Farwell to my love, hello to black slime and chos...

Alone again! :( Ester and I had to say a tearful goodbye at Siliguri Station, as she flys from Delhi and I fly from Bombay... But it's not all bad, as we are going to meet up again very soon, either in England or Majorca. :) So, since that parting I have been rediscovering the "joys" of solo travelling, namely having the exact same conversation with every stranger in the street, generally involving my precise itinterary and a ten point list of reasons why I like India. In fact, from the moment Ester's train pulled out of the station, things started to revert to their usual level of difficulty...

I only had an RAC ticket, which basically means my seat is not confirmed yet. You have to go and check your name on a list to find out if you have a seat, however I had been assured by the guy who sold me the ticket that my bed was 99.9% guaranteed. When I eventually tracked down the list however, I was surprised to discover my name conpicuously absent. I went into one of many offices lining the platform, each with it's own handpainted sign proclaiming the title of the occupier: Deputy Sub-Division Officer of Canned Goods Transportation; Chief Divisional Sub Clerk of Latrine Maintenance and Air Conditioning... I'm not sure what my office was, and it made little difference as the uninterested official inside just waved me off to a different office. The next official I found was much more helpful. In return for a ten minute oratory explaining my six months in india and the reasons why India was such an amazing country, he told me to look for the Travelling Ticket Inspector, or TTE for short (!).... He said that when my train pulled in (Platform as yet unknown), the TTE's would get off and pass "the list" to replacement TTE's, and I would have to try to intercept them and find out my seat number before the train left. This didn't sound too hard so I sat down to wait for the train.

When it arrived I realised this wasn't going to be so easy after all. Firstly, the train was loooong, and secondly, it was BUSY! The platform was packed with people trying to get on, and being as every indian man wears a shirt exactly the same as a train conductor, finding him was gonna be tricky. Eventually i did find one guy with a list, but it turned out it wasn't THE list. He sent me off to the other end of the train. I found another guy with a list, also not THE list. Each of these guys was surrounded by frantic people like me trying to find their seat numbers, and had pockets full of wads of folded paper lists, which they would pull out one at a time, going "noooo...nooooo.noooo, not that one...ummmm...nooooo.... mmmmmm..maybe this one? oh, nooo..." It was complete madness, but they were all Zen masters, and didn't rush in the slightest, despite the crowd of people and the impending departure of the train...

Eventually I found THE list, and was given my magical code: s4/7. I finally found Coach s4, conveniently located between s1 and s3, but found a frail old man sitting in my seat. No problem I thought, as he coughed his cocktail of diseases in my face, I'll just sit opposite him, he's probably getting off before bedtime... When the ticket inspector arrived, it turned out that they had double booked the seat/bed, and we both had number 7. He told me this as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and should hardly be considered a problem. Luckily it turned out it WAS a problem for the guy whos seat I was now occupying, who started having a loud argument with him in Hindi. The men in the surrounding seats, sensing some entertainment, crowded round to join in the fight. A big argument ensued, in which everyone got involved except me. It was a classic indian argument, with everyone shouting and looking angry for 5 mins at a time, puncuated by everybody laughing for 5 seconds as if it was all a funny game.... which i suppose it was.... ! Eventually they found the old guy another seat, and gave me seat/bed 7, which was one of the side seats that are too short for me... but then a lady asked me if i'd mind swapping for an upper berth as her elderly father needed a lower berth!! so after all that fuss i finally got the exact bed i'd wanted all along.... :)

So now I'm in Calcutta again, just as lost as last time! I arrived at 7:30am and my train doesn't leave till 1:30pm... I tried to make a plan to see/do something, but calcutta is just not tourist friendly!!! It was hard enough just getting from Sealdah station to Howrah Station and putting my bags in the cloakroom!!! The taxi driver wanted 200 rupees to go from one side of the bridge to the other. I got him down to 40 providing I shared the taxi with an indian family...but then he spent the entire journey telling me i was stupid (never tell a taxi driver "I'm not stupid you know?!") and insulting me in hindi and bengali!! Then the cloakroom ppl refused to take my guitar, saying they didn't do instruments. They finally agreed to take it if i locked it, but then said it was no good using one lock for my bag and guitar, as each item had to have a separate lock. They refused to be swayed by my logical arguments, smiling at my naivety, and made me go and buy a separate lock. The biggest irony is that locking my guitar case does nothing except stop someone taking the guitar out of the case!!!! As if they would take it out of the case to steal it!!!! Anyway, I tried to read the paper in the station, but finally gave in when the cleaning man started throwing water over my feet and bag, and came to Sudder Street, the only "Tourist Street" in calcutta.... So here I am, coated in a sweaty black grime that I can collect in rolls under my fingernails and flick onto the floor, wasting time in a small oven-like internet cafe and waiting for my next train, a full 36 hour marathon to bombay... hooray!!! :)