chunder down under

The plan today was to make the early train to Kalka from New Delhi station, which departed at 6am. The arrangement was that a driver from the training college would collect me at 5am from the hotel and take us there. This being India, I expected some leeway in the timing but trusted it would work out ok.

Sure enough, by about 5:45 I was still sitting in the lobby with another guy, Jason, waiting for the taxi. After various frantic phone calls the driver arrived, looking like he had just woken up. Rushing out into the street, we had to pursue the car down the street as he had neglected to put the handbrake on (assuming it was working). Once safely inside we began the frantic race to the station. It was dark, but there was already traffic on the roads – men pushing enormous carts of produce amongst the cars. As we hurtled through the red lights (a signal which must mean “slow down slightly and have a quick look to check nothing is coming, or nothing that can cause significant damage anyway”) it soon became apparent that our driver did not have a clue where he was going. After stopping to ask directions from some street vendors he decided to make a U-turn and head back up the way he had come from. All well and good, except that it was a one-way street. We raced up the street against the approaching headlights (and horns) of opposing traffic, swerving to avoid head-on collisions. Luckily they all seemed to swerve to opposite directions to us, being in the back seat I laughed as Jason’s knuckles turned white gripping the seat and trying to jam his foot on an imaginary brake. We darted down a side alley and straight into a traffic jam. No problem, just cross to the other side of the road and somehow squeeze past the cars coming the other way.

By the time we arrived at the rail station it was about 6:30. The car park was another collection of randomly parked cars and somehow we managed to squeeze in between a couple without scraping off too much paint. I was hoping the train was delayed, we were told that it was usually up to 45 minutes late.Even at this early hour the station was packed. Outside on the pavements and inside in the ticket hall you had to step over sleeping bodies wrapped in blankets. The smell of rancid urine wafted in the air, long queues formed for the ticket office and no one seemed to be in charge. In short, it was much like journeying on the tube in London. Unfortunately the train to Kalka is very punctual and had already left. We couldn’t get a refund for our tickets and no other trains would get us to Kalka in time to catch our connecting train to Shimla. We spent half an hour haggling with a taxi driver who approached us offering to drive us the whole way, but eventually decided we might as well try again tomorrow. So it was back to another hotel.