Second Class Train

5:00 am, we’re both up before the alarm goes off and pack up our things, we’re ready 15 minutes later and head downstairs to checkout. As we round the marble staircase a sheeted ody lies on the landing. We gingerly step over him to reach the lobby floor to encounter more sleeping bodies, the reception manager on a towel atop he couch and the young porter on the floor. We looked at eachother not quite sure whether to to wake them or simly leave money and the key at the desk. Fortunately the manager sirred and is quick to rouse the others. Minutes later a group from Spain would arrive and we wondered what would have transpried had we not waken them first.

With backpacks strapped on we clumsily climb on a bicycle rickshaw, laughing at the absurdity of what the image must have looked like. Two women with large paks atop a rickety bench that barely fits us while a skinny Indian man with slippers struggles down the rowad not yet packed with traffic.

The New Dehli Train Station is already full as we head to the platform and as if on cue a man asks us for our tickets as Emele wonders aloud if he works at the station. He informs us we need to head to a different office to verify our passports and indicates the WS on the ticket. He states matter of factly, “Waiting seat.” And points in the opposite direction. Now confused we question further, he keeps pointing in the other direction, than seeming exasperated he motions us to follow. We follow unsure, but on edge as we have no desire to miss our train, already ready to leave the hustle and bustle of New Dehli far behind.

We reach an office whose sign reads Goverment Tourism Travel Office, the same yellow color used at the airport. We get inside, where a portly man sits behind a desk and motions us to sit down. He punches a few things into his computer and informs us that one of the seats issued is a waiting seat and there is no space.  He punches a few more keys and says there may be another train in an hour, but shakes his head and says that’s full too. The only train left is 1:55 in the afternoon which means, the half day we had planned to spend in Agra is no longer possible. We try to decide what to do next. Emele is skeptical and makes her motion for a private pow wow. I, however am ready to listen to what the man says, but her intuition proves spot on. He takes our ticket claiming to give us a refund. We peruse the pages of Lonely Planet and it’s as if our morning encountering is written word for word in the warnings about the train station. We grab our bags and head back to the train station without our tickets, as he’d already kept us in his office long enough to make us miss our train. We head to the second class ticket window and purchase a ticket for 136 rupees, about $3.00. It would be the start of a very long day…