Sleeper train from Hell

The overnight train from Mumbai to Goa....not the most delightful experience I've had on this trip, that's for sure. I took a cab from the Salvation army to the bus station; the driver was sweet and the doorman at the SA gave me a warm send off. However, once I was drowning in the sea of people in the station, everything changed. As soon as I got out of the taxi, three guys were trying to pick up my bag to "help" me to the train. The cab driver had to help me get them away. Afterward, one of the security guards told me that I had to go up the stairs to the number gate I needed. What? That doesn't make sense? Maybe it's a sitting room until the train arrives? Nope. I walked up four flights of stairs with all of my luggage until someone else asked me what I was doing. Turns out, I think the guard was trying to tell me to go behind the stairs, which is where the entrance to the trains is located--miscommunication, how I loathe you. I had to walk maybe two blocks through a dimly lit parking area in order to get to the tracks.

Though the train wasn't to leave for at least an hour and a half, hundreds of people were packed onto the side of the tracks, waiting. When it arrived, I started walking down the train to find my sleeper car. On my way, I probably looked confused because I kept checking my ticket and the sides of the cars to decipher the right one. An Indian guy kept trying to help me carry my bag, again, and I kept saying that I was fine, but he followed me onto the train. At this point, I was the first one on, which I knew could be a potentially bad situation. He sat across from me and just stared. He asked if I was married and I said yes, holding up my left hand where I conveniently wear my mother's ring. Still, he sat there. A beggar boy then sat on the other side of me with his hands out, muttering in Hindi. No matter what I said, neither would go away. I put my book in front of my face and kept saying "Go away, go away, go away, go away," pretty much stomping like a four-year old. Finally, the beggar left and, after a long, uncomfortable silence, the other man did, as well, but only after shaking my hand goodbye. Not a friendly one, though, he gave me the finger palm push--you know, when one finger is poked into your palm and somehow makes you feel violated to the core, yeah, that handshake. I ripped my hand away and yelled at him like a dog that just peed on the carpet.

NO! BAD! You don't do that. VERY BAD. NEVER do that!

He ran away from me in a hurry. Watch out for the white girl with a temper! I then crawled up to my "bed" which is a solid mattress just large enough for me and my bag if I lied on my stomach and bent my knees. I stayed there nearly the entire trip because I felt so awkward and too uncomfortable to come down. I saw bugs crawling in and out of the bed around me and all up and down the walls. Maybe they're just over on THAT side of the train, and not in my bed...

The next morning I watched people rustling around, eating samosas and other random food then throwing the trash out the window! Trash is everywhere here, there aren't waste baskets anywhere that I can see, it's odd. I've been carrying wrappers around forever because i don't know where to put them, but it's common practice here to throw it anywhere. I was brave enough in the late morning to try the toilet (or rather, I had to pee so badly that I was forced to get off of my safe haven and walk through the car); whatever comes out of you goes down the toilet and onto the train tracks...I'm not even going to attempt to get out my feelings on that. On my way back all the men were staring at me for obvious reasons (one of these things is not like the other) and being that I was already tense, I reverted back to the US response, " Um, can I help you" - enter attitude and sarcasm here. This, obviously, doesn't work when the person you're talking with doesn't have a high level of English comprehension. More staring. Ugh, never mind. I crawled back to my bed and didn't move. The highlight of this trip was my arrival in Goa. Yoga Magic, the place I was to be volunteering, had a driver waiting for me at the station, my name was on the sign and everything! Phew.