Tuesday 11th December
My train to Goa was due to
leave Mumbai CST station at 06.55, and I got there around 06.20 to learn that
the train was delayed and was re-scheduled to leave at 11.05. So, that wasn’t
such a great start to this leg of the journey. After an omellette sandwich and
an Indian chai , I went to take a seat in a quiet waiting room.
There I spoke to some other folk who were also on my train:
a family from Denmark and a
girl from Finland
making up a decent European contingent. These conversations helped pass the
time, plus I was now better used to long waits, and it wasn’t too bad in the
end. The train finally left at 11.30 and, with the journey due to last at least
twelve hours, it was going to be a long, boring journey.
There’s not too much you can write about a train journey
like that. One of the highlights was when someone from the side of the tracks
threw a stone which hit the side of the window I was sitting at and left a huge
crack in the corner. At least that got my heart going for all of two seconds.
The best bit about it was the countryside through which we travelled, possibly
the most beautiful I have seen in India: hills covered in the layered plateaus
of flat paddy-fields; palm trees and a river meandering through the lush
countryside; snapshots of men standing waist-high in the river, fishing with
nets; women washing clothes and cooking materials at the waters edge. It was a
pity that the glass through which I was looking was covered in tinting plastic,
and the light wasn’t as true as it could have been.
The train finally arrived at my stop, the town of Margao, in the south of
this small state at 01.00, about four hours later than scheduled. I got a
pre-paid taxi to the guesthouse at which I had made a reservation, holding firm
in my refusal to pay the driver anymore, despite his claim that I was asking
him to take me beyond the destination I had agreed on with the guy at the taxi
booth. He let me out and I once more refused to pay, so he raced off, all the while shouting at me that he
wouldn’t take the money even if I offered it to him, and that God would somehow
intervene or some bullshit like that. I’ve heard that one before and I will no
doubt hear it again from the moral titans that are Indian taxi-drivers. At this
stage, I wasn’t too concerned about what I had done to my own karma, I was just
happy to get to Goa.
