Getting from point A to point B in India is often half the experience. It’s partly because of the awe- inspiring tableaus of everyday life that sweep past your eyes as you look through the window. Men working in rice paddies, little boys walking their goats or women washing sweaty, dusty garments against a river’s rock are just a few of the things you might see.
Delighted children share their joy as they catch us passing by
The buses are rarely late. You can get to a destination hours away often for less than a dollar. Many depart every 10 minutes so you can decide to pick up and go whenever, no reservation or planning required. The private buses provide a soundtrack of catchy Bollywood music to your journey as you watch strings of flowers hung around pictures of Vishnu or the Virgin Mary bounce from side to side. There are, however, downsides. There are few luxury buses and the seats are uncomfortable and school bus style. The driver has no issue using the oncoming traffic lane if he thinks it will get you somewhere faster. There are stops where school children squeeze in like sardines or when a woman who is tired of standing decides that your lap will suit her just fine. If you are lucky enough to get a seat it is your duty to care of the items belonging to those who have to stand. The range of items includes anything from a shopping bag to a baby.
Avoid the front if you do not want to be deafened by the horn the driver will constantly lean on or if you’d rather not be aware that the bus avoided the vehicle about to hit you head on only by a mere second. Avoid the back if you do not want to be crushed amongst men and thrown into the air at every speed bump the driver considers as a “nice suggestion” more than anything else. No matter where you sit, make sure you have something to brace yourself with.
Holding on tight while taking the bus in Goa
I once found myself in the early stages of Delhi Belly during a 4 hour bus trip to Coimbatore from Mysore. I figured if I just kept my eyes shut and sucked in air from the open window the lurking nausea would subside. That worked until we reached the mountains and I saw the ominous sign HAIRPIN TURN 1/27. The bus swung the sharp corner just inches away from the tree covered cliff, then slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with the oncoming bus with such vigour that my organs rearranged themselves. This stop, go, swing, stop, go, lurch continued from HAIRPIN turn 2 to 27. Needless to say I spent the remainder of the trip slumped over, cradling a plastic bag and trying to remain inconspicuous, but always aware of the single, wide brown/black eye of a four year old girl staring at me in wonder from between the crack of the seat in front of me. Luckily in a bus so crowded, my misery was lost on everyone but her.
One smart monkey tries to hitch a free ride to Coimbatore as I battle Delhi Belly
Then there is the train system. A ride on the train is actually a very pleasant experience. We experimented with a variety of classes both sleeper and chair cars. With the exception of a loud family, an even louder snorer and the smell of human waste wafting off the tracks when the train stopped at a station, the sleeper class experience was an enjoyable one. AC sitting class was equally comfortable with a parade of men selling Chai, Byriani and Samosas. The train is a smooth ride, no need to hold on for dear life and the toilets were all quite clean.
Nothing like waking up to a dosa and cup of chai on the overnight train
The downside of train travel is it is never on time and purchasing tickets is a pain. The first time we tried to purchase a train ticket was from the massive Mumbai train station. We stood in a line soon realizing that we were some of the only women in the station of thousands of men. Lines are also considered as a “suggestion” in India, so whether you are 2nd or 10th in line you never know how long it will take. Once it was finally our turn we were told we were in the wrong line and were directed across the room to a different line. Once we reached the wicket at that line we were pointed in a different direction. This happened 5 times across the massive station until we were finally told about an hour into the experience that it was not possible to buy a ticket for the next days train.
Signage within the train stations that a foreigner could understand is hard to come by. The announcements, while frequent, are impossible to decipher and less experienced travellers like us can never be sure which end of the platform the assigned car will land. Some trains are the length of at least a city block so there isn’t always a lot of time to think.
One of the only signs we were ever able to understand at the train station
For example, when our train pulled into the Madurai station we were very focused on finding our car as it whizzed by. We had seats 63 and 64 in car D2. One of the first of many cars to pass us said DT2. We figured that must be it and began the long walk to the end of the platform where it would eventually stop. Once on DT2 we saw how crammed it was with entire families crowded on the floor between seats that had no numbers and realized this could not be our car. There were other foreigners who had obviously made the same mistake and we all started walking through the connecting cars to the opposite end of the train where the kind passengers who examined our tickets had pointed. With people sitting in the aisle and our large backpacks making it difficult to pass the chai wallas trying to do business we decided to wait until the train stopped at the next station and walk on the station platform.
Train coming into the station.
Unfortunately the next stop was a quick one and we were still almost 20 cars away from the real D2 when the whistle blew and the train started to move. We had to get on again and try at the next stop, but the door to each car was blocked by people sitting or standing. I tried the one closest to us but the man would not move. Steph managed to get onto the next one, but a German woman hopped on right after her (Steph thought it was me) and could not move to let me in. The train picked up more speed. I gave up trying to keep up with Steph’s car and watched as various packed cars passed me by. I realized that in a few seconds the train would be at an impossible speed, so despite having nowhere to go, I made a running jump for the last car I could possibly keep up with, hanging off the side of the train with one foot on the door’s step and only one hand to grab the rail (the other held a bag of oranges, sweets and my small backpack with my most important possessions like passport, laptop and camera so I couldn’t just let it go). I came close to being pulled backwards onto the platform from the weight of my big pack, but the men in the doorway were good enough to heave me in.
I squeezed past them and took a right turn between the toilets at the end of the car to walk through to Steph’s car, but found myself facing a wall. The cars on this part of the train were not connected! Unable to do anything about it, I turned around to see if I could find a seat in the car, but the crowd of men had moulded around me making it impossible to move from my spot.
So there I was stuck in a dark two foot by two foot space, unable to take off my pack, wedged between the toilets which men (there did not appear to be a single female in the car) constantly had to use, having no idea when the train would stop again. Most of the men just ignored me, but one particular man refused to take his eyes off of me. He had the look of a perverted Mr. Bean. This was the first time I had felt truly uncomfortable in India and finally, while standing in my dark corner under this man’s gaze, I was forced to pull my sunglasses over my eyes as I regretted deciding to take the express train that skipped a large portion of the usual stops. At least I felt like could manage my situation, but what about Steph? Did she know I had made it onto the train? Was her situation just as bad as mine…?
Steph’s Version of Events
Witnessing Marieke’s failed attempt at jumping on the nearest car, I set my sights on the next car down the line. I managed to squeeze myself into the door, and felt Marieke push me in further. Except it wasn’t Marieke, it was Karin, the German woman who had also been convinced DT2 was the correct car and had followed us down the tracks in hopes of finding D2, our actual car. Fortunately, Karin had seen Marieke get onto another car, so I knew we’d meet up at the next stop. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how long it was until the next stop, and Marieke had our oranges and sweets. Too bad.
Steph relaxes on the train
Looking around our new home for the next thirty minutes or so, we realized we had stumbled into a private car comprised of all women and children. They graciously gave up two of their seats, and pretty soon we were watching the world go by, in between showing off Karin’s ipad photos to the children. When we reached the next stop, the women checked to make sure we got off on the correct side, we thanked them profusely, and ran into Marieke and found D2, finally. Apparently we had a much more pleasant train experience than Marieke….