Oh Jevus...where to begin on this shit...So as Hahn mentioned, after Krishna takes us around to all these different religious sites, and we almost get run out of town by some angry religious zealots (where's the love?), he takes us to a building housing a massive map of India and the surrounding countries, carved out of stone, complete with all the topography. It was recessed in the floor, and you could take steps down to the basement where a little room with a little window let you look upon the map as if you were at sea level...pretty awesome...And I do have to admit the temples and whatnot were pretty dope as well, regardless of the fact that whities weren't welcome. At this building there were also portraits of famous Indian leaders, and one portrait of a little shirtless man with a mustache and a pistol in one hand caught our eye. We asked Krishna about it, also inferring that this guy was totally over the rainbow, but Krishna didn't get the joke...You be the judge. (As a side note, we would later relentlessly search for a print of this guy in shops, asking other Indians if they knew who we were talking about...you know, the shirtless guy...mustache, with a pistol?...likes sunshine and picnics, romantic movies and long walks on the beach...with other men?...no one had a clue)
Anyway, after the dotting of our foreheads, Krishna takes us to the Ganges to relax, in the exact restaurant we ate this morning, where Hahn got yelled at for wanting to order what he wanted to order. Except this time, the owner, a larger woman, was in attendance. The four of us sat down, and we ordered some snacks. Krishna asked us if we wanted a massage, I declined, but Hahn was up for blowing his hard earned yen. So I ate, and Hahn disappeared into the back of the restaurant, were all the rubbing but no tugging happened...or so I was told...Hahn feel free to comment on that shit...If I remember correctly, India once again got the better of us, as some hot chick comes out of the room, but of course, Hahn draws the 60 year old lady to rub him down...hahaha...classic Hahn. So, while all that was going down, I decided to get myself down to the Ganges, and wonder around. No sooner do I get down there, then some kid approaches me and wants me to go to his shop and look at this shit from china. No thanks, and I walked in the opposite direction. I look down the river, and around just around the bend looks like a decent place for a walk, and a picture. The only problem is, all that mud, from the wet season, is standing in my way. I see a two young kids getting paid to use the hose to wash some it away, but they are 50 yards away next to the wall of a building. Hmm. Shit. I take off my shoes, and hike up my cords, and start picking and choosing a path of dried mud, able to hold my weight to my ankles, and wet mud, that Ill sink up to my hip in. I get half way to the kids, when I realize I'm fucked, I have no where to go. So backtrack. As I turn around, with now mud caked up to my shins, I notice a crowd of now 30 Indian adults watching me silently, waiting for me to get swallowed by the mud. Thanks assholes. They have literally nothing better to do with their time, and they are blatant about watching me. Just standing there, all staring me in the face. So pick another route, and barely make it to the kids. As one kid shoots water all over the place, I shimmy against the wall. There is a six inch walkway of stone between the wall and wet mud, and as I struggle to move forward and not fall with my camera in one hand and my shoes in the other, one of the kids comes up in front of me, and reaches for my camera, in order to give me a free hand, so I can get down this wall. No no, you get my shoes. So I hand the kid my shoes, he gets out of my way, and I slip and slide my way down the way onto solid ground. Thanks kid. I turn around, and watch the 30 plus person crowd disperse in disappointment. "That's right you wankers!", I yell, the only ones being able to hear me being the kids, since the sound of the hose hitting mud drowns out just about everything else out. So I grab my shoes, thank the little fella and head towards the bend. Im about half way there, and after being solicited by about 7 boat captains for a ride, a group of young girls, no older then 10, come up to me. Only one girl knew english..."Hey!". "Hello", I return, I dont even bother to stop walking. "You should give me money". "Oh really, why should I do that?". "Because you should!". All the other girls walk behind her as she follows me and holds out her hand. "No no, I'm not giving you money, you crazy kid". I keep walking. "Well how about you buy me some pie!", she shouts. "Pie?...There's no pie in India!". "Yes there is, at that restaurant on the hill". "Im not buying you pie". At this point the girls are dancing around me. Tenacious little bastards. So after about 5 minutes, the girls finally leave me alone in a huff that only a ten year old girl can produce. Sorry ladies. I continue to the bend, and sure as shit, I get there, only to realize that the picture I thought was going to frame out decent, turned out to be just that. Only so-so. I took 19 pictures, trying to set something up, but I was tired, and took what I could get with average effort. Three of them are below. So I made my way back along the Ganges and through the mud, barefoot, passing a tourist giving money to the same little girls, surrounding him like sharks. I walked within inches of them, and they didn't even notice me pass bye....hahahhah...nothing like a little 'dollar dollar bill ya'll'...but just remember ladies, mo' money, mo' problems.
