Rolling with the Holiday Punches

It is funny reading my last post now, January 10th, back in the calm and orderly country that is Japan, because had I known then, what I know now, I may not have been so quick to make predictions on how my Christmas Day would pan out. Let me just begin this tale of haphazard travel by stating that Christmas plans to fly to Hyderabad from Delhi to meet up with the other folks that were volunteering, did not go as planned. And there was one particular culprit to blame, Fog. Little to my knowledge before I left for my travels, December tis the season for abnormally heavy fog in Northern India. India as I found is a particularly dusty country as it is. Pair it with the smog from cars in the cities and then this seasonal morning and evening fog, and air travel becomes difficult and at times impossible. Some news reports I heard at the time were reporting a visibility of only ten meters. Apparently some airlines have equipped their crafts with new technology to navigate through the thick layer, but since it is new and few pilots have had training or real experience with it, it is up to the pilot whether or not to fly when the weather gets bad enough that the technology would be needed. I, as a passenger, cannot complain with this protocol. However, when one is riding a budget airline in India, Air Deccan to be exact, this option of new navigation equipment is not even in the cards. So, arriving at Delhi Domestic airport with no knowledge of the weather conditions, well nourished from Christmas morning curry on the roof of our hotel, some bazaar shopping and still on a high from seeing the Taj, Erin and I were looking forward to the short flight to Hyderabad. We were even early. Our attempts to check in however were met with the nonchalant and unapologetic comment that the flight was cancelled. Perhaps we could get on the flight on the 28th. Three days might as well have been three months. We waited a bit to weigh our options and hopefully run into others from our group that were on the same flight. This search introduced us to Prue, who joined us at square one in the journey down to Hyderabad. No other airline could put us on a flight, so feeling quite un-taken care of, we got a refund for our ticket and left the airport in hopes that the train station would bring more luck.



This was not to be the case. The Delhi train station on any other day is crazy and crowded, teeming with auto rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, taxi's and independent "travel agents," all trying to lure you into their services. So on this day, Christmas, with numbers of hopeful air travelers in a bind due to the hassle that is the fog, it was that much worse. Throw three foreign women into the mix and you got yourself some walking targets, weighed down with back packs and frustrated. By this time, the tourist office which normally holds some extra tickets for foreign travelers, was closed, so we opted to stand in line and hope for the best. But in this process, Prue, being the "free spirit" that she is, was drawn away to some tourist office down the street, following promises of train tickets for the 20:40 train to Hyderabad. Erin and I trusting her traveling experience followed along to get the info, since standing in the non-moving line, was less than thrilling. Turns out the ticket, if it existed, was being sold at double the price...so back to the line we went. Little time passed before another man, this one more legit, so it seemed, warned us of the place down the street and said he knew of a good travel office. Wanting an easy solution and feeling a bit lost, we followed the kind man, who put us in a rick shaw and we were off to the comfortable and calm office of Delhi Tourism. How nice to be away from the crowds, how nice to be able to sit down and think through our options. At this point, getting on a train to Hyderabad that day seemed quite possible.

Nazir is a smooth talker. And we knew this from the moment we sat down in his office and he asked us how we were. No need for the small talk we replied, we just need to get to Hyderabad. All we needed to know were out options. It was getting dark outside, no hotel reservations for the night, well not in Delhi at least, and the ticket line at New Delhi station was less than encouraging. Perhaps a waiting list spot was possible. Who knows. Nazir tells us of available tickets the following night on the overnight train to Hyderabad, which would get us in on the 27th. Two days late yes, but this seemed to be the inevitable time delay at this point. The catch however, was that the train left from Agra (where we had just come from the night before), the Taj toting town about four hours drive south. Of course, Nazir being the business man that he is, would easily arrange a driver to Agra and a hotel that night. A little sightseeing the next day and then catch the train in the evening and it all sounded like a paradise vacation.

We were having none of this roundabout plan, that clearly had some sort of perk attached for Nazir and his hotel and driver connections along the way. But as the smooth talking continued and developed into more friendly banter, and as the night progressed outside, we softened to the idea. This transformation was all compounded by the fact that we wanted nothing more than to get out of Delhi. We were all packed and ready to go. So after a couple of hours with the back and forth hostility on our part, aimed both at Nazir and each other, we, in true what-not-to-do-when-traveling-in-India fashion, (according to Lonely Planet that is, but who wants to listen to a guide book anyways?) gave our credit card payment, without a solid ticket in our hands and boarded a car to Agra (for Erin's brainwashing theory on the situation, refer to links). Credit cards can always be cancelled I figured. Though my skepticism of the situation still lingered as we finalized travel "plans," and I could not completely suppress the inner voice in my head which told me I was being a dumb ass, I proceeded happily, thinking I was being far too paranoid. The one thing that we were smart about though, is that we booked our own hotel for the night at the place where we had stayed previously in Agra. This much we knew was a safe bet.

Prem was our driver. A pretty quiet guy at first, but friendly. After a dud restaurant for dinner, he took us to his home where we had Christmas dinner with him and his family. It was nice to see a real Indian home and to spend a few hours laughing and getting Punjabi dancing lessons from his fourteen year old son. I felt more at ease about the entire situation after meeting his wife and kids.



The drive to Agra, with tea stops, ended up being 6 hours. So at around 1:15 am we rolled in to Tourist Rest House and slept soundly with dreams of train tickets and Hyderabad.

