Rajasthan by Rail

India has been on my ‘travel list’ for some time, but I’d had concerns about going solo.  A throw away comment from a friend saying her husband was going to be in India, Rajasthan in particular, was the catalyst I needed to get my brain in gear and go.  It’s a big place but at least someone I knew would be on the same continent.

Train travel?  Well I’d seen all those crazy films with goats, chickens and people hanging from windows and heaped on roofs. My climate guilt at taking a flight, as opposed to a slow container ship, made trains give a slight balance, if only in my conscience.  Add to this a read of ‘Around India in 80 Trains’ and the plan started to grow. 

I landed in Delhi. A reputation of crime and pollution preceding it. Easing myself in to chaos I went on a couple of guided walks run by NGOs. Reality Tours and the Salaam Baalack Trust, helping slum children and street kids respectively, each led by the programmes’ alumni. Walking round tiny alleyways, removed from the chaos and constant traffic cacophony and I was landed in my idea of photographic heaven.

Technology has transformed travel, and the rails of India have not escaped. Guided by The Man in Seat 61 I felt quite smug that I’d navigated my way around the booking system from the comfort of home. I figured out that my iPhone was swallowing the pin code sent by text, that my old Nokia was far more compliant. I even managed to pay with a UK credit card. Best of all I downloaded an App to tell me if the train was running on time.

From Delhi train one was to go to Agra. Dragging my still jetlagged self out of bed at 5am I arrived at the 16 platform New Delhi station to hear ‘But this train was cancelled five days ago’ from a helpful official in a glass box. ‘Didn’t you know?’ A salutary lesson learned. Technology needs to be looked at. Directed to a travel agent, we proceeded in vain to try to buy another ticket to Agra. It was Sunday the rest of Delhi was heading to Agra. Still in the throes of naivety I believed the smiling, helpful agent when he told me there was absolutely no space on any train that day. Agra was only going to be accessible by car. For this privilege we were heartily ‘taken for a ride’.  We got smarter.

We arrived in Agra well before the world was properly woken and proceeded to ‘do’ the Red Fort and Taj, for which you only need a day. Having two, we caught a bus to Fathpur Skiri and the mosque of Jama Masjid. A trip worth doing for the journey alone. An hour’s bus ride for the equivalent of 40p. This was a chickens and all ride. We settled in by the AC window system to watch the chaotic world of India passing by. Within 15 minutes a passenger behind me had summoned the courage to practice his English. By the time we arrived at our destination the entire bus was involved in various strands of conversations and laughter, with appropriate, and I’m sure inappropriate, translations.

Bharatpur and Keoladeo National Park, was my next destination, only an hour and a half away. This time I checked by App the night before. All was fine. It was running on time. A tuktuk  duly booked for 6.30am. At 6am the train was showing an hour late. Never mind. I can cope with a bit of a wait and as no one in the guest house appeared to be awake it was just easier to go. One hour was one and a half by the time I got to the station. Three and a half hours was the final call on the tardy train. My knowledge of Agra station is very good. There is a ladies’ waiting room where I chatted to ladies in lovely saris who proceeded to change into yet more beautiful flowing fabrics. My travel attire was already looking somewhat jaded.

Eventually my long, long train arrived. Tickets have the train number, 14853, and name, Marudhar Express, carriage number and seat number. On most platforms there are appropriately spaced lights with the coach numbers on. So there you wait, if you understand the system. That I had not yet sussed, and so stood at the wrong end of the platform of a possibly, 20 coach train. Trying to sprint down the platform with my two backpacks was not the most athletic moment of my life.

My first Indian train, a 2^nd class Ac. In a compartment with a small Indian family. Mum, dad, daughter. All of whom spoke English. They were somewhat surprised at their new companion but were soon chatting, while being somewhat bemused at a single woman of a certain age travelling alone. Having missed breakfast I was ravenously hungry when the train refreshments box was slid into our compartment. All those warnings about food disappeared. It smelt delicious and 30p bought me a chapatis and chickpeas. I was fine.

Three hours late arriving in Bharatpur but two days of peace; wandering around Keoladeo with not a tuktuk in sight. Delightful and highly recommended.

