Planes, trains and photos I didn't take (Avye!)

1130PM Feb 4, 2011

I have arrived in Bikaner, a smallish town in the state of Rajasthan on the western border of India. But let me start a few days ago:

I confess that I wrote most of the previous post in a mood deserving of the comfort and support I received – reading your notes and emails and comments warmed me from that place a great deal. Now, of course, possessing the emotional attention span of a small dog, I think ‘what was all the fuss about?’ Indeed. In my memory it is hard for me to comfortably juxtapose the honest desire to be finished traveling with the present knowledge that the feeling would pass – that I would be feeling better in a matter of time. Being something of the moody, sentimental type, I should know this from experience. I have feelings.

The ‘place’ was just that, and it was supplemented with vigor by being somewhat sick to my lower tummy (which was remedied with some good old antibiotics of the fluoroquinolone variety (hint if you know you’re going to take them anyway, reading the laundry list of side effects will not help)). Sorry for the double parenthesis. My taking them improved my GI and my mood dramatically, and yes this morning, three days or so after writing the previous post, I felt optimistic again and ready for the next planned leg of my journey.

After a relaxed breakfast at the rooftop restaurant I had relied upon heavily and selfishly to nurse myself, I chatted with an eastern European fellow who later stopped his cab and offered me fare to the bus station. Because I was walking, interestingly enough, and it felt good damnit. He had an uncanny resemblance to Nick Pawlowski, and the combined likeness and kindness spirited me onto my train for the 7 hour journey from Jaipur west to Bikaner.

Trains in India have kind of a bad rap – the famous images are of dramatically overcrowded trains, insane platforms, and a sea of humanity that sometimes might be easier to swim through, as the tidal force can out foot-pound gravity. And that is generally true. However, today I have the added advantage of being able to book absurdly cheap tickets online (700 km, 3 dollars – imagine how far 3 dollars gets you), which grant me a seat. The trains are an Indian experience, and one that I have been enthralled by and sick of by turns. It gives me and the other riders a chance to surreptitiously check each other out, as well as sit on laps, crawl over people, and generally violate every rule of personal space I have learned. I often sat with my headphones in listening to music (favoring the soothing sounds of Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, Iron & Wine and Bon Iver lately), along with some of the podcasts you fine folks recommended. This time a Rabout broke my heart – it was called ‘Lost and Found,’ recommended to me by Corinne (for the heartstring factor) and yes, the last story will make you cry – regardless of how many times the guy next to you pokes your shoulder to ask or tell you something hidden deep inside a Hindi accent.

The trains also show the countryside – in all its glory and decrepitude. Inevitably there are shanty towns, slums, what have you that make rural Salvador look comfortable by comparison. This time, we also passed over or through the salt lake, which smelled like satan’s own sulfur farts (it is a salt lake thing, I remember the same in western Egypt). Beyond the lake were dozens, literally miles worth, of salt processing houses with varying stages of salt fit for your table (giant bulldozed piles, sifted piles, and 50 lb bags). It reminded me of the movie Gandhi, of his famous salt march, and of how important salt is to our survival. There was something vital about that salt – it was not tamed in a little shaker, but massed out in tons, and everywhere.

The sun set on the train ride, my second from a train, with similar effect. The sun does not shimmer on the horizon, more like a slow red dim, creating the scenes of countryside you might recognize from films or photos – isolated figures cut against the haze with animals and fields in the background, groups of men in a circle, not yet illuminated by the fire, trees and boundless power lines silhouetted against a hazy, graying sky. It is beautiful and awe-inspiring.

After 6 hours of music, half conversations and a dozen stops, a girl who had been napping with her mom woke up, and proceeded to systematically harass the guy across from me like someone who knew her work. Eventually I caught her eye and we exchanged faces for a while. I attempted my one magic trick, where a coin seems to pass hands but is dropped into the same one. She was impressed, and for another ten minutes we pretended to pass coins and bills through our mouths, noses and ears – or into thin air (by dropping it by mistake). We provided entertainment (sorely lacking) for the folks around us and ourselves. It was the most fun I’d had (and the silliest I’d been) since arriving and it felt great. Sadly she and her mother were off at the next stop. Thinking about it even now makes me smile.

Shortly thereafter I stood and noticed a small group of young folks playing Uno – Uno! - and speaking English. I stood by and watched as the game finished and was happily invited to the next one. Introductions lead to a surprising array of homelands (Eretria (thoughts of you Pete), Iran, Iraq, and Bangladesh). They were friends studying pharmacology at the Uni in New Delhi, and quickly welcomed me. I passed the final leg of the trip with lots of good natured jokes about nationality (when the guy from Iraq disagreed with the woman from Iran, I was told to just play ‘last time it took eight years’ and I suggested it might be best if I stayed out of it, being from the US – and so on). I regretted to hear that they were continuing on to Jaiselmer, another 8 hours, and I gave some serious thought to joining them for their company. But a comfortable bed, food, and the hope of seeing them again in Delhi (along with the fact that someone was waiting for me at the platform) lead me off the train. Even without going, it was proof of one of my sustaining hopes – there are plenty of wonderful people out there waiting for me, provided I stop getting room service.

That brings me to Bikaner, where I practically fought my way onto the platform (people were struggling to get seats for the overnight journey) to meet my ride to where I am staying. He was an incredibly welcome sight to me – I hadn’t realized the stress involved in getting from the train to the hostels. I am comfortably here now with the crickets and barking dogs, and will post this in the morning. Then it’s camel time. Thanks for reading!