The Train Hop: An Illegal Travel Adventure

     I am at my wits end with computing right now.  It is hot and I have been at this computer, paying for each minute, for over two hours. With every power outage and resetting of the IP Address (despite its not being needed) there has been some strange change in what my fonts are.  I have spent 20 minutes attempting to fix it because it drives me nuts, but alas there is no real solution.  You have to deal with it.  Same with spell checking and grammar, I need to leave and get an ice cold Coke.  Enjoy for now :-)

The Train Hop: An Illegal Travel Adventure

     I ordered my train ticket in advance via an online service but was given the status of WAITLISTED, meaning exactly what the word seems to imply.  My train was to depart from the Northwestern town of Amritsar (home of the golden temple, near to the Pakistan border, and is one of the major cities of the Sikh nation) and end in Gorakhpur.  Gorakhpur rests far to the east (about 1200kms) and is one shit of a place I am told by both Indian and expat alike.  First I would need to catch an early a.m. bus from Mcleod Ganj (where a few days earlier had bruised a bone, or pinched a nerve or something while on a hike and was limping.  My foot was fine if I was resting, but the more I walked the worse and worse it would hurt.  The more it hurt, the more pathetic my limp would get.) to Amritsar the day before my train's departure.

     I would go through a number of smaller towns, head through and stop for 30 minutes or so in Old Delhi to load and unload the largest amount of passengers of the the journey, then continue onward to my destination.  I would end up in Gorakhpur early in the morning, catch a bus to the Nepali border, then another bus to Pokhara, Nepal where I would rest up, gather some warmer clothes and begin a 3 week trek through the Himalayas within a day or so of my arrival.

     Easy peasy..... 

     This was four days ago, and I am now in New Delhi; the hole of a place I never wanted to see again until my departure (even then I didn't wanna see it, but simply knew I'd have to pass through it again).  Well I'll keep this sidetrack to a minimum, but I have had a different experience here this time around.  I am primarily certain that it is because I've been here for some weeks, I want nothing to do with being the Fresh Westerner and despite that I still am of course a foreign presence, I have been offered next to nothing and hit up for nearly nothing as well.  I don't know if I have a "hey I've been here for a bit, not going to fall for it" look in my eye or if it is more of a "don't play with me, I am in no mood for your shit" kind of look, but it is working.  I see the rip off artists make eye contact with me and then offer their service to the folks next to me instead; it makes life a teeny tiny bit easier here, though still not easy.

    In Amritsar there is a Holy Sikh site known as the Golden Temple.  It is called this because there is a temple covered with gold which is set inside a man made pool of water, its circumference being a high, white wall with a few major entry points.  It is believed that if you have any sickness at all, you can dip yourself in its waters and be healed.  

     They still have hospitals, and doctors and pharmacies.

     You can stay the night here with only a donation and it is about an hour from the Pakistani/Indian border at Wagah, where a display of fervent nationalism can be witnessed.  (Wagah Border Ceremony Video)  I was exhausted after having missed a 4am bus, waiting around for a 7am bus, then being stared at, yelled at, and sat on for the following 9 hours to travel from the lovely but absurdly westerner-heavy, quasi-resort-town of Mcleod Ganj up in the cool mountains to Hot Amritsar; I fell asleep early in the evening, around 7pm, halfway through drinking a delicious bottle of Coca Cola. 

     And my god is it delicious here.  Glass bottles and triple digit weather are a fine combination.

     Due to the limited options of travel, I found it easier to go East to Amritsar on an all-day bus, see the temple, then get up the next morning to catch a sleeper class train all the way to Gorakhpur, than it would have been to attempt just heading West in the first place.

     This meant heading East in order to backtrack again back West.  If I tried heading West from where I was in Mcleod, I would have had to take a 14 hour "overnight" bus.  The whole bus-during-the-night-thing is a bad bad bad idea.  If you read or have already read the story below, just imagine Mountain Bus Racing in the black of night at 4am when your body is desperate for sleep, but too scared to relax.  

     It is unnerving and whether you arrive at your planned destination or at the gates of heaven, you arrive very grumpy nonetheless.

