Believe it
or not the train journey from Ernakulem to Goa
was pretty none eventful (by my standards).
I took sleeper class, which means that you get your own bed, although the
term bed might be an over exaggeration.
It is just a big hard seat hanging from the ceiling (equivalent of the
luggage rack in the UK ). My face felt like it was only inches away
from the ceiling (because it was) and dangerously close to the fans. I’m not sure if I was more scared about my
face being sliced into pieces by the fans or of falling out of the sodding thing
I suppose you get what you pay
for. The train ticket was only about a
fiver so I don’t really have any place to moan (although I’m bloody well going
to).
There was a
young boy travelling with his parents in my carriage (no, that's not a euphemism). He was only about 10 years old but was quite
possibly the most annoying little brat known to man. He insisted on whistling (I hate whistling), whining
and showing off the whole journey. After
about an hour I was ready to throw the little fucker off the train. It didn’t help that I had no food with me (I
was starving. You’ll be surprised to
learn that there are no buffet carriages on Indian trains) and had to watch him
stuff his little fat face with an endless supply of food. .
At about 4am
a couple of Swedish girls woke me up (no, it wasn’t an erotic lesbian dream) to
say that we were at Goa . I’m not sure how they knew I was going there
but thank sweet Jesus on a keyring that they woke me. I am quite clearly a novice at this
travelling lark. I thought Goa was the last stop.
Left to my own devices I would have ended up in Delhi or somewhere.
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