Train three. 12904 ‘Golden Temple ML’, just to give you an idea of the complexity of it all, a bit of detail on this train. It starts in Amritsar and ends in Mumbai. Runs every day of the week and takes 31 hours and 55 minutes for the full journey of 1891kms with 35 stops. We were travelling from stop 17 to 22, Bharatpur Junction to Sawai Madhopur. A distance of 183kms which was due to take around 4 hours. Boarding time was 10.53am and with confirmation from the App, we headed for the station confident that the train was going to be on time. It was 20 mins late. But in the greater scheme of things that was not a lot. The carriage was 2 tier,  AC. So just four bunks, should it be a night time journey, and a closing door. 1^st class have a locking door. First and second class coaches are blue. The lower classes with no AC are a dusty yellowy brown. I was still in dread of having to use one. This was to be a blissfully uneventful journey, the most exciting things were the workings on the track before the train arrived. I have absolutely no idea what was actually taking place, but there were massive piles of rubble and stone between the tracks, not to mention the workers added to the usual melee of passengers crossing from platform to platform. By some miracle the work was temporarily suspended to allow the train in.

Sawai Madhopur is the dusty little town for the Ranthambore National Park. The place in India where you are most likely to see a tiger. We did not. I have seen a wild tiger in Nepal and if I’m only ever destined to see one wild Bengal tiger, then, well, so be it. A leopard did make a brief appearance. Just.

Udaipur the next destination. Joining the Mewar Express just before midnight was probably the best option for sleep.  The hotel we left had a wedding in progress, with little sign of the festivities slowing down. Carriage 1A was first class and I crawled under blankets and sheets fresh out of eco friendly paper wrapping. Laying down to the comforting clackety clack of wheels on tracks taking me into the next day. Each time I drifted into semi consciousness I couldn’t help a silent grin as I thought ‘I wanted to travel by train in India’ and here I am.

Chai appeared around 6.30am. Hot, milky, spicy, a suitable wake up call. Only one other person graced our locking compartment. An Anglo/Indian, who spent half his time in Watford, and half his time in India. Quite what his business was I don’t know, but he was clearly successful. Arriving in Udaipur before schedule we were sat on a roof top looking down on lake Pichola, in time for breakfast. Udaipur probably my favourite city I visited in Rajasthan. The Nukkad Guest house was quaint and ideally placed for yoga, cooking, just generally chilling out and watching the world go by.

But after a few days another destination, and another journey. Mt Abu is the only mountainous area in Rajasthan, and well, I like mountains.   Trains were going to be too complicated and complex. So we took a bus. Bumping along with opening windows and straight backed seats.  Packed with people, packages and boxes of numerous shapes, sizes and descriptions. Four hours through dry dusty countryside and the steep ascent to Abu National Park with a driver who clearly thought his death was not destined to be rolling down the hill side.

Since booking I had wondered at my choice as I’d heard reports of commercialisation and packed out hilltops accessible by car.  I wasn’t disappointed, yes, it is busy.  It is a Hindu, particularly Jain, area of pilgrimage with exquisitely beautiful temples. Mt Abu itself can be reached pretty much by car then a short walk to the selfie packed summit adorned with the usual plethora of plastic. Hiring a guide will get out from the tourist melee to take you trekking into this part of the Aravalli range of mountains.

Having been wrapped into family life, located down a dusty track and delicious dawns let alone food, it was hard to leave this beautiful part of Rajasthan. But another train beckoned, from Abu Road to Jodhpur. A mere four hours and 269km. Number 1632 KCVL SGNR Express and no hassle beyond the expected lively negotiations for a tuktuk.

From white city to blue city, another fort, more temples. A step well with its fascinating symmetrical design. This time staying a little outside the city walls, it was an interesting wander through the commercial heart, before the old fort which seems almost to float above.

From Jodhpur to Jaisalmer: 301km. 6hrs 40mins on the 1481 express, leave Jodhpur at 11.45pm. This meant another night time journey. There were no familiar blue coaches to book! My nightmare. I was going to have to spend the night in a 3rd AC! Feelings full of trepidation but, I survived. Three bunks stacked on each side. No reassuring door to the compartment. A fan whirred above in an attempt at AC. In actual fact I was cold, rather than hot. And the loos, well they were no worse than first class. Sometimes there are no first or second class available and you just have to bite the bullet. Fears unfounded.