     I arrived in Amritsar, saw the temple, got prescribed my lodgings for the evening, ate some food (the temple offers free meals to thousands of people throughout the day.  The wash the dining rooms in shifts with buckets of water and giant cloth, just in time for it to dry and be refilled by the hungry masses.  It really is amazing.)

     I fell asleep next to an Englishmen who hadn't been to his home country in 15 years and was traveling by Royal Enfield Motorcycle, the bike that other than the Honda Hero, is choice here in India.  He would be heading back to Mcleod Ganj the day after my departure to Gorakhpur.

     I fell asleep, woke up no problem at 4am, layed there for an hour or so thinking about what I was doing in a Sikh temple near the Pakistan border as the sun came up, and finally at 5 am got up and going toward the train station.  My train left at 7.15am but I wanted to be early so I could confirm my WAITLISTED ticket and get my seat assignment.  

     This is where the fun begins.

     I took my place about 10 back in line and within 10 minutes there were 20 more behind me.  Now, this is not the standard Western Edition standing in a line, of course not.  It is outside, dusty, hot as hell, and near the front of the line is a group of men and women whose aim is to physically cut you off in the space that is allotted them in the briefest of moments when the person in front of you moves and you go to step up to the window.  In this moment that you wouldn't readily identify as being one to defend, that is when they would strike.  

     So each time one person finished their ticket and began to step away, the man behind them would muscle into the space at the window while simultaneously fending off a group of men to the right and women to the left who refused to just join the goddamn line.  Things are in reality no different if you are a foreigner.  In fact, you may be the weak one in the herd, easiest to prey upon; for this, one must beware.

     Just before it got to be my turn to fight off these line-jackals to confirm my ticket, two men got in a slap fight behind be over this process by which one of the men was attempting to cut in line and get a ticket.  The slapped back and forth a minute then simply exchanged loud, rushed, Hindi exclamations.  I completely ignored what was happening behind me, though I'm not totally immune to noticing an event like this taking place 4 inches behind me.  

     The men were arguing and it was my turn to go to the ticket counter.  I braced my arms on each side of the window, to the dismay of the tugging and shoving men and women who again, refused to just join the line.  (In the 30 minutes you've fought for nothing, you could have spent 15 minutes in the line.  I couldn't make sense of it).

     I put my head in the tiny window, handed the woman my computer printout and asked if I could confirm my seat.

     "Seven Fifteen!" was her response and she handed me my paper back.

     "Yes, seven fifteen.  Confirm seat please?"

     She took the paper back, looked it over, handed it back to me again "Seven Fifteen!"

     "Yes.  My seat, confirm please.  I need to confirm seat" I explained pointing at the blank area where a seat designation should be.

     She looked at it again, deciphering information it appeared, and then handed it back to me "Seven Fifteen!"

     I figured that it was I, the silly foreigner who was wasting her time.  That the answer to my inquiry was on the paper and I was being foolish for insisting.  

     "Shukriya," I said to hear as I walked away.  Shukriya is Hindi for Thank You.

     I asked two attendants which terminal my train was at, but they did not know. All of the office windows were still closed.  No Help Desk, no Ticket Confirmation desk (wait, didn't I confirm already? What happened back there with that woman? Shit!), no Enquiry Office; but I did find someone in the Superintendent's Office.  I asked them "Where at? and was told "Number 3."

     Ahhhhh, number 3.  I went to number 3 with my backpack, my guitar, and my man purse which was know stuffed and was a noticeable bit of extra weight on my shoulder.  I sat down to wait.  Looked at the clock and saw that my watch read 6.40am, but the big digital clock said 5.40am.

     I was fairly certain there was no time change from in India based on what people had told me, I also found that I could never be very certain in India about what people would tell me; I began to ask around.

     I asked three  gentlemen what time it was and they all gave me a time one hour earlier than what my watch read. 

     I now have over an hour to wait.  Oh well, perhaps now I have time investigate my ticket scenario.

     Some boys at a concession stand wanted to talk with the white westerner so the called me over and despite my being incredibly tired and uninterested, I went over to speak with them.  In our 5 minute exchange I asked them about my ticket.  They told me to go to the Reservation Office, on the other side of the rails as the Enquiry Office and the Ticket Office where I'd spoken with the woman earlier.