That was about it for this city, and as Krishna drove us to the train station in the middle of 'rush hour' he made Hahn and I sign in his "guest book?", or whatever he wanted to call it. Inside was the entries of countless travelers exclaiming their love for Krishna, and how great of a guide he was. Krishna at this point looked back and told us we should write in our email, telephone number, and date of birth, whereby he would call us on our birthdays...Im going to take a wild guess and say neither Hahn nor I have a call coming in the future. Anyway, as Hahn took to writing, I noticed two female travelers with heavy packs on, probably in their early 20s, walking the opposite direction. As cars, trucks, and tuk tuks whizzed by them merely inches apart, and consumed by all the dust and black smoke caused by this time of the day, I thought to myself, "Good luck girls...hahahahah...aaaahhhhh shit...Im still in India". Either way, those poor girls had at least 2 miles to go to get to the Ganges. Good luck indeed.
After making sure we signed his book, and the bastard did check, Krishna stopped by the side of the road and bought each Hahn and I a brightly colored yellow and orange lay, made out of fresh dandelion like flowers. He placed them over our head, and headed another 100 yards to the train station. We got out, said our goodbyes, shook hands and had a hug, as Krishna, despite being a nutter, was in fact a good guide and a pretty decent guy, once he's not trying to take your money. But that's India for you. So we walked to rest of the way to the train station, made sure Krishna was out of site, and walked up to two young India kids coming from the train platform, one girl, older, and possibly her brother, who was smaller and looked younger. We walked in front of them, and stopped their movement, and actually startled the two. Their eyes got big, as if we were going to shove them into sacks and keep them in a hidden basement for years until their escape (what's with that fad now a days?...every time I open up the fucking paper some human was being locked in a basement for 20 years?) Anyway, we took off our lays and put them over their heads. This served two purposes, one, you make a kids day. And two, we were in a fucking third world country. You do not want to stick out in a third world country more then your white skin already does. Fucking giant lay around our necks...I think Krishna was trying to get us shived, rolled, and thrown in the gutter...Anyway so the kids, after receiving the lays, just stood there in shock. We didn't have time to stick around so we walked past them as quickly as we stopped, only to notice a large group of Indian grownups, probably parents, slowly remove their hands out of their pockets, and off their cell phone speed dials for 911. Easy everyone, us whities have enough children we can steal in our country...
So we head down to our platform, and once again, right on time...but as usual, we wait...and we wait...The platform is packed, and night has fallen...People of all walks of life, mostly poor, with tattered clothes, tattered bags, and tattered faces line the platform. A public water fountain/basin sits in the middle of a section of the platform. "Hahn!...Grab yourself a drink my friend"..."Fuuuuuuck youuuuuuuu" he responds...I have myself a good chuckle, as I watch a cockroach crawl out of a grate underneath the fountain...Nice. Hahh and I stand near the edge, where the concrete drops a couple of feet to the track. We notice a group of middle school age boys eyeballing up what we are wearing. Not that they were dressed much differently. Jeans are a luxury most people take for granted. And even though denim is the people's fabric, more often then not slacks were choice among Indians. I personally don't pack denim when traveling abroad, since its usually to hot and too heavy in the pack. And at this occasion Hahn and I had slacks on, but not fancy shoes, or anything worth staring at. So we move to another side of the platform, away from those kids, to check out the local food, and grab some ice cream of all things. The vendor tries to fuck Hahn out of some change, and Hahn gives him the 'don't make me come back their and kick your scrawny ass' look, and the guy coughs up the rest. I get mine with no problems after that. By the time I receive my frozen treat, and unwrap it, Hahn has wondered 20 feet away. I would have followed him, but the platform at this point was getting full, and tough maneuvering, even with the medium size pack strapped to my back. So I mull around in a five foot circle, watching people, and watching the tracks. A couple of minutes go by, and someone brushes against my pack and slightly moves me. I don't even bother looking back. I shuffle my position a foot or so to the left, to let the person by, and go about eating my ice cream. 10 seconds later, I get shoved with a force that almost knocks me to the ground. I turn around, "What the fuck asshole!...Oh...". A fucking cow is staring at me in the face. and then walks by me down the platform. The thing was headbutting me in the back to get me to move out of his way. I look up to see if anyone saw this spectacle, and I view at least 20 other natives softly chuckling to themselves as they stare at me. Where the hell am I?
