The buck doesn't stop here

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I had a good night's sleep considering all the activities that conspired to stop me. The sink tap in the bathroom dripped constantly, however maybe this acted on my brain like a lullaby, in the same way a gently burbling stream might do. And at 6AM a mass throat-clearing erupted from the other residents of the hotel as well as the neighbours. On that subject, it's amazing just how much phlegm people are capable of producing - not just the gargantuan gozzers first thing in the morning, but the other offerings throughout the day.

The hot water in my shower proved to be as much of a myth as I had suspected. On a relative scale, it was warmer than the cold water, but on an absolute scale it was a little tepid. Again, my hair got a good wash but the rest of me was skimmed over.

I had a brief visit to the Internet cafe to confirm that all the CDs had burned correctly - as a morning greeting, a rat was sitting on the printer, though it soon sprinted off and hid ineffectually behind one of the machines (its tail could be seen amongst the cables).

Next was a visit to the International Tourists' counter at New Delhi Railway Station, in order to book a ticket from Amritsar to Pathankot for Monday morning. As I feared based on what I'd seen on the web, all classes were already wait-listed (i.e. all tickets had been sold and there was a waiting list for cancelled tickets). However the ticket seller claimed that the train (a through train from Delhi) emptied out at Amritsar, so there would be no problem getting a seat. Since he also viewed travelling in 2AC or 3AC as too decadent for a 3 hour journey, he sold me a ticket in Sleeper class instead.

Unfortunately one of the requirements for foreigners to pay rupees for train tickets (at New Delhi station, at least) is that you need to produce an encashment certificate - generally this is either the receipt you got from the foreign exchange merchant when you changed your money, or an ATM receipt. For reasons I can't quite remember, I'd removed my original encashment certificate from my shoulder bag and put it in my rucksack, which I didn't have with me. Thus began a completely pointless bureaucratic merry-go-round.

First I had to go to another counter to confirm that, yes, it was not possible to pay in rupees without an encashment certificate, but I could pay in US dollars or pounds sterling and get the change in rupees. I then returned to my original counter, and said I'd like to pay in US dollars. The chap then plugged a few numbers into his calculator and announced the ticket was $2.47. I produced a $20 bill. He stared at this for several minutes, then told me to take my reservation form over to a third counter. When I arrived there, he phoned up the lady sitting behind a counter, had a conversation with her, then she scribbled something on my form. I then returned to him, and he told me I could, after all, pay in rupees. I suppose no-one came to physical harm during this process, which is something to be grateful for.

The 4:30PM service to Amritsar was a Shatabdi train. Shatabdi comes from the Hindi for century or centenary, as these services were started to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Nehru's birth in 1989. They are special express trains, only running on certain major routes, that only have first class and chair class, don't stop very often, go faster than normal, and provide some extra comforts in the way of meals and snacks. I found myself sitting next to a professional tour guide, who generously suggested some ways in which I could link my remaining Indian itinerary together.

The food provided was above average, no doubt to cock a snook at British Rail. The first meal was just a snack, including a vegetable pakora and a coleslaw sandwich whose filling was so sparse it must have been applied using nanotechnology. The second was much more filling, including dal, a paneer dish, a rolled-up chapati (served in a foil wrapper - I originally thought it was a damp towel for wiping my fingers), and some curd. A tub of icecream rounded off the snack selection.

Stations were announced over the public address system in Hindi and English, which was a great boon as normally I've found it very difficult to figure out where the train is, and have had to resort to asking fellow passengers. The announcement for disembarking passengers started "We bid farewell to the passengers getting down at station X", which conjured up images of them busting out some dance moves on arrival.

The train was late getting into Amritsar, but I could see the hotel from the station so it was less than 10 minutes before I'd checked in. The room is a so-called deluxe one (and at Rs 800 per night it's my most expensive yet by far), with all expected luxuries. The only downers are the water heater (its very presence tells you that you can not have an indefinitely long hot shower) and the insect graveyard next to the bathroom sink. I'd missed the 11PM bar closing time by 5 minutes, so couldn't have the cold beer I really had a yearning for, but hopefully the bar will provide tomorrow evening's entertainment.

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Photos

When autos attack
An army of auto-rickshaws outside New Delhi railway station