     For geographic layout, all the offices are on one side of the rails with the exception of the Reservation Office which was on the other side.  There is not just one set of tracks here ladies and gentlemen.  There are many, many, many tracks and each "side" of the tracks are about 150 yards apart.  To cross this distance you have to climb a few flight of stairs, walk the length of the bridge, and then back down a few flight of stairs to ground level.

     I gather my belongings and make the elevated walk over to the Reservation Office, fought in the cloud of shoving people, got to the window, asked my question, was told to go to the other office.  

     I leave the crowd, walk only 40 meters or so away to the other office.  No one was fighting over here.  There was only 2 people here, maybe it was the foreigner's office!  They have one in Delhi, it is just for foreigners and they save a limited number of seats on each train for foreigner. 

     It would all work out just fine!  Ha!

     I walked up to the window, showed my ticket and saw the look in her eyes before she even spoke.  She informed me that indeed, my ticket could not be confirmed.  All the seats were filled for this trip and I could not board.  She told me to visit the Enquiry Office, they would be open I was assured by her..

     I turned, sad, and walked up the stairs, across the rails, and down to the Enquiry Office.  They were still closed.  

     My foot began to ache. Dammit.

     I went to the Ticket Office to buy a ticket to somewhere else, maybe I could wait things out in Rishikesh, I loved it there and could easily hang for a week while waiting for a train.  I fought and clawed through the Pigpen cluster but found that there were not any tickets.  I was asked again for my printout.  She reviewed it again, and informed me "Seven Fifteen!"

     Yeah I get it I get it 7.15, I understand.  

      I should've learned more Hindi.

      I went back to the Superintendent Office and was told to go to the Enquiry Office.  I let him know that it was not open yet, so he advised me to visit the Reservation Office.

     I climbed the stairs, went back across the bridge, down the stairs, and paid a re-visit to the Reservation Office.

     Surprisingly, no good came of this visit and I was actually worse off than when I had started because now I knew I wasn't supposed to get on the train.

     I went back and sat at my terminal.  My foot was not unbearable, but it hurt and I was beginning to notice that I needed a nap.  It was around 6.30am train time.  The bus arrived and sat for a bit.  During this time I walked up and down and up and down the length of the train attempting to find a rail employee to ask what I could do about my situation, if anything.  

     There was nobody.  In fact even all the train cars were empty.  One of two of them had people, but three or four or five of them were indeed empty.  No open windows, no people, no luggage; but also no locked doors.......

     As the train began its engine and I still saw no train personnel, I got on.

     There were four or five others folks on board and I thought that perhaps this would help me out.  This way I wasn't the lone wolf of the train car.  I crawled up to what is called the Upper Berth, locked up my bag and went to sleep.  My thinking was: if there are so many empty cars here in Amritsar and we are only passing through smaller towns until Delhi, that perhaps my ticket was no good because the trip from Amritsar to Gorakhpur was impossible after Delhi.  In Delhi we would pickup thousands of people and I wouldn't have a seat anymore.  But up until Delhi, perhaps I could make it.  So long as nobody had my exact seat number and I didn't get asked to provide my ticket to the conductor, I would be fine.  As I lie there and began to fall asleep I knew that to make it all that way without a conductor asking for my ticket was near impossible.

     I did not know how long it had been once I awoke, but there were now plenty of people in the train car.  "Ha! Wonderful!" I thought.  Perhaps the conductors who check train tickets every hour or so would recognize me as the westerner on  board from prior stops, and not bother to check my ticket.  The only reason they check tickets is to ensure legitimacy. 

     I got up and walked toward the doors at the end of each car which are kept open, and which make wonderful posts to sit and watch the world go by with fresh air blowing through your hair.  

     I climbed down, turned to my left and as I took my first step I saw the conductor at the end of the aisle.  He was checking tickets.  I had already made my move and of course as I began with that first step, he looked right at me.

     Do not panic.  Do not worry.  Remain calm inside because we are now making eye contact and if he senses ANY apprehension he will seize the opportunity to ask for my ticket.  Be cool, calm, collected.  India is a beautiful country indeed. Boy it's hot out.  I wonder what Nepal is like? 

     Think about anything except the fact that you know you are not supposed to be here.

