Roaring breakers

The bus trip to Trivandrum was a piece of cake. When I arrived in Trivandrum, it was two o'clock in the afternoon and the distance between bus stop No. 1 (arrival) and No. 2 (departure) was a bit of a disppointment. So, before I knew it I was sweating like mad and cursing my rucksack (What can I leave behind next time, so that it will be - or seem - a bit less heavy?).

When I got to the bus stop, I saw a girl sitting there. She turned out to be a Jewish girl from Israel and we started chatting. This turned out to be the best way to tackle my tiredness, for in Kovalum (which is 15 kilometres from Trivandrum) I again had to walk for about half an hour with my rucksack and I just couldn't do it anymore. But I had to go on for a bit. I just followed her like a zombie and soon started to feel better. (In case you hadn't noticed yet: coincidences do not exist in India. For one reason or another, help is always just around the corner). I found a fantastic little hotel for a bargain price (yep, business men will be business men, won't they?) with a good shower and a restaurant where I, having patched up myself, ordered a delicious pizza (Oh, the times when you can use the advantages of tourism!).

And then for the first time I had a good look at the place where I'd landed. A little paradise!!! In front of me I could see roaring breakers (You must know them from the Macleans commercials in the seventies!), waving palm trees and a cute little beach. This was situated in a small bay with a lighthouse at the far end. I couldn't imagine a better place to stay and immediately felt at home. I will stay here for some time!!!

The sunset was the most beautiful one I had watched in India until now. A burning orange ball which slowly sunk back under the horizon. I made up my mind on the spot: when I am back in The Netherlands, I will find a place to live close to the sea.

Land's End

When three waters meet at less than a hundred kilometres distance of each other, I have to go and see this! For that is something different from "the place where the Maas and Waal rivers meet" in my own country (and this line can be found on a well-known biscuit tin that has stood on numerous Dutch kitchen-tables). We are talking here about the little place of Kanyakumari, also known as Cape Comorin. The Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea all come together here. The coach trip took three-and-a-half hours. Because I once again was the only foreign tourist, I was allowed to sit at the front next to the driver, on a real chair! I can assure you that this is a little 'classier' than a bench. Feet on the dashboard and go!

We arrived early in the afternoon, in time for a celebration in the village. If you haven't lost your earsight after three weeks in India due to the sounding of horns, the shouting and all the other noises that can be heard, you can bes ure to become deaf during a party. Whether your ear-drums can take it or not, the volume is turned up to an unbearable high. It is a pity that they should have these Japanese sound systems when they don't realize that the highest numbers are only there for show. So, with your fingers in your ears you walk around and watch the 'real' Indians at last.

Colourfully dressed in their most beautiful saris and dhotis, they watch a procession of elephants, the local brass band (yet more noise) and, of course, an image of a god who will bring them immense happiness and therefore is being decorated with garlands of flowers and fruit. It is an impressive sight. (So, sometimes you'll have to take your fingers out of your ears in order to take a couple of pictures.) I also visited the Gandhi Memorial. It is a simple monument on this (holy) site from which he calls on people to live together in peace.

Full of new impressions and new stories to write I got on the coach again. Three days to think things over and to get some new energy - what a luxury.

Can you cope with the loneliness?

asked the Swiss girl who had travelled a lot on her own and approached me on the beach for a chat. 'Yes,' I said firmly. At the same time my thoughts dwelt to the past few days. On the 24th of October, the day of my arrival in this country, I was exactly 32 and 1/3 years old and An & Inno (my sister and brother-in-law) had been married for three-and-a-half years. It was also the evening on which I treated myself to a feisty fish dinner (If there is any excuse to celebrate, just do it!) and the evening on which I realised for the first time how alone I really was. At such moments you would just want to build a sort of time machine like H.G. Wells's, to bring back the people you miss. It would be so good if they could enjoy this little paradise with you and to be able to talk with them…

