RaveBurbleBlog

Something I dislike about train journeys in India is that Paul is able to sleep like a baby while I get on with the panicking about which is the right stop to get out on. When you’re jammed up against the ceiling looking directly at a set of 3 dubiously-hung - and at best, dangerous looking - fans, and the train keeps stopping and letting people on and off at seemingly random intervals at stations that don’t appear to have any form of identification, it’s pretty easy to get a little stressed. Over and over your mind plays recordings of horror stories that others have told of missing their stop and ending up in goodness-knows-what sorts of situations. So each time the train stops, you crane your neck trying to look down through the window and up again at the signs at the stations – if indeed you can actually find a sign - and goodness knows why because those you can spot are written in Hindi and it’s too dark to read anyway.

It’s downright disgusting how relaxed that man looks when my nerves are in tatters and I’m freaking out about where we’re supposed to get off on this enormous sub-continent. [read on]