We are now traveling across the country, almost 2000 kilometres, to the resort area of Goa. We spend three nights on the train – cost is about $100 CDN for the both of us. We would have liked a first class ticket, but they were sold out, so we’re traveling 3A – which is 6 people per sleeper.
Our first night on the train is a lot of fun. Our berth mates include 2 Dutch girls, a French girl and a Chinese man. We have a wonderful time that first night. The first thing we did was take out food we’d packed and share it. The conductor came by with the “rules”. The rules were written on a piece of paper in several languages and we all had to sign them to prove we’d read them. The first “rule” was never to take food from another passenger.
We found this hilarious and didn’t cooperate with the conductor fast enough. He got quite angry and intimidating. We may have been the only white people on this train. We had a great evening and I slept like a baby on the top of three berths. We arrived in Agra, home of the Taj Mahal in the morning.
We spent the day in Agra, hiring a taxi to hold our backpacks and give us a tour of the Taj Mahal. This worked great but was relatively expensive. I say relative because we call this our hundred-dollar day. For that we got both a taxi driver and a professional guide for the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort, plus a fancy lunch. 
Our guide was very knowledgeable, and was even a bit of a photographer. We have some great photos of us here. I was still famous, this time with a group of women that insisted on having their photo taken with me. The guide confirmed that it was because I am a white, western woman.
While we were waiting on the platform for our next train, a little boy took a liking to the little compass Ray wears on his belt-loop. Ray took it off and was showing him how to use it. Just then the train came, and Ray gave it to him. The boy, his father and a small crowd were all just thrilled with this simple gift.
We were boarding the train for 2 more days and nights now, and an entire family had squatted in our seats. They even made up the berth and have a boy pretending to sleep. The train pulls out of the station with us standing there arguing – with no one who speaks English. It takes a while to work things out, but we end up in a private berth for two for the entire trip. We both believe this is instant karma, a gift returned from the little boy on the platform.
For two days we watch the countryside of India go by the window. We were told there would be no food on the train, but the opposite is true. We are almost harassed by vendors selling chai tea, snacks and fried food. Whenever the train stopped at a station people would jump on and start selling. The chai tea man was always available. No one on the train spoke English so we never knew how long any stop would be. I never got off the train, but Ray did once and I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
There were two bathrooms on the train – one western and one a squat toilet. Both were just a hole on to the track, and you really don’t want to use that western toilet seat. I was reading an English language newspaper, and there was an article about a multi-million dollar lawsuit that had just been settled. The money was going to be paid out to a caste of people whose job it is to clean human waste with their bare hands. These people contract all manner of illnesses from this and have won this major award. The problem is that they are all still doing this. The main employer is the Indian Railway.
