India

We arrived in Mumbai (Bombay) at 2 am on August 11th. Mr. Deepak of Highway Residency Hotel kindly greeted us with a sign that read, Mr. Laura Brady. When we got to the hotel, there were some complications with our booking since we needed a room for the night of the 10th, but technically arrived on the 11th. Since the hotel was full, they had set up a makeshift room in their office for a discounted price, which was fine with us. However, mid-way through the night Katie looked up to see a hand coming through the window and grasping the curtain. Startled, she woke Laura from her slumber only to have had him disappear. We shut the window that we didn’t know was open and finally made it to sleep.
The next morning, we hopped in an auto-rickshaw and made our way to the train station to decipher the ticket-purchasing process. Across the street we eyed a McDonald’s, but getting there was something like crossing the last lap of the Indy 500 with several hundred cars on the track. Dodging auto-rickshaws, taxis, cars, buses, and cows; we made it only to find that the Hindu culture doesn’t eat beef so there were no burgers. Nonetheless, we enjoyed French fries and soft serve, which was quite a lovely treat. With the recent, heavy flooding in India, we were concerned about the monsoon season, but so far we have not encountered any problems. At 5:30 we got a taxi to drive us across town to the train station. Here, we got our first feel for the extent of India’s poverty—it’s almost indescribable. The porter at the train station directed us to the correct platform and waiting area, which we could have technically found ourselves. Regardless, they don’t take no for an answer and stand there looking at you until you give them money. First time—no big deal, but wait until helper #36 wants money for lack of services rendered and you’ll surprisingly be short several hundred rupees at the end of the day. We boarded a train for Agra at 7:40 knowing that we wouldn’t get off until almost 24 hours later. Once it arrived, we were startled to find hundreds of Indians making a mad dash towards the car. Katie thought they were running to take our seat and Laura thought we were being left—turns out, that was just open seating and we had a 6x3 ft. bunk in AC2 class with our name on it (not literally). Everyone says riding a train in India is an experience; ours was a 2-year old, non-stop screaming child and constant, perverted stares from bored men.