The Darjeeling Express
Doggie with Bun
I was asked to attend the Provincial Director's Mental Health meeting in Kandy town on Monday, February 7th. So, on Sunday, we decided to jaunt down the mountain to Kandy by train. First class was sold out, so we purchased 2nd class. The first and second class restroom on the train platform was a squatter toilet, filthy walls and, no toilet paper. Bill reported the men's urinal bowl as broken, so careful aim kept his shoes dry. We had difficulty discerning if hand washing was more likely to be hazardous to our health than keeping your hands off the taps and doors and getting out of the stall, quickly. We should have called back our trishaw driver to reroute us to the bus station right then and there.
Instead, we smugly waited on Platform One for the train to arrive. Seats were sold on a first come, first serve basis, so we cleverly arrived early, by trishaw, to ensure a good seat. The platform was not crowded, but all the same, we were glad we arrived early as I planned to study Sinhala on the train and was excited to see the scenery through the mountains. As we waited, a dog trotted by with a very large Kaiser bun clenched between his teeth. Then he trotted by again. I didn't know dogs ate bread.
We endured the bathroom twice, just in case toilets were non-existent on the train or in worse shape than the toilets at the train station. Finally a red and brown train arrived. Only then did we realize that the train to which we were entrusting our life was constructed in the colonial era with no refurbishing in the past 200 years. As we climbed aboard, we prayed that at least the engine and braking mechanisms had received attention since the Victorian era.
Bill and I stood on the shiny metal platforms between the cars, peering inside the car to locate our seat. However, first come first serve did not mean first come in Nuwara Eliya! This relic of a train had been scooping up passengers all along the route from God knows where and by the time it rattled into Nuwara Eliya, there was a butt on every available seat. In fact, there was no available standing room. No available cargo space. Initially we stood in the doorway of the train car, but as ever more passengers crowded on board along the route, we gradually were pressed deeper and deeper into the crowded car. Our prayers escalated to fervent in great hope that the train was designed and maintained to accommodate severe overcrowding.
Large windows on either side of the train were thrown wide open. People hung out of the open car doorways and carried on conversation, from the outside of the train, through the window to passengers, inside the train. Kids dangled their arms out the windows pulling them inside in the nick of time as the train careened near a tree or a cliff. At one point, Bill was standing on the connector between the cars and felt seasick as the train whipped around mountain tops, through tea plantations, past long waterfalls, across wide trestles that straddled deep canyons and through tiny, poor Tamil villages. It was spectacular.
A seated family of five took pity on us and offered their seats, on a temporary basis. They helped us stow our huge knap sacks that made vendors selling WaeDiiy (snacks) push against us in order to get by us and garner a sale. The alternate sitting and standing provided relief for us all. A musician blew a harmonica while his pal drummed. Three men sang along. They entertained quietly for the entire four hour trip. We wouldn't have missed this trip for the world.
Next time I am called to Kandy or Colombo, we will definitely ... take the bus.
Broken urinal
I was asked to attend the Provincial Director's Mental Health meeting in Kandy town on Monday, February 7th. So, on Sunday, we decided to jaunt down the mountain to Kandy by train. First class was sold out, so we purchased 2nd class. The first and second class restroom on the train platform was a squatter toilet, filthy walls and, no toilet paper. Bill reported the men's urinal bowl as broken, so careful aim kept his shoes dry. We had difficulty discerning if hand washing was more likely to be hazardous to our health than keeping your hands off the taps and doors and getting out of the stall, quickly. We should have called back our trishaw driver to reroute us to the bus station right then and there.
Instead, we smugly waited on Platform One for the train to arrive. Seats were sold on a first come, first serve basis, so we cleverly arrived early, by trishaw, to ensure a good seat. The platform was not crowded, but all the same, we were glad we arrived early as I planned to study Sinhala on the train and was excited to see the scenery through the mountains. As we waited, a dog trotted by with a very large Kaiser bun clenched between his teeth. Then he trotted by again. I didn't know dogs ate bread.
We endured the bathroom twice, just in case toilets were non-existent on the train or in worse shape than the toilets at the train station. Finally a red and brown train arrived. Only then did we realize that the train to which we were entrusting our life was constructed in the colonial era with no refurbishing in the past 200 years. As we climbed aboard, we prayed that at least the engine and braking mechanisms had received attention since the Victorian era.
Bill and I stood on the shiny metal platforms between the cars, peering inside the car to locate our seat. However, first come first serve did not mean first come in Nuwara Eliya! This relic of a train had been scooping up passengers all along the route from God knows where and by the time it rattled into Nuwara Eliya, there was a butt on every available seat. In fact, there was no available standing room. No available cargo space. Initially we stood in the doorway of the train car, but as ever more passengers crowded on board along the route, we gradually were pressed deeper and deeper into the crowded car. Our prayers escalated to fervent in great hope that the train was designed and maintained to accommodate severe overcrowding.
Large windows on either side of the train were thrown wide open. People hung out of the open car doorways and carried on conversation, from the outside of the train, through the window to passengers, inside the train. Kids dangled their arms out the windows pulling them inside in the nick of time as the train careened near a tree or a cliff. At one point, Bill was standing on the connector between the cars and felt seasick as the train whipped around mountain tops, through tea plantations, past long waterfalls, across wide trestles that straddled deep canyons and through tiny, poor Tamil villages. It was spectacular.
A seated family of five took pity on us and offered their seats, on a temporary basis. They helped us stow our huge knap sacks that made vendors selling WaeDiiy (snacks) push against us in order to get by us and garner a sale. The alternate sitting and standing provided relief for us all. A musician blew a harmonica while his pal drummed. Three men sang along. They entertained quietly for the entire four hour trip. We wouldn't have missed this trip for the world.
Next time I am called to Kandy or Colombo, we will definitely ... take the bus.
Broken urinal
LORD Tundran Jesus!!! Di
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