March 16, 2008 – Kolkata, India

We missed our train connection from Kolkata to Bodhgaya. We were at the train station 45 minutes prior to departure, but due to completely misleading signs and unknowledgeable officials we were sent to wait at the wrong platform and by the time it had all been sorted out, the train was gone. Two hours of being sent back and forth, complete with vigorous argument on my part later, we were still only able to get half the money back and buy 2nd class seating on the final train of the evening. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.
The 2nd class women’s only car began as the women’s only car, but a couple of stops in it was a free-for-all. No one spoke English, no one came to check the tickets, and the door that should’ve led to the next compartment was welded shut – 2nd class is not welcome to move around the train. I suppose we should’ve been grateful for the fact that it was a sleeper, not just seats, but the wooden slats which were to make up the sleeper portion were often missing, meaning as the night wore on (we were traveling from 11:30 pm until 6:30 am) various articles, not to mention limbs, kept falling from above to below. The windows had no glass, meaning it got progressively colder (we actually had to dig out our fleeces as the night wore on) and also permitted for what appears to be an amusing sport for some passers by – attempt to throw rocks through the windows of the moving train.
Upon finally arriving in Bodhgaya, we were treated to our first impression of what northern India touts can be like. Very, very difficult. The guys here can be extremely difficult to deal with. There has been consistent, persistent harassment on all fronts. Immediately upon emerging from the train, Rickshaw drivers, Taxi drivers, food sellers, everyone crowds around wanting your attention. No is not enough and they will follow you for blocks if they think they have the remotest chance.
In Bodhgaya, on the streets, there was a constant refrain of ‘Hello, Madam. Where are you from, Madam? Come into my shop Madam. Let me take you to this temple, Madam. Beautiful postcards Madam. Only 10 Rupees Madam. To look is free, just come into my shop Madam.’ On and on and on, which you just try to tune out after a while but doesn’t really have much effect.
In the train station outside of Varanasi we were surrounded by a crowd of Rickshaw drivers, at least 15 to 20 guys, who moved like a pack with us until we forced our way through to the cheaper shared jeeps, all the while insisting that we continue arguing with them about how ‘no, we do not want a rickshaw’, ‘no, we do not want to pay just 80 Rupees, just 40 Rupees, just 20 Rupees’ (this last only when we were actually on the jeep with out stuff loaded – they literally will not give up until all hope is gone). Then after all of that, the jeep driver having loaded us in for Rs 20 each (as explained we would be by the Lonely Planet), when we arrived at the main Varanasi junction the jeep driver tried to claim we now owed him 30 Rs each. It wasn’t even about the money at that point, it’s just the plain irritation of constantly feeling like they’re trying to screw you. We went up to a traffic cop and he waved us along, leaving the jeep driver and surrounding bevy of men who’d come for the show to keep arguing.