Not always fun and games

Today was one of those days that drive men mad and women to tears.

We left our beautiful room this morning in Fort Kochi to head to the mainland and train station to try to find out if our tickets on the night train to Goa were going to be valid. We had been waitlisted when we bought the tickets a few days ago and were told to check back the night before or the morning of departure to see if we had a confirmed berth.

After walking out into the steamiest air yet(our Florida friends can relate to a July morning)we autorikshawed to the jetty, ferried over to the mainland and autorikshawed to the train station. Upon arrival at the station I stood in line for fifteen minutes to be told that the Area Supervisor at the other train station could confirm my status. We jumped into another rikshaw and zoomed through the steamy heat bathed by bus diesel exhaust and the constant beeping of horns. Joustling and bouncing our way in the suspension-less rikshaw we arrived at the other train station. After a few miscues, bad directions and misunderstandings, I found the Area Supervisor's office. I walked in and queried about my ticket. He insisted that there were no quotas for me. I patiently tried to explain that I was not there about quotas but was only trying to determine the status of my ticket. He continued to insist there were no quotas so I gave up and left.

I then went to the reservations office to wait in line for another fifteen minutes to see if I could get an AC seat or berth anywhere in the direction we needed to go. I finally found someone helpful who told me that Mardi Gras was going on in Goa so everything in that direction was booked solid. I went out into the street to find a travel agent to see if we could book an air conditioned deluxe bus at least to Mangalore which was just over half way. Our guidebook, Lonely Planet (which has been very unreliable) stated that there were plenty of these buses. Of course the travel agent informed me that these buses had all gone out of business in the past several years. I suspect it was because of the notoriously pot holed roads in the state of Karnataka just to the north of us that was blocking our way to Goa. I also suppose this is another reason why the trains were booked solid.

The travel agent kindly informed me that the state bus service ran AC buses up there. So I went back into the train station, grabbed Deb, who had been patiently sitting with our bags in the heat, humidity, and blare of the train station. We dashed outside, hailed another rikshaw and clattered, choked, bounced, and sweated our way to the bus stand. Upon arrival at the bus stand we dodged squealing, exhaust spewing buses to find our way into the terminal. After several misdirections, miscues and misunderstandings, we found the ticket window. Sure enough, the government had AC buses going everywhere but Mangalore. Needless to say we were now getting frustrated and, quite frankly, just a little bit panicky because we had to be in Goa by the 17th to catch our plane to Kolkata for the Indian wedding to which we were invited. Also, did I mention it was hot?

So, back into another, you guessed it, rikshaw for the ride back to the train station. I went back to the window of the helpful guy in reservations and asked for the soonest possible seat, berth or floorspace to Goa. He said he thought we could get on the train on the 15th. He would have to waitlist us but we would be number 17 and 18 on the waitlist. I reminded him that I already had a ticked for tonight and was waitlist numbers 16 and 17. He replied,"Oh, you should have no problem getting on this train. It goes to Delhi and many people cancel at the last minute." While muttering obscenities under my breath, and wondering why he had not told us this in the first place, TWO HOURS AGO, I thanked him politely. He also told us the final chart would be done by 5PM and we would know for sure if we were on the train. Again I thanked him and walked away shaking my head.

After some much needed lunch and a strong local beer to calm our nerves and dull our senses, we found an internet cafe and did some catching up. About half an hour ago, I checked our waitlist status (I just typoed "witless")to find we had indeed been given confirmed berths (I also just typoed "births"; I do feel reborn). Anyway, we have another five hours until our train departs so I will sign off and wander off muttering into the Indian night.