Then I thought about the film 'Cast Away', which was being shown in this restaurant. I had already seen it in The Netherlands, but here I watched the ending again. It is about a man (Tom Hanks) who is inside a plane which crashes in a storm. He is the only survivor. He is washed ashore on a desert island and learns how to survive. The photograph he has of his wife gives him the courage to continue every day. After a year or two he manages to leave the island on a raft and is saved. Everyone had expected him to be dead and his wife has remarried and has a child. So, it is not a nice situation he has found himself in. His ex-wife is upset and wants him back. But Tom decides to go his own way and the film has an open ending. It's so different for me to see this film again now, a year later. Did I expect nothing to change in The Netherlands while I'm away? A lot of changes have taken place already! But the main question is: What changes will affect me personally? And then I realise that my view on this changes all the time, too.

'Well,' I then say to Patricia, to bring some little nuances to my brave 'Yes!', 'Of course I have my moments when I feel lonely, but I do 'happen' to meet people all the time with whom I can talk and that always cheers me up.' She nods. We are fellow travellers, we understand each other without words.

And so, this Monday evening, I am happily typing on a PC again. I feel totally revitalised because of the hot sand, the powerful waves and the sun on my skin. I am fairly tanned now, apart from my wrinkles; they stay white as a sheet (Gosh, I never realised that I have laughed so much during the past few years…). Tomorrow I will board the train in Trivandrum to travel to Agra. That will take some 50 hours. I will ask someone to take a picture of me afterwards (I'm only joking, of course). So, I will log out in a minute.

A P.S. for all my cousins: Did you really think I did not know who you were? Of course I did! All my big cousins, who I have always looked up to, because they were older than me; had barbie dolls and beautiful clothes [Astrid, do you recognise your dress on the Jackie Turbo photograph?]; knew the latest ball games (and if you were lucky, you could join in); these cousins are going to introduce themselves!?! You do not know half what a 'family woman' I am. I bet I know most dates of birth, home towns, family stories and greatgrandchildren - and that's a challenge! What I really wanted to say is, I find it wonderful that you all (whether you were forced by your parents or not) took a look at this website and left a message in my guest book. Thank you very much!

A train started its journey…

Finally this was the day: the train journey from Trivandrum to Agra. A small 2,800 kilometres in 52 hours. Do you experience anything during such a trip? Oh, well…

At two o'clock in the afternoon I boarded the train. Luckily, it was still quiet, so I could find a place for my luggage. Once the Indians get on the train, you should hide! A complete migration of the nation takes place. It's incredible what these people carry with them… I don't know. One thing for sure: it is way too much!

[Just a little description of this train: 20 compartments, in which there are nine 'blocks' of seats. The gangway is on the right, as in Belgian trains. But of course, these trains are not as comfortable. Everything is open and in the gangway they had also placed two bed banks in full length. There were three beds on both sides of the compartment. The one in the middle was folded during the day and served as back of a seat. To cut a long story short, eight people share such a compartment.]

On the station an Indian bloke of about 25 years had introduced himself to me in a very pushy manner and it was immediately clear that he should become my 'guardian angel' during this trip. (For, during every journey I have made, I end up being accompanied by someone who feels responsible for me in some way. That comes in handy sometimes, as they will do anything for you.) There were also a man and a boy. The train departed and the party could begin! They all took off their shoes (quality plastic!) and socks. I was amazed to see pairs of brand new slippers come out of every bag (The whole world is wearing these; I am missing mine…). Of course, when you are going to go on a train journey for two days, you buy a new pair of slippers. I should have thought of that.

The next station - bingo! A 'business man' got on the train. Of course, he was carrying a Samsonite suitcase (without one you do not count in this country and they all have got one that chafe your shins) and a carton box. This box was exactly one centimetre too high to be placed under the seat, but it had to be pushed under it by all means. I felt tired already when I realized that the suitcase would also have to go under the seat eventually. Then, the unthinkable happened: he was about to move my rucksack!!! Well, I was not going to let him. I was quicker than the light in putting it back where it had been placed before. Just don't try and kid me!

