Having had a very disjointed night’s sleep on the train courtesy of our cabin mate the Indian lumber jack, I looked out the window, and surprise surprise saw more rubbish littering the line of the tracks. It was 6.30am and soon we would arrive in Bangalore City Junction station. It was time to mentally prepare myself for all the pleasures of the typical Indian city, the tour agents, hagglers, rickshaw drivers, all in sundry after a piece of my currency. By now I feel I have mastered the ability to be courteous and entertaining to them, yet stay firm and numb to their obvious poverty. I will never treat any person like a dog, yet I’m no Mother Teresa. Storm and I ventured off in hunt of a internet cafe, but being so early on a
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