Penetrating the Subcontinent

Coming back to India we had our first taste of the well-renowned Indian Railway System. The floors of the station in Kolkata, and any other station in India, are covered with people and luggage. How is that different from anywhere else in the world? you ask. Well, none of the people or luggage is moving, the people just lay all over the floors and the luggage sits being used as pillows or obstacles for other people. We made our way through the labrynth of bodies and baggage to find a restaurant where we waited for our train.

Punctuality is not a priority with the Indian Railway System. For that matter, neither are signs or friendly conductors or anything that might indicate any kind of order. When our train arrived it was absolute chaos. People squeezed, pushed, and squirmed their way onto the train. The reality began to set in that we had no clue what to do. We weren't even sure if it was the right train. The wagons were poorly labeled and we squished our way up and down the platform trying to figure something out. All of the Indians at that moment conveniently forgot how to understand or speak English, so asking for help proved useless. Just as we were about to give up all hope and collapse to die in an obscure railway station far from home, a young man came and guided us to our wagon, read the passenger log posted in Hindi on the side of the wagon and told us that our names were there. I think the young man must have been one of the three nephites. We climbed on and within a few minutes the trauma of the ordeal had subsided.

Our travels in India so far have taken us to the ancient city of Varanasi and the remote village of Khajuraho. Varanasi is one of the oldest cities in the world, dating back over 5000 years, according to our local sources. The city is where Lord Shiva resides, the greatest God in the Buddhist religion. The legend is that if one dies in Varanasi he/she will automatically reach nirvana and go to heaven. Thanks to this legend, the city is filled with old people waiting to die. We decided we weren't quite ready to die, however, we did decide we needed a relaxing trip down the Ganges, so we hopped on a boat and enjoyed the sunset before moving on.


Khajuraho is also an ancient village situated around ancient temples built over a thousand years ago. We took a long, hot, crowded bus ride through the Indian desert to reach the village. The locals said that the thermometer hits 110 or 115. The bus ride from Khajuraho was even worse than getting there. I was excited to get the window seat, but the leg room was insufficient and the heat made me feel like I was opening a hot oven the whole way. To make matters worse, the man next to me took the liberty of using my shoulder as a pillow. The situation was a little awkward, but if I closed my eyes and imaged a cute girl resting on my shoulder it made things easier.

The heat has been pretty rough, but we have seen some pretty impressive things and I would give this part at least a 7 of 10.