Arriving in Jaisalmer in the dark, the tuktuk wound round a maze of streets to a dusty red hotel underneath the red walls. The cheap and cheerful Qtub Villa was perfectly located just on the outside of the old city. Ten minutes to wander in and explore the streets packed with things to buy and stuff to see, pictures to take. Surrounded by desert, close to Pakistan, the fort looks like a child’s sandcastle without the sea. Compact and easy to navigate the clutter of traders squeezed tightly into packed walls.

Enchanting as the city is, after a few days number 14660 The Runicha Express was booked to take me to Jaipur. My longest train journey. Ever. 613km taking twelve hours from 16.45 to 04.50. Despite having survived my dusty yellow 3AC, I was relieved that I’d managed to book a 1st AC. Lockable door, sheets, blanket and only three companions.

My train was a little delayed. There are several luxury trains travelling around India known as The Palace on Wheels, they are not to be put off their schedule. So I sadly realised the flowers strewn on the floor were not for me as I trudged over the track to a changed platform.

A delightful journey ensued. Mum, worked for Orange, dad worked for BT, yes BT, and eight year old son already fluent in English. I’d met so many people who were still stuck, poverty, in the still strong traditions of the caste system, but this lovely family were most definitely part of the new, modern India. My concern about waking up on time was put to rest, when my new friend explained his brother was getting on in Jaipur. So I was up and off, at my next hotel by 5.30am. and straight back into bed.

Jaipur is big, bustling and packed with tourists on their tour of the Golden Triangle. Pink walls surround the old city with its palace and havelis. Lurking around the periphery is the Amber Fort and a scattering of smaller temples. Unfortunately I was citied out by the time I got there, so though a pleasant few days it was probably one city too many. It was as busy as Delhi and the palaces and temples were not as impressive as those I’d seen before. Perhaps I should have ‘done’ it first.

Number 14322 Barelilly Express was due to take me the 208km in six hours to Delhi. Jaipur is stop 21 of 43. Destination Delhi number 35. Thank goodness for tech. The evening before I was leaving I checked the App. 14322 was four hours late setting off. Scrolling down the stops they started to show ‘diverted’, and carried on, and on, past Jaipur. Well, I’d allowed a day in Delhi before my flight home as a contingency. So there was no worry. Just a sense of mañana. Reception told me there were regular busses to Delhi. ‘Much more reliable than trains’, hum. ‘Nice buses?’, ‘yes, air conditioned Volvos’. Sceptical, as the bus station was only a ten minute walk away I decided I go and investigate the Volvos with AC. Amongst the tatty, ancient automobiles there really were Volvos. Travelling each hour to Delhi and taking little more than six hours, similar to the train and costing around £8.50. Needless to say I booked. And the next day left for Delhi on schedule with a day in hand before my flight.

There was more to see on the road than the train journeys I’d taken. Trains crossed through rural India with fields of mustard and wheat, the road from Jaipur to Delhi seemed to travel through the industrial tract. Depressingly so. The usual heaped rubbish but in addition large pools of metallic grey water and plenty of belching chimneys.

Having become immune to the lack of infrastructure in smaller cities and towns, Delhi seemed almost clean on my return. It was certainly much greener. Trees and vegetation increasingly apparent as we moved into the city suburbs. My last two nights I spent in a guest house, Diya, supporting the Salaam Baalak Trust, a small way of giving to this excellent NGO.

Travelling by train, waiting on stations, you will meet many. There is still a curiosity at ‘foreigners’ and being a single of women of a certain age I was even more of an oddity. There are a vast number of classes on Indian trains, described by the Man in Seat 61. My anxiety meant I really only wanted to travel first class, not expensive, or at the very minimum second AC. But some trains simply do not have anything that comfortable so I had to vary my experience. My fears were unfounded. As long as you have a reserved seat, whatever class, there should be a seat of sorts. There are unreserved women’s coaches which can, I’ve been told, be a wonderful experience, but that will wait for next time.

As well as meeting up with my friend in Delhi, for a couple of days and travelling on my own, I also spent much of the time travelling with a friend met through Thelma & Louise a great website for travel inspiration.  Inspiration for my route came from Lonely Planet and other sources.  Places to stay from LP and that booking site.

This splurge of text has concentrated on the ‘journey’ photos and more blurb will be added to the links to destinations if you have the time and inclination to check in from time to time.