I'm writing this two hours in to a thirty-six hour train journey, so stick the kettle on and prepare yourself for a long one. It's a bit like Piccadilly circus in our carriage and the three tier sleeper system - I'm squashed in the middle, Wilko's perched precariously on the top, hardly allows for stretching the legs. On the plus side though, we've made a few new friends - two lunatic Frenchman also traveling to Goa who seem as confused and disorientated by this whole experience as we do, a twenty-three year old Indian who looks about forty, and an old couple who insist on forcing every traditional Indian delicacy under the sun down our throats. Our contrived expressions of delight as we rubbed our tummies and silently gagged on their latest offerings we hoped would
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