In my previous post, I stated that I rarely, if ever, travel in taxis by myself and when I do, problems often arise (as described in that post). I now realize that the same can be said of my travelling by Indian trains. The only other time that I travelled without Caroline on a train was about ten years ago when I rode the Mumbai Suburban Railway (the local train). The train was so crowded, and I was confused about which side of the train I should exit, so I missed my stop and had to get another train at the next stop.
On this journey to Nepal, I did not travel alone on the train or, perhaps more accurately, I did not travel consciously on the train. In other words, I was asleep most of the time. The rocking of the train and warm weather have a powerful narcotic effect on me. The train departed from Howrah at 3:45pm, and by 5:00pm I was feeling so tired that I went up to my Side Upper berth to go to sleep (which gladdened the man in the Side Lower berth as he now had room to stretch his legs). I did not wake up until 6:00 the following morning.
Rohit (my travel agent) had told me that the train was scheduled to arrive at Raxaul (on the Indian side of the border) at 8:00am. At about 7:45am, I took my camera and started to videotape our approach to Nepal. However, the batteries died and 8:00 came and went without any indication that we were getting close to Nepal. At about 9:00, I started to get nervous. I had been confident that Raxaul was the last station, but I could have been wrong. Up until 7:45, I was in the Side Upper berth so I could not see outside so it was possible that I missed the stop. At about the same time, though, I began to rationalize things. I knew that my return trip was scheduled to depart Raxaul at 10:00am and arrive at Howrah at 4:00am, for a total of 18 hours in travel. If this train had a similar length then it should arrive at 9:45am. It is true that 9:45 came and went but I was now confident that I had not missed the station. At about 10:30am, I felt that we surely must be nearing Nepal so I took out my camera (after having replaced the batteries) and began filming. A few minutes later, we arrived at Raxaul!
On my return to Howrah, the train departed at 10:00am. Again, I had the Side Upper Berth but was sitting in the Side Lower Berth (as I have the right to do) so that I could look out the window and enjoy the breeze. However, at about 12:30, two people attempted to climb up to my Side Upper Berth to sleep. After the second time, I decided to put a stop to further attempts by going there myself. In at least one other post, I mentioned that passengers (often non-paying ones) often attempt to take over part or all of the seat/bed that you have paid for. This usually occurs on the lower berths as they are more accessible. That is why I requested the Side Upper Berths for this trip. However, and as I mentioned in at least one other post, it is important to protect the seat that you have paid for, no matter where it is located.
Again, the rocking of the train and the warm weather caused me to fall asleep at about 1:00pm. Except for about one hour in which I had a drink and some snacks, I slept until 4:00am the next morning.
Especially because the T.C. (ticket-checker) appeared early in the journey, I was awake long enough to experience something that I had not experienced before (but had read that it was common). On other train journeys, Caroline holds onto the tickets. The T.C. asks for them, checks them, and returns them. On my journey, after checking the tickets, the T.C. asked for my passport. (Apparently, the T.C. checks the identities of foreigners holding the tickets.)
I was awake long enough to hear someone playing Why This Kolaveri di? on his radio. In an earlier post, I wrote that this is a horrific and repulsive song. I seem to be lessening my hatred of it though. I now think that it is so bad that it is good (much like the film Plan 9 from Outer Space). In any case, it had been many months since I last heard this song, and I hope that I shall not hear it again for a long time to come.
On my return to Howrah, the train departed at 10:00am. Again, I had the Side Upper Berth but was sitting in the Side Lower Berth (as I have the right to do) so that I could look out the window and enjoy the breeze. However, at about 12:30, two people attempted to climb up to my Side Upper Berth to sleep. After the second time, I decided to put a stop to further attempts by going there myself. In at least one other post, I mentioned that passengers (often non-paying ones) often attempt to take over part or all of the seat/bed that you have paid for. This usually occurs on the lower berths as they are more accessible. That is why I requested the Side Upper Berths for this trip. However, and as I mentioned in at least one other post, it is important to protect the seat that you have paid for, no matter where it is located.
Again, the rocking of the train and the warm weather caused me to fall asleep at about 1:00pm. Except for about one hour in which I had a drink and some snacks, I slept until 4:00am the next morning.
Especially because the T.C. (ticket-checker) appeared early in the journey, I was awake long enough to experience something that I had not experienced before (but had read that it was common). On other train journeys, Caroline holds onto the tickets. The T.C. asks for them, checks them, and returns them. On my journey, after checking the tickets, the T.C. asked for my passport. (Apparently, the T.C. checks the identities of foreigners holding the tickets.)
