definite. We were back and forth between Varanasi and Bodhgaya until the last minute. In India, the last minute takes two hours since the guys selling the train tickets are in no hurry to get the job done. One guy working, two guys watching him work, another guy playing solitaire. Two hours later, we were buying tickets to Varanasi - one of the oldest cities in the world and the most sacred place for Hindus in India. But as you've come to expect, nothing is ever so simple as just taking a train.
The cab ride to the train station was an adventure in itself. Any cab ride in Kolkata is. The train station was only 20 minutes away. We budgeted two hours. The cab split lanes, dodged buses and other cabs, darted around pedestrians and in front of rickshaws. And of course, in Kolkata there's no need to use an indicator. A three-second blast of a horn will suffice to inform everyone within earshot what you've got planned. Turning left. Horn. Turning right. Horn. Stopping. Horn. Pulling into on-coming traffic and then executing a 17 point turn to back your cab into a spot made for a bicycle? Horn. Indian drivers (not just taxi drivers, but all drivers) use their horns non-stop while driving. Hardly five seconds goes by that a driver isn't on his horn. It's really unbelievable. Now, multiply the sound of a horn by 14 million (Kolkata's population) because apparently everyone in the city was driving to the train station that night - like they are every night, on every road in Kolkata. It's pure chaos. Chaos like the kind you see in movies about apocalypse. It is like everyone has to get out of a city with one bridge before it collapses, driving on medians, through on-coming traffic, on train tracks. Anything to get out. But apparently we were the only ones who noticed. Everyone else was completely unphased by this madness. As promised, we got there in exactly 20 minutes.
Once there, we had to find our train, platform, correct car and seats, plus load our bags. Long story short, we did it. We did it wrong and had to move to another car, but we did that too.
The cabin structure is such that three seats face in towards three other seats. The seats are nothing luxurious by any means, more like a long bench than three seats. We're sharing the bench with a Japanese guy named Ken. Agnes is one. Warren is two, and Ken is three. Across from us are another set of three seats. There are eight Indian people squeezed in to them. Three adults, four children and one infant. Not one of them can sit still for more than 20 seconds, and who can blame them? They're squeezed into three seats.
Kolkata to Varanasi is a 14 hour train ride. We're not terribly pleased. If there is a positive side to this tale, it's this: Every time the train stops, it is boarded by at least 10 people selling food, drinks, pillows, mirrors, magazines, you name it. It's like a dollar store that makes house calls. People are trying to hawk any and everything. However, one particular item keeps rearing its' head and taunting us. It's a pink and green plastic hammer that squeeks when you hammer anything. There are four children across from us who will exploit any means to make this ride more aggravating for us. Thankfully, the three adults have the sense not to torment us any further. The hammer vendor moves on.
Two hours into the ride, we convert the bench and the two folding beds above it into our sleeping quarters and retire for the rest of the evening. The family, it appears, did not buy three seats, but only two. Some are squeezed into the two sleeper berths while others are spread out on the floor. A baby is crying. A vendor is selling water. And the family is switching seats again. Before leaving Thailand, we bought two MP3 players. Tonight our purchase is paying off. I put the headphones in my ears, scroll to U2 on my playlist and say, as if he could hear me: "Come on Bono, sing it to me brother".
We woke up refreshed and relaxed, sans family of eight. They must have got off at a stop during the night. We were in Varanasi.
Tomorrow's blog: Indian Hospitality
Originally posted April 16, 2003
We were told by a number of people that if we don't take a train in India, then we haven't really traveled to India at all. With that in mind, we booked two train tickets from Kolkata to Varanasi. Not that we needed much convincing that a train was the way to go - Indian buses are suicidal - speeding along and swerving in and out of traffic uncontrollably. In our six-day stay in Kolkata, we read about several accidents involving buses losing control. It's just not that uncommon. So the "how" was set. The "where" wasn't so definite. We were back and forth between Varanasi and Bodhgaya until the last minute. In India, the last minute takes two hours since the guys selling the train tickets are in no hurry to get the job done. One guy working, two guys watching him work, another guy playing solitaire. Two hours later, we were buying tickets to Varanasi - one of the oldest cities in the world and the most sacred place for Hindus in India. But as you've come to expect, nothing is ever so simple as just taking a train.
The cab ride to the train station was an adventure in itself. Any cab ride in Kolkata is. The train station was only 20 minutes away. We budgeted two hours. The cab split lanes, dodged buses and other cabs, darted around pedestrians and in front of rickshaws. And of course, in Kolkata there's no need to use an indicator. A three-second blast of a horn will suffice to inform everyone within earshot what you've got planned. Turning left. Horn. Turning right. Horn. Stopping. Horn. Pulling into on-coming traffic and then executing a 17 point turn to back your cab into a spot made for a bicycle? Horn. Indian drivers (not just taxi drivers, but all drivers) use their horns non-stop while driving. Hardly five seconds goes by that a driver isn't on his horn. It's really unbelievable. Now, multiply the sound of a horn by 14 million (Kolkata's population) because apparently everyone in the city was driving to the train station that night - like they are every night, on every road in Kolkata. It's pure chaos. Chaos like the kind you see in movies about apocalypse. It is like everyone has to get out of a city with one bridge before it collapses, driving on medians, through on-coming traffic, on train tracks. Anything to get out. But apparently we were the only ones who noticed. Everyone else was completely unphased by this madness. As promised, we got there in exactly 20 minutes.
Once there, we had to find our train, platform, correct car and seats, plus load our bags. Long story short, we did it. We did it wrong and had to move to another car, but we did that too.
The cabin structure is such that three seats face in towards three other seats. The seats are nothing luxurious by any means, more like a long bench than three seats. We're sharing the bench with a Japanese guy named Ken. Agnes is one. Warren is two, and Ken is three. Across from us are another set of three seats. There are eight Indian people squeezed in to them. Three adults, four children and one infant. Not one of them can sit still for more than 20 seconds, and who can blame them? They're squeezed into three seats.
Kolkata to Varanasi is a 14 hour train ride. We're not terribly pleased. If there is a positive side to this tale, it's this: Every time the train stops, it is boarded by at least 10 people selling food, drinks, pillows, mirrors, magazines, you name it. It's like a dollar store that makes house calls. People are trying to hawk any and everything. However, one particular item keeps rearing its' head and taunting us. It's a pink and green plastic hammer that squeeks when you hammer anything. There are four children across from us who will exploit any means to make this ride more aggravating for us. Thankfully, the three adults have the sense not to torment us any further. The hammer vendor moves on.
Two hours into the ride, we convert the bench and the two folding beds above it into our sleeping quarters and retire for the rest of the evening. The family, it appears, did not buy three seats, but only two. Some are squeezed into the two sleeper berths while others are spread out on the floor. A baby is crying. A vendor is selling water. And the family is switching seats again. Before leaving Thailand, we bought two MP3 players. Tonight our purchase is paying off. I put the headphones in my ears, scroll to U2 on my playlist and say, as if he could hear me: "Come on Bono, sing it to me brother".
We woke up refreshed and relaxed, sans family of eight. They must have got off at a stop during the night. We were in Varanasi.
Tomorrow's blog: Indian Hospitality
posted by warren | 4:53 PM
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