Fortunately, he immediately understood me and did not try again (which does not happen often, but sometimes you're lucky). After half an hour it was all done, the luggage had been stored. Everyone could sit down and it was quiet again in our compartment. But not for long. You see, we have a trolley with refreshments on this train. So, the 'waiters' came round with (guess what?) chai-chai-chai-chai (the monotonous shouting is still ringing in my ears), coffee-coffee-etc., cold drinks-cold drinks-etc. When you finish your drink or food, you are supposed to throw the litter out of the window! Breakfast, lunch, dinner; it's all there and it does taste good. I did initially refuse to throw the litter out of the window, but was laughed at and people threw it away for me (after that, I joined in… because I didn't fancy sleeping in between the thali, which is rice with all sorts of sauces, chilis etc.).

And yes, you can expect it to come up. They even haven't finished their burping, spitting and gurgling before they start asking you everything: if you are married, and why not; if you live on your own, and why. Why my boyfriend is not travelling with me and how much I earn. I lie a lot during these travels. My 'train friend' (to give a different title to my guardian angel) was genuinely interested. He was well educated and after some chit-chat he came to the point: Was I allowed to choose my own husband? I replied, 'Yes, I am.' He was very impressed. As Indian boys and men are at the most allowed to take a look at their brides-to-be (and they often are not), he found it very exciting to ask if it was true that we in The Netherlands are allowed to 'try our partners out' before the wedding. When I said yes to this question, too, he started laughing. After I had told him that there were also people who do not marry, but still live together, his eyes grew bigger. As I went on to say that those people often have children, too, he almost fell off his seat. 'Holland is freedom,' he said, full of admiration. 'Yes, it is,' I replied enthusiastically, 'It must sound like paradise to you!' He looked at me, stupefied. 'Paradise?' I am being stupid: he is a Hindu; what does he know about paradise!

The train goes on steadily. It is lovely to stand in a doorway during the day or at night and feel the wind going through your hair while you're looking outside. The door does have to be closed, but no-one minds if it is not. You do jump when you are crossing a bridge and suddenly only see miles of water below. The landscape is like a movie going by in front of you and I feel incredibly free at such moments. This is really to enjoy oneself!

During the stops at different stations, sales people of all sorts jump on the train and try to sell all sorts of things. Often they sell plain trash, but as long as it is glittering it is O.K. Of course, there are tens of people who sell bananas, peanuts, Indian snacks, tea, coffee and juice. Shoemakers, waifs who sweep the trains and children who are begging, crippled or suffering from lepra, they all push elbows to get on the train. I defend Bee One with my heart and soul, for that is object number one to attract attention. 'Monkey,' they say when they see it, and they try to snatch it from me before I realise what they are doing. No, it isn't a monkey, but I'm not going to tell them that.

I spend my time writing in my diary, read a little, sleep a little and talk a little with my fellow passengers. They start sleeping early and rise early, too, these Indians! They can be found quarrelling and shouting at half past five in the morning (probably because a certain someone tried to push in a bit more luggage) without anyone considering the fact you are still asleep. Oh well, it is all part of the experience. And that there are many old trains in India, but that this one is without doubt the oldest and blackest train in the country, is also something I try to accept. I'm sure there will be a shower again in the next hotel.

Meanwhile, the train swings from the southwest towards the east, in the direction of Madras. Just before it arrives in this city, the route continues upwards, towards Vijayawada on the east coast and towards Bhopal (Do I know what happened there once…) in the middle. And then, before I know it, we are approaching Agra. That is my final destination. Pitch black and smelling awfully, I start packing my rucksack. After having spent 52 hours with my travel companions in this compartment, hands are being shaken and they all wish me good luck. They are curious to see my boyfriend, who is to collect me from the station. I have to disappoint them here: he is waiting for me at the hotel instead (Where on earth did I get these lies from?). When I turn around for the last time on the platform, I see four waving hands stick out of the tiny window. What a wonderful country, what a wonderful people!