There are really only two ways to travel in India: luxury class, or sense-of-adventure class.
*For the record, I actually prefer the latter as I enjoy seeing the people, being among the people, and talking to the people whose country I am visiting. So I want to preface the rest of this blog by noting that I am not complaining one bit about having taken the train and walked a half-marathon to get there. It was a really fun day.
Led by a budget-conscious Dutch yoga teacher (Pascal) who wanted us all to have a real Indian adventure, we set out today for a trip to the Karla Caves about 90 minutes outside Pune by train.
I was under the impression that we’d hired a car and this trip would be easy. I had forgotten something of critical importance: India, while wonderful, is seldom