Intro to Train Travel

The Indian train is equivalent to the American Greyhound bus, except times 1 million. The train is the fastest way to get around India aside from plane and with more track than any other country it is also very convenient. I wish the states had trains like India.

Because trains are reliable, convenient, and fast, train tickets sell out quick. One is considered lucky to get a sleeper train, preferably A/Ced as they call it, because the other option is 12+ hours, shoulder to shoulder, in hard bench seats.

If you want to get a train it is best to order your tickets a week or more in advance. Going to the station to get a ticket the day of is not only risky because you might not get a seat, it's insane because the train station makes no sense. There are four different booths that all, at a glance, seem exist for the same reason: booking, times, tickets, and scheduling. Then there is a fifth unmanned booth where you get a piece of paper that you use to check off what kind of train you want and when, all in garbled English with no clear step-by-step interface. I never learned what booth to take the completed papers to. Add to this the fact that Indians don't know how lines work, everybody is yelling, it's 150 degrees and humid, the toilets have overflowed, and nobody, including the police, is capable of giving clear instructions and you have a scene from Dante's Inferno. While you're talking to a guy at a booth somebody will literally push you aside, interrupting an perfectly smooth conversations of, "What? I don't quite understand you", and they will begin their own conversation with the booth guy. The only way to keep this from happening, and this is completely kosher, is to stiff arm that person, pushing them out of line. You see this all the time and what's strange is that the person who is knocked to the outside of the pack never seems angry. They just go back into line at the closest available spot and work their way to the front again, no hard feelings. I guess in a country of 1 billion, where they have a history of non-violence, the Indians have figured it's best to just let things slide. If they were as volatile as Americans everybody in the station would get shot at least once a day. Speaking of which, Americans have a supreme advantage in lines, or huddles rather, because 1) there is a national history of reverence to light skinned folks, and 2) we are bigger, have thicker bones, better fed and developed muscles, and can push harder. Once Tori was at a counter when a man tried to butt-in. Tori swung her elbow at the guys head and knocked him three feet back to where I was standing. He looked at me, because we were obviously together, and I gave him a look that said, "Sorry, at least she didn't aim for your throat". Later that man actually apologized to Tori.

The train itself is unfathomably exciting. Just like everywhere else in India, there are no rules. If you want to climb onto the roof, go right ahead; hang out the door and give people high fives, do it. The train also feels like a roller coaster does straight out of the gate, at that flat part before the first big hill, where you have that looming feeling of anticipation. You expect sudden, drink spilling lurches to happen at any moment. Sudden stops are common. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a loop-d-loop somewhere on the miles of track. The trains look like moving prison cells: they're painted in drab greens and grays, have bars on the windows, and are dimly lit. People sit with their faces pressed against the bars and their arms hanging out the windows, just watching the outside world. On the inside are benches made of plastic leather stretched over wood. At night the benches fold apart to make triple stacks of beds. There are no real ladders to get to the top bunks, so it helps to have monkey-like dexterity and owl-like night vision. That is to say, the best creature for train travel is one of those monkey birds from the Wizard of Oz.
I traveled in the trains with my girlfriend Tori, her roommate Tauti, my former roommate Luther, and our friend Evan, all students from the Mysore - Iowa City exchange. We hired 2 autorickshaws to race from our hotel in central Bangalore to the station on the edge of Muslim town. Tori and my rickshaw won by two minutes, we tipped him generously for having endangerd so many lives, and so thrillingly, to get us to the station on time. So there we were, five whiteys in western style clothes, each with a huge hiking pack, towering over a sea of Indians; Luther especially, he is 6'4". People didn't just notice us, they formed in a circle about 3 feet away and walked with us all the way to our car, staring wide eyed, mouth agape. The circle was comprised of children, to be honest. Kids in India get a kick out of white folk and will talk to you, or just stare from a distance, all day long. I like kids and I like being the center of attention, so my introduction to the Indian Railway Company felt like I was Alec Baldwin walking into a crowded Kwik Trip, or something. Celebrity Delusions for Foreigners Railway Company, they should call it.
With our stuff stowed on one of the unfoldable top bunks and our circus of followers dispersed, we settled in for an 18 hour overnigh train ride to Goa, the Malibu beach of India.
Next entry, unless I get sidetracked, will be on the "Trainride of Freaks" where I tell about all the wierdos I met on the train. Keep reading.
Pictures were taken at the India National Train Museum in Delhi. The Indians don't still use steam locomotives.