The next morning, we figured before anything else, we would get our tickets in hand. Prem it turns out, is just contracted to Delhi Tourism periodically and so is just responsible for picking up the tickets. It is at this point in the morning, when we are told by Nazir, through Prem, that our tickets will not be ready until 4pm (and to go on with the sightseeing portion of the program) that our problem becomes Prem's. After inviting us into his home, I think that he also felt a bit more responsibility towards us than a driver normally would his passengers. We were repeatedly told that he would not, could not, return home to Delhi until we were happy and on the train to Hyderabad. And this we found as the day progressed, rang true. Immediately hearing the 4pm news, we shifted into recovery mode. From here on out it would be a matter of correcting our mistake from the night before.

Our day, December 26th, consisted of going to a secondary travel agent in Agra (apparently the brother office) and waiting in an office until we got our tickets. This did not make the man in charge happy and I suspect he will not be doing business with Delhi Tourism again after the stubborn fuss we put up to get a tangible ticket. (Prue at this point still had hopes of visiting the Taj which she at this point had still not seen). The ticket it turns out, despite the 2AC (two tier, air conditioned) classification we had payed for (plus some commission) was the lowest class possible, which by most people's standards, Indians included, is not the safest place for foreign women. In addition, the price of all three tickets was about a third of what each of us had payed (to redeem myself a bit, the price we each payed was still less than the plane ticket that we were reimbursed for...a cost comparison had been done). Livid, we raced back to the hotel to call our credit card companies and Prue ventured out with Prem to talk to his friend who had "connections." Erin and I sat in the courtyard of the hotel, contemplating the mess we had managed to get ourselves into. Time passed and checking my email revealed that Eric, another strandee had managed to get on to the train that evening from Delhi, by simply standing in line. Salt on the wound.

At this news, as soon as Prem returned, we raced to the train station to try our own hand, finally, at getting tickets. Erin was near tears at the ticket counter (Prue and I had earlier that morning had the talk hole at the ticket counter blocked in our faces), which to her credit, succeeded in getting us wait list tickets for an all women's SL (sleeper car). Now we could only wait. Either Prem's connections would come through, or we would have to move up from 81,82, and 83 on the waiting list.

Time passed and the tangled web of deception and false tickets wound its way through my thoughts. Ahhhhhh, if only I could just do it over, perhaps we would be in Hyderabad.

Around 5pm, Prem called to get an update from his "connection" and we were in luck. Saleem, a friendly but reserved guy (in the train station that is, turns out because of his dealings with scalping train tickets, the train station makes him very nervous) sauntered into the eatery at the train station where we had posted ourselves, boasting the two 2AC tickets he had confirmed along with a number 1 on the waiting list for the same car. Goes to show that connections matter.

This was good, but not good enough seeing as one on the waiting list might as well have been three. Would we get kicked off? We were told not, but who knows. Who do you trust?

We asked the man at the ticket counter and his reaction to our situation was positive, "just get on." Saleem: "Just get on the train," Prem: "Just get on the train."

So, as 23:40 (the new time of departure...the 20:40 train was well booked by the time we got our shit together) and the ticket counter man would no longer calm our fears and answer whether we had moved off of the waiting list, we payed Saleem the same amount that the ticket cost (turns out this was just a favor for Prem, who at this point probably just wanted to get rid of us and gat back to his family...but who knows, maybe it was all part of the plan?), had dinner at his hotel's restaurant and headed back to the train station to once and for all get the fuck out of Agra. I can confidently say that I never have to, nor want to, set foot in that city again. I have seen what needs to be seen there along with way too much of the train station.

The one last hiccup before we left, was finding our correct car. It was not where we thought it was, so Prue, Erin, Prem and I found our selves running down the length of the train, scared that after all that, we would be left. Twas not the case and we boarded without a hitch, though not without a strange, near tears goodbye from Prem. Not worth expanding.

So the 36 hour train ride set in, though we were happier than ever to just be on the train, on our way. Despite the hostile attitude from the first conductor that checked our ticket status, the second was much more forgiving and even vowed to find us a third bed, so that we would not have to sit up all night ( a mission which he followed through with). The rest of the ride was smooth: we passed through the very center of India, a town called Nagpur, along with others, occasionally hopping off for the fresh air at the short stops and hopping back on the train as it began to move. Don't see that in Japan.



All was well until about the last five hours of the trip, in which I was sick. Train food, is not smart food, and to be sick on a moving train is far worse than to be sick in a moving car (if you're wondering). And the tricky thing about being sick in India, in my case at least, is that I was not sure what it was that made me ill. Probably the food, but perhaps the water? So dehydrated and nauseous, dizzy and weak, I nearly fell off the train and sat in the waiting room of the Hyderabad train station to wait for our ride to pick us up as Prue and Erin ventured off in attempts to find some guaranteed safe water. Safe water was not found (often water bottles are not sealed or have been fooled with on the bottom), but our ride was.

Mr. Merti is the president of Association of Relief Volunteers and due to the delays and travel troubles of the entire group, had volunteered to pick up the stragglers, us, so that the rest of the group could head down to Kavali, where we would be staying for the next week. A gem he was amidst the confusion that had been our last couple of days and he put up with our shit far better than I would have were I in his situation (namely carting around three cranky, unbathed women). After getting safe water and picking up two other volunteers at a near by hotel, we thought we were off. We were, technically, but not until we got a jeep to drive us to Kavali, then switched the jeep because it was not sturdy enough, ate (me not included), spent an hour at the bank trying to exchange travelers checks and had tea. I was passed out in the back of the jeep with the backpacks for most of this ordeal. Finally at about 3pm on December 28th, we truly embarked on the supposed eight hour drive to Kavali.

Due to many bathroom stops (the bush is your toilet), tea stops ( Indians, much like the Japanese, don't fool around when it comes to tea and when to drink it), more sick passengers (as I began to recover, Melissa fell ill), a short-cut which resulted in a flat tire, we arrived at Hotel Namaskar in Kavali at 4am.



The journey, though incredibly long, was, as I would soon discover, well well worth it.