Travel Journal Entry-1/6/2008

We met a kid from Israel this morning on the streets of Cabal. He had just arrived in Mumbai the night before. His face was tense and he asked us if we knew somewhere safe to eat, and then followed us down the street to an American style coffee shop. He was 19 years old, traveling alone, and seemed terrified of being in India. Shanon and I thought of the Israelis we encountered in South America, all moving around together in tight networks and finding guest houses that catered specifically to their nationality. But here in Mumbai, this young, solo wanderer hadn't located any 'friendly' faces, was certainly on edge and afraid to eat the food, and admitted that he was ready to leave after 14 hours. 

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Leaving our new friend behind, we caught a taxi and headed an hour north of Mumbai to the train terminal. From the back seat of the car we experienced our first glimpse of the dismal conditions in which people live, in this, the country's most thriving and wealthy metropolis. The small shanty's and lean to's sat directly on the sidewalks so that people's door-steps consisted of the curb and the street. Some were corrugated tin constructions, others were merely old tarps suspended from the concrete wall that backed the roadside neighborhood. People bathed, ate, and did their laundry right there on the asphalt, as small children with no clothes wandered just a few feet from the rushing traffic. We passed thousands of people living like this over the course of just a few miles. Poverty like we've never seen, and the biggest culture shock of the trip so far. 

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We were definitely a spectacle at the train station, and the only caucasian people in sight as far as we could tell. People passing us stared hard. Blatently. Some directly at Shanon, some directly at me, occasionally at both of us. Some would see us and then say something to the others standing close to them, after which a whole group would be staring at us. Sometimes they would point and laugh as they stared; of course we assumed they were laughing at us. Unsure how to react, and growing wary of the eyes on us, I tried my luck at staring back, but it was like trying to stare down a statue. It was a strange feeling, to say the least, and we tend to get it everywhere we've been so far in India. We are strangers in a strange place.

 

As we waited for the train people flooded past us, and the rats scurried along the filthy tracks. It smelled of urine and human shit, and there is no doubt that we aren't used to getting around in this country yet. We feared the worst as we waited for the train. Miraculously, after about an hour of waiting, our train arrived and we climbed on-board.--safe at last from the gawkers and packs of teenage boys who move around together like packs of wolves. Safe at last from that station. Now on the train, an older couple next to us seem to be complaining to each other about our bags taking up so much space under the blue, vinyl bench, and upset with the fact that we were in the wrong seats when they boarded. We crammed our bags back as far as they would go and offered to move to our respective spots in the tiny berth, and that seemed to satisfy them. We think. Our first encounter with the Indian Railway.