I was awake long enough to hear someone playing Why This Kolaveri di? on his radio. In an earlier post, I wrote that this is a horrific and repulsive song. I seem to be lessening my hatred of it though. I now think that it is so bad that it is good (much like the film Plan 9 from Outer Space). In any case, it had been many months since I last heard this song, and I hope that I shall not hear it again for a long time to come.
I had envisioned the road to Birganj as being a somewhat desolate paved road with a booth manned by one or two guards at the Indian side of the border and, a few metres away, the same on the Nepal side of the border. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
Caroline often says that I am a tube-light because of my very fair skin colour which contrasts with that of Indians and which attracts attention. I think that she is correct.
If you think that India is "Third World" then just wait until you see the smaller cities, towns and villages! As soon as I got out of the Raxaul train station, I was pestered by many people offering to transport me to the border. I ignored them because I did not want to pay their (most likely) inflated prices, and because I knew the total journey was just a few kilometres and wanted to travel it by myself. The first person who approached me saying something that sounded like "horse-cart". I ignored him, simply looked ahead, and followed where everybody else was going (although I did not know if people were going toward the border or further into Raxaul--in the opposite direction). To the person who was pestering me, I simply asked if I was walking toward the border. He said that I was, and I said that that was good enough for me and kept walking. At about the same time, however, I turned my head and saw that he actually had a horse-cart! It seemed to be from medieval times! Of course, horse-carriages are popular tourist attractions throughout the world, but this was a common form of public transportation here. The other form of public transportation was the cycle-rickshaw. Someone whom Rohit knew and who was from Nepal had told me that I could also take an auto-rickshaw to and from the border. However, there were none of those in Birganj.
I walked further and saw that I was coming to an intersection. Although I was still following the surprisingly large amount of people, I was beginning to be fearful of getting lost. Moreover, I was becoming exhausted as the weather was very warm and extremely humid, and I was carrying a heavy backpack (containing about two litres of Limca, and about a week's worth of newspapers--for which I wanted to cut out interesting articles for use in my blog posts). At that point, two people were fighting to get my attention to ride with them. One person had a horse-cart. I asked him how much he would charge, and he said 100 rupees. The other person had a cycle-rickshaw. I asked him how much he would charge, and he said 10 rupees. I took the cycle-rickshaw. Afterward, I regretted not taking the horse-cart; after all, I do not know if or when I shall have such an opportunity again. If I do have another opportunity then I think that I shall talk the driver down to 20 rupees or something more reasonable.
The human body is a magnificent wonder. You can walk over boulders and into large pot-holes with little, if any, adverse physical impact upon your body. However, this does not occur when you are in a vehicle. There were large crevasses and enormous pot-holes in the dirt (not paved) road and I felt every one of them. I was holding onto the cycle-rickshaw for dear life. A very short time later, however, he stopped. It was probably a waste of my ten rupees because I could have walked the distance in the same time that he took to travel it. However, he stopped because we arrived at the police immigration office, which I might have overlooked had I been walking. For this, I was thankful to the rickshaw-driver.
I went in and saw that it was manned by one police officer. I had the impression that if I had not gotten the Nepal visa (see previous post) then I could not get the immigration stamp to leave India, or that it would have been difficult to convince him that I was going to get the visa-on-arrival. Of course, I may have had the wrong impression, but I do think that this could be another good reason to get a visa before departure, rather than depend upon a visa-on-arrival.
Within a short while, I had my passport stamped and then walked onto a short and somewhat wide bridge. It was so crowded with lorries that I thought that all of India was moving into Nepal! (Actually, that is an exaggeration. I have seen far more lorries in the Khidderpore district of Kolkata in the mornings in which ships arrive at the docks. However, for a much smaller city, it was surprisingly crowded.) It was so crowded that even motorcycles and bicycles had difficulty manoeuvring. Things were made a little bit easier in that the lorries seemed to be stopped, but it was still quite worrisome in that they could start again at any time.
With much trepidation, I crossed the bridge and started to look for the Nepal immigration office. Eventually, there was an opening between the lorries; I looked around and saw that I had passed a large arch, signifying the Nepal border. I walked toward it, thinking that it would house the booth/office. Someone pointed in another direction. I walked toward there and saw a small octagonal office--almost like a hut--housing one officer who awoke from his slumber when I entered. With such resources, it may have been difficult, time-consuming or even impossible to get a visa-on-arrival in Birganj, so I was again happy that I had prepared.