I mosey back over to Hahn, and we walk behind us, to the other tracks sharing this platform. A stand is selling books, and as we mull them over, our train comes. We watch this ridiculously long train rumble by, and we count the markings on the cars to find out where we are. We get to where we need to be, and we are something like 43C. We see 43A. We see 43B. No 43C. Oh man. We walk up and down the outside of the train a bit, and realize we are in a pickle. So we flag down the nearest police guys, and they look at our ticket. No sooner do they point to the other track, then I look up and see the train on the other track pulling out of the station. Christ, they switched tracks on us. I start running, "Hahn, lets go!". Hahn looks at me, and decides to strike up a conversation with the policemen about the state of illegal smuggling of rare exotic plants between India and Pakistan. Good thing the policemen didn't understand english. So Hahn finally gives up his conversation and starts running after me, running after the train. As we sprint down the platform, dodging other travelers waiting for what we assume other trains, we finally catch up to a car as close to our cabin as possible, and as I see other people jumping on as well, the train starts to slow down. It was coming into the station, not going out. And the people on the platform...all waiting for that train. And the natives also jumping onto the train...trying to get onto it first before the other vendors take their customers whom are already on the train. Awesome. Hahn and I have a good laugh as our sprint becomes a walk, and becomes a full on sweat. Fucking India gets us again.
We hop on with no problems, find our bunk, and settle into the nicest beds we will sleep in. We are in 1st class, 2nd tier, and we even get our own blankets. Sometime passes, and Hahn and I are productively wasting time reading, looking at maps, and generally waiting to get tired. As I sit quietly, with Hahn across from me with his headphones on, I get approached by two men, one in his 30s, the other in his 20s, both of whom are dressed like they work on the train. Here is the basis of the conversation, which was spoken in broken english:
"Hello"..."Hi". "I am so-and-so, and this is so-and-so-jr." "Hello". "So-and-so-jr. is my understudy. He is not rich. He comes from a poor family, I teach him and get him good job". "That's very nice of you". "Yes, he is not rich, he comes from...blah blah blah...Where are you from?" "America". "Ahh..you are rich...". "No, Im not rich. Not by any standard in America". At this point I realized that so-and-so-jr. can speak no english. "Yes, but so-and-so-jr. is not rich". "I understand that". "Yes, well...you give him money". "Wait, what". "Yes...you give him money...he is not rich...he comes from a poor family". So-and-so-jr just sits on the other side of so-and-so, staring at me. "Yes, see...because he is poor...". "Yeah I got that. So now why do you want me to give him money. He hasnt done anything but sit there...actually neither of you have done anything..." "Yes, but he is poor. You give him money". The conversation lasts another ten minutes, with basically so-and-so saying the same thing over and over again. Money for nothing. They'd fit right in if they'd come to America. "Alright, well, Im not giving him or you money. This is bullshit, and I can't believe you work on the train and you're begging me, for him, for money". The tone in my voice is getting irritated, and they can see Im getting pissed. And of course, they also get pissed, cause I keep forgetting everyone in American, Great Britain, or Australia, or Europe has a net income of 5 million dollars a year. I just can't seem to remember that every time I take a shit, a roll of 100s shoots out my ass. Anyway, that conversation ends with me crawling up to my top bunk and ignoring those assholes.
One other thing of note, halfway through the night, at about 2-3am, as Hahn and I lay across the cabin from one another in our top bunks, all of a sudden a lady, from what we assume was the bathrooms from in between the cars, which was right on the other side of the wall that Hahn had his back to, lets out a blood curdling scream, as if she was stabbed and thrown from the train. I open my eyes, Hahn opens his eyes, and we sit up and stare at each other through the small light coming from the door leading to the bathrooms. "What the hell was that?". "Nothing good". "You want to go check it out?"..."No"..."You're fucking lazy". So I slide down off my bunk, put my shoes on, and cautiously open the door leading to between the cars. Both bathroom doors are open. I peer into each, looking for blood, or a dead body, who knows. Nothing. Not even an attendant, or another traveler, decided this was anything of note. Maybe someone was having night-terrors...who knows. Fucking weird.
