We arrived in Varanasi this morning chilled to the bone. Our own stupid fault, for certain. But horrible nonetheless.

In Calcutta, we had booked tickets on an overnight train to Varanasi, happily signing up for a 14-and-a-half hour ride in Second Class Non-Aircon Sleeper.

What we didn't realise was that in Second Class no bedding at all is provided, and nighttime in a Northern Indian winter is seriously cold.

At first, it seemed like things might be okay. The train was spartan, and the 'beds' (which run up the wall in pairs of three) are little more than rock-hard metal sheets wrapped in a layer of sticky blue plastic. But bare-bones can be okay, so so far so good ...

We then observed that there were no sheets, no pillows and certainly no blankets.

Now, had we read our Lonely Planet more carefully, all this drama could have been avoided, but in my Calcutta-confusion, I had manged to mis-read the book's descriptions of train classes and bedding. As a consequence, I mistakenly thought that we would be able to hire bedding on the train - but no!

We soon began to become aware that the windows on the train don't do a good job of closing, and so cold, cold air was rapidly rushing in. The local passengers rugged up in thick, woolly blankets, and the Korean backpackers cracked out trekking-level sleeping bags.

We lay on our respective planks, shivering mercilessly. I was wearing hemp pants and a cotton top, and the polartec I'd put on top was doing nothing to ward off the icy rush of air that was seeping in from the jangling windows.

The night wore on, and we unpacked our bags, looking for anything that might provide some warmth. My feet, although I still had my shoes on, had gone dead and cold, and I was reduced to putting socks on my hands as makeshift gloves.

Sleep was elusive, and I worried about just how cold we were getting given that I couldn't stop shaking. Adding to our problems was the fact the bunk opposite mine was unoccupied, and a steady stream of ticket-less guys kept creeping up all night to lie in it illicitly. Some of them displayed an unhealthy interest in our baggage.

As the hands of my watch moved past two am then three and then four, I kept up a mantra of 'the darkest hour is just before dawn' as if there might suddenly be a drastic warming-up of the carriage as morning drew near.

Finally, Andrew and I resorted to lying both on the one narrow bunk, just to try to pool our body-heat. Cramped and uncomfortable, sure - but at least it was slightly warmer.

Morning's weak sunshine was a relief. The air remained chilly enough to sting as it whipped inside the carriage, but the weak yellow sun was a vast improvement on the long, dark hours of the night.

The chai-wallah's call was like a god-send when it came. We drank sweet, hot spiced tea from India's version of disposable cups - tiny and made from bright orange clay, they're drunk from once and then smashed on the train tracks.