The is no pressure at all this morning as our train is not until 12.20 and checkout time is noon. Inevitably we are wide awake at six. Time for a decent cup of tea and a leisurely hot shower before brekker. On the way to breakfast R accuses D of becoming very Indian when he goes to press the lift call for the two flight descent to the restaurant. In the restaurant the music is some kind of throbbing techno, causing D to express a wish for gentle Country & Western to replace it. Right on cue we get the Tennessee Waltz then some thrash punk followed by Simon and Garfunkel's Sound of Silence played on a sitar. Who chooses hotel muzak and why are they allowed to get away with it?
The breakfast buffet is a very eclectic mix, with North and South Indian dishes as well as 'Continental' items such as Lyonnaise potatoes. Our plan is to eat as much as we can as we don't know when or where our next meal will be. The food is OK but not a patch on the freshly cooked fare that we have been enjoying. Just as we are thinking that we might be replete we are offered masala omelets, cooked to order by a man in the foyer. We squeeze these in. D makes one last round of the buffet to check that we haven't missed anything and spots a container of butterscotch milk shake. For breakfast! Yuck. We resist the urge to pick up handfuls of neatly cut cheese sandwiches as a doggy bag for later.
We make the most of our smart hotel room, drinking cups of tea and soaking in the a/c. From time to time we get calls from different departments of the hotel asking whether we are happy with everything and if we require any assistance. We ignote these subtle hints until 11 am when it is time to leave for the station. This time R does allow the use of the lift so we get one last chance to look down upon the atrium before delivering ourselves into the tender care of Indian Railways. The concierge's boys seem a bit miffed when we shoulder our own packs, walk down the drive, through the gates and start to haggle with auto men.
The Upper Class waiting room at Bhubaneswar has blast chiller a/c and miniature thrones for Upper Class bahookies, as well as a running commentary on departures, arrivals and deeply regretted inconveniences. Our train is the Neelachal Express which runs from Puri to New Delhi by a very odd route three times per week. We are taking it because it is the only direct train between Bhubaneswar and Lucknow. It is the longest rail trip on our visit this year at a scheduled 24 hours 50 minutes for the 1337km trip. The best available accommodation is 2AC and we have been allocated two berths in the first bay right by the door. These are not really great as the door opening and closing tends to be a bit of a nuisance. Just to compound things we have not got the the two berths one above the other but have diagonal opposites.
Only ten minutes have been lost on the way from Puri and our coach is conveniently outside the waiting room. We are joined in our bay by an Indian couple who settled in Newfoundland 25 years ago. He has the other lower berth in our section while she has a side berth further along the coach. They are hoping to swap with the fourth occupant of our bay but the TTE told them that he would not be boarding until Tatanagar, in about eight hours time. We talk with them about home and families and spending the winter months in India, away from fog, rain, snow and darkness. Her name is Balea whilst his is totally unpronounceable, apparently the name of his home village.
They are very anxious about our diet and whether we will be able to eat safely. In India they stay with family and cook their own food. They are travelling to Varanasi for a two month stay and are renting an apartment. We explain that we have enjoyed an enormous breakfast and will probably get by on chai and biscuits on the train. They are not convinced that train chai is safe either. After a while Balea starts reading some sort of religious or spiritual book and he goes to sleep. Only another twenty three hours to go.
Just before nightfall we get to Kharagpur where the loco changes ends and we now have the forward facing day seats. For a major junction the facilities at Kharagpur are pitiful. D manages to get a couple of packets of salted peanuts to supplement the biscuits. From this point on we are travelling a previously unvisited route. However it is in total darkness so there is nothing to see. D finishes his RK Narayan sampler and has nothing left to read so it must be time for bed. The mysterious Mr Four in our bay appears and point blank refuses a swap for a side berth.
