Rail Journeys

Clackety clack, clackety clack, clackety clack.
Whaaah, whaaah!!!
Clackety clack, clackety clack.

The noise of the train beats a steady rythymn as it rumbles north, sandwiched between the heights of the western Ghats and the wide expanse of the Malabar Coast.

We have opted for cheap seats as it is early in the season and cool enough to forgo the AC as an uneccessary luxury. This was the right move. All the windows and doors are wide open allowing the sights, sounds and smells of rural Kerala to flood the carriage in a combined assault on the senses. For the most part this is greatly welcomed, in the stations however, where human bowel movements have decorated the track with odious piles of poop in a variety of colours and consistencies it is not so appealing. NOT using the toilet whilst the train is in the station seems to be an exception rather than a rule.

This is the way train travel should be though. The warm sun bathes my arm and the thick breeze cools the damp sweat on the side of my face. Chai Wallahs sell hot sweet tea in the carriages at each station and the train never moves fast enough to spoil the view of life taking place outside in the world going by. The rocking of the iron rooster soothes rather than sickens and I can’t help but be saddened at the lost romance of rail journeys.

Being borne along in cold silence at 200 miles an hour in a sterile climate controlled aluminium box furnished with powerpoints to accomodate the laptop toting businessmen. Having to pay through the nose for a “service” that is usually late and whose food makes up for what it lacks in taste by an excess of cost. No thanks!

Did I mention we paid the equivelent of one pound each for a journey comparable in distance to that from London to Birmingham and which also left and arrived bang on time.

…And they call this the “developing” world…