Where
to begin?
I
left Candolim yesterday afternoon along with my French friend, Lina and my
driver. They dropped me in Margao, about an hour and a half south, and
continued on to Patnem.
I
had forgotten how amazing Indian train stations are. First of all, I had begun
to think that the wild dogs of Goa were a beach phenomenon. Clearly not. The
station was full of them. There were a dozen bunched together, sleeping beneath
the list of trains and others wandering all over, looking for scraps.
Since
this was my first trip using my Indrail train pass, I wasn't sure exactly how
it worked. I had my pass and I had a reservation, but I wasn't sure if I needed
a ticket. I pushed my way to the front if the information kiosk, where four men
were skillfully avoiding the queue of people looking for assistance. I got
their attention and asked my question. One of them asked to see my pass, which
they then passed around amongst the four of them, as if they had never seen one
before. Eventually, the head clerk pulled out a sheaf of computer printouts and
found my name listed along with my coach number and seat number. All was well.
I
had loads of time, so I wandered around, had some chai, and just observed the
masses of humanity arranged all across this huge station, waiting for trains.
As usual, many people came to me to shake my hand and talk about my mustache.
Eventually,
as the time came near for my train, I went across the old bridge to the correct
platform, where I met a bunch of older men, who were railway dignitaries. They
were talking in Hindi, and I could tell that they were talking about me and how
I looked like Gandhi. I laughed, and since they were surprised that I
understood them, they came over and spoke to me. The head dignitary did most of
the talking. He told me about Gandhi and asked about me and my wife and
children. (this is the usual line of questioning). When there was a pause in
our conversation and he went back to chat with his colleagues, the Indian man
sitting next to me asked if I knew who that was. He was very impressed. Then
two wacky former hippies (a German and an Austrian) came by to ask me
directions so we chatted in German for a while. It was quite a scene. There
were little children squaring and pooping on the platform and trains waiting to
move on, so jammed packed with people that they were spilling out the doors and
windows.
Once
on the train, it was much more boring. First class is comfortable (relatively)
but much less interesting. There was a fat guy from Yorkshire in my compartment
and three Indian men from Karnataka. The British guy kept running to the
bathroom. Poor thing. Even in first class, train toilets in India are best
avoided when possible.
I
took a pill and slept with my bag under my knees, but the Karnataka men talked
VERY LOUDLY well past midnight when their stop came. At 5am, people began
coming through selling CHAI, CHAI, CHAI or COFFEE, COFFEE, COFFEE (which by the
way, taste identical - very sweet and milky with some spice. The food was
scary, but once the sun was up, the scenery was stunning.
Arriving
in Eranakulum, I took a tuk tuk (auto ricksha) to the jetty for the ferry to
Fort Cochi. This ride in the tuk tuk was like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, but way
scarier. I was laughing the entire time and terrified.
Fort
Cochi is really cool. I walked all over today. Went to the old synagogue and
through the spice market. The food is nice and full of local spices here.
While
I got used to dogs everywhere in Goa, I've hardly seen any here. Instead, there
are goats everywhere. Every sidewalk had goats sleeping on them, every road has
goat wandering. It is hilarious. I walked by a park today and there were goats
playing. Weird. In the photo above, there were three goats on a sidewalk and
suddenly this one jumped up on the pile of rocks and began chewing on the
electrical wire supplying the house.
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| I dont why everyone stares at me, perhaps the flashing lights in my hat are too much. |
नमस्ते
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