     I walked calmly down the aisle, getting nearer and nearer until finally I had to ask "excuse me?" to slide by my possible arrestor.  He smile at me, asked "How are you?" and let me pass as I responded "Good. Hot, but good.  How are you?"

     As has happened to me often, there was no response to my asking how he was doing.  I went into the bathroom and decided it was time to pee, despite not needing to really have to pee.

     I took my time, came out a few minutes later, and sat at the open door while he went down the length of the train car.

     Had I not have woken and passed him in the aisle, he probably would've busted me. 

     I sat there awhile, maybe 30 minutes, then felt like hiding away in my little nest of a stolen seat.  As I picked myself up from the floor I read I sign that explained: 

NEVER RIDE WITHOUT A TICKET! IF FOUND WITHOUT A TICKET, 

1000RS FINE OR THREE MONTHS IMPRISONMENT!

     I wondered if this was about as serious as the 5 year imprisonment warning at the beginning of movies.  Or was it legitimate?  Could I really end up spending 3 months in jail?  I really did think very simply about the matter: "So what.  Too late now. It'll be a story one day...." as I sat in my little space, smiling.

     A few hours later I woke up to a different conductor checking the tickets of the people directly underneath me.  I opened my eyes full and made eye contact with a military man standing with his obligatory semi-automatic.  

     Do not look away.  Do not back down.  But do not engage this man either, simply do not be afraid.

     We stared at one another for a brief moment, I smiled and nodded.  I rolled over and as I did so made eye contact with the conductor. 

     Do not look away.  Do not back down.  But do not engage this man either, simply do not be afraid.

     I shut my eyes, and lied motionless in the heat.  I could quite literally feel the sweat as it would bead up from my pores.  I just lied there, sweating in slow motion, hot and nervous.  Three months imprisonment, really?  How bout I just pay the $20USD equivalent fine eh boys?

     At any moment my foot would be tapped on and this man would calmly ask for my ticket.  I will act naive, hand him my printout which clearly states that I am not to board the train, and say that I did not know any better.  Dammit that isn't gonna work.  That's really stupid actually.  But, what else have I got.  I don't have anything better and I can surely play that one off.  As soon as he taps on my toes, that would be my move.

     Sweating in slow motion is tough.  You want to rip off your clothes, itch yourself, drink water, jump into glacial water; you do not want to sit waiting to get busted.  Each moment was extended from mere milliseconds into hours.  I was breathing slow and heavy, I couldn't see anything, and I could hear below me the man speaking in Hindi.

     Shit, what bad idea.

     Time crawled by like a thick molasses; sweetened in this case by my anxiety.

     Buh Boom, Buh Boom, Buh Boom!  My heart was noticeably pumping in my chest. I was sweating, and waiting.

     I psuedo-pretended to roll over out of discomfort and in this movement stole a quick glance below.  The conductor was gone.  He hadn't asked for my ticket.  The odds of this are insane.  Like shooting by a bored police officer with a beer in your hand, driving down the wrong lane going 55mph in a 35mph and not getting pulled over.  Ha!  I smiled again.  I was elated.  I got up to go sit back by my doorway.  

     Boom.  The conductor was coming down the aisle, and he looked like he knew where he was going. We made eye contact.

     Do not look away.  Do not back down.  But do not engage this man either, simply do not be afraid.

     As we drew near I knew the jig was up.  Of course this was going to end badly.

     But he went right by me and I again, went to the bathroom even though I didn't need to go to the bathroom.

     Upon returning to my little stoop of what I then checked to be Seat 67, I lied down, drank some water, and smiled.

     There was something about how I was on the train that changed the nature of the ride itself.  I really did not know where I would get off at, be thrown off at, jailed, fined, beaten, or any combination of these things.  I knew only that for the moment, I was on the train and moving Eastward, and I was smiling from a content success I have never known.

     I rode all the way to Delhi, got off there deciding not to push my luck, and am now here waiting a few days for my legitimate train.  I will end up in Gorakhpur early on the morning of th 16th, catch a bus to the Nepali/Indian border, then another bus to Pokhara, Nepal where I will rest up, gather some warmer clothes and begin a 3 week trek through the Himalayas within a day or so of my arrival.

     Easy peasy..... 

    And all the while, with a big fat smile.......