Sleep is a little on the intermittent side but a quick dose of Nytol helps. Sadly we miss the bridge crossing at Dehri on Sone but are up and about in time for arrival at Mugalsarai which may well be in line for the hotly contested Scruffiest, Dirtiest and Most Litter Strewn Dump in India award. The chai man comes by and R issues the biscuit ration. Before the next stop we cross the high level bridge over the Ganges at Varanasi but the view is impeded by mist. Our Canadian friends deboard at Varanasi Junction to be replaced by an Indian couple who appear to have no English. They annoy R by throwing sweetie wrappers on the floor before relocating themselves further down the coach.
The route taken by this train from Varanasi to Lucknow is along mostly single track lines and we have plenty of slow running. There is an interesting mixture of colour light signals and very British style semaphore arms. At the next stop an older man sits down opposite us. He hears D criticising some of the track work and ventures a counter opinion. His English is not great but he talks with knowledge of the railways. D asks if he is a railway worker and the man proudly shows his First Class Duty Pass and confirms that he is a track inspector. He gets off at the next stop and is replaced by a young man in dark glasses who says not a word. The slow running is good for bird watching and we see several groups of our old friends, the Sarus Cranes, as well as bee-eaters, a Pallid Harrier and other large but unidentified raptors.
We arrive at Lucknow only ten minutes behind time. The economics of auto driving seem to have taken an unusual turn in Lucknow. As we leave the station we are, as usual, approached by people shouting auto, except this time it is prefixed or suffixed by 'prepaid'. D is confused by this as normally the auto guys want to keep tourists away from the prepaid desk so they can overcharge. One guy is really persistent but we ignore him and head out of the main exit to the prepaid auto kiosk. There is a uniformed man behind the counter and Mr Persistent is waving a ten rupee note at him. D is asked for our destination then given a printed slip listing a charge of Rs 130 plus Rs 5 PP Charge. The chap in khaki tells us to pay the driver 135 when we get to our destination. Mr Persistent hands over the ten spot. Times must be hard if cabbies are bribing coppers to hand out prepaid gigs.
The auto ride is exceptional value as once we clear the horrendous gridlock in the city centre we drive several kilometres out to the east, crossing the river, and through what appears to be quite an affluent suburb. We pass right through it and into a landscape of new developments, some only part built with vacant lots and unfinished roads. There is a little difficulty finding the GenX Casaya but Google maps saves the day. Our driver gets a decent tip. D has booked a modern hotel with good reviews and facilities. He failed to spot that is beyond the back end of beyond. We are booked for three nights but as we check in one of the managers tells us that we will be moved to another hotel tomorrow night for one night as they are fully booked for a wedding party. Not acceptable. We want three nights in the same place, either here or in another similar standard hotel. Threy ask for thirty minutes and give us a room pro tem. We use the shower and the tea making facility and mutter oaths.
After 45 minutes D returns to reception to be told "Twenty minutes". At least they give us a wifi code. D promptly uses this to log in to Virgin Smartcall to make a free call to Booking.com in London. They say they will get onto it and call D back. Half an hour later D goes back to reception again to be told that a taxi is on its way to take us to another hotel. Booking.com ring to say that they cannot get through on the phone but have sent an email. By the time D has got back to the room all is sorted and we are now staying here. From our room we can see preparations for a wedding in the garden of the hotel opposite.
Once we have calmed down we go out to explore. We are not quite as far from civilisation as it first appeared and there are plenty of share autos running into the suburb of Gomti Nagar. We walk it today checking out the facilities. Our hotel has no bar but D has discovered that asking Google Maps to look for wine shops identifies every off licence in the city. We buy a few odds and ends, R looks at clothes, pick up a couple of cold ones at the offie and ride a share auto home. We decide to have a real Indian meal tonight and order room service. As we are finishing we hear fireworks very close. They are part of the wedding celebration and are right in front of our window. It has started to pour with rain so all of the guests have gone indoors and we are probably the only ones watching the display. That will teach them to try and bump us.
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