In leaving Birganj, my train was scheduled to depart at 10:00am. I wanted to be at the station at about 9:00 so I wanted to check out of the hotel at 8:00 (to better prepare for any unforeseen delays at the immigration offices, or in case I became lost along the way). Because I was leaving so early, I was fearful that the small Nepal immigration office would be closed. Fortunately, it was not, and I encountered no problems in re-entering India. However, it did seem to be a longer walk to the train station than what I had experienced about 24 hours earlier.
If you think that India is "Third World" then just wait until you see the smaller cities, towns and villages! As soon as I got out of the Raxaul train station, I was pestered by many people offering to transport me to the border. I ignored them because I did not want to pay their (most likely) inflated prices, and because I knew the total journey was just a few kilometres and wanted to travel it by myself. The first person who approached me saying something that sounded like "horse-cart". I ignored him, simply looked ahead, and followed where everybody else was going (although I did not know if people were going toward the border or further into Raxaul--in the opposite direction). To the person who was pestering me, I simply asked if I was walking toward the border. He said that I was, and I said that that was good enough for me and kept walking. At about the same time, however, I turned my head and saw that he actually had a horse-cart! It seemed to be from medieval times! Of course, horse-carriages are popular tourist attractions throughout the world, but this was a common form of public transportation here. The other form of public transportation was the cycle-rickshaw. Someone whom Rohit knew and who was from Nepal had told me that I could also take an auto-rickshaw to and from the border. However, there were none of those in Birganj.
I walked further and saw that I was coming to an intersection. Although I was still following the surprisingly large amount of people, I was beginning to be fearful of getting lost. Moreover, I was becoming exhausted as the weather was very warm and extremely humid, and I was carrying a heavy backpack (containing about two litres of Limca, and about a week's worth of newspapers--for which I wanted to cut out interesting articles for use in my blog posts). At that point, two people were fighting to get my attention to ride with them. One person had a horse-cart. I asked him how much he would charge, and he said 100 rupees. The other person had a cycle-rickshaw. I asked him how much he would charge, and he said 10 rupees. I took the cycle-rickshaw. Afterward, I regretted not taking the horse-cart; after all, I do not know if or when I shall have such an opportunity again. If I do have another opportunity then I think that I shall talk the driver down to 20 rupees or something more reasonable.
The human body is a magnificent wonder. You can walk over boulders and into large pot-holes with little, if any, adverse physical impact upon your body. However, this does not occur when you are in a vehicle. There were large crevasses and enormous pot-holes in the dirt (not paved) road and I felt every one of them. I was holding onto the cycle-rickshaw for dear life. A very short time later, however, he stopped. It was probably a waste of my ten rupees because I could have walked the distance in the same time that he took to travel it. However, he stopped because we arrived at the police immigration office, which I might have overlooked had I been walking. For this, I was thankful to the rickshaw-driver.
I went in and saw that it was manned by one police officer. I had the impression that if I had not gotten the Nepal visa (see previous post) then I could not get the immigration stamp to leave India, or that it would have been difficult to convince him that I was going to get the visa-on-arrival. Of course, I may have had the wrong impression, but I do think that this could be another good reason to get a visa before departure, rather than depend upon a visa-on-arrival.
Within a short while, I had my passport stamped and then walked onto a short and somewhat wide bridge. It was so crowded with lorries that I thought that all of India was moving into Nepal! (Actually, that is an exaggeration. I have seen far more lorries in the Khidderpore district of Kolkata in the mornings in which ships arrive at the docks. However, for a much smaller city, it was surprisingly crowded.) It was so crowded that even motorcycles and bicycles had difficulty manoeuvring. Things were made a little bit easier in that the lorries seemed to be stopped, but it was still quite worrisome in that they could start again at any time.
With much trepidation, I crossed the bridge and started to look for the Nepal immigration office. Eventually, there was an opening between the lorries; I looked around and saw that I had passed a large arch, signifying the Nepal border. I walked toward it, thinking that it would house the booth/office. Someone pointed in another direction. I walked toward there and saw a small octagonal office--almost like a hut--housing one officer who awoke from his slumber when I entered. With such resources, it may have been difficult, time-consuming or even impossible to get a visa-on-arrival in Birganj, so I was again happy that I had prepared.
In leaving Birganj, my train was scheduled to depart at 10:00am. I wanted to be at the station at about 9:00 so I wanted to check out of the hotel at 8:00 (to better prepare for any unforeseen delays at the immigration offices, or in case I became lost along the way). Because I was leaving so early, I was fearful that the small Nepal immigration office would be closed. Fortunately, it was not, and I encountered no problems in re-entering India. However, it did seem to be a longer walk to the train station than what I had experienced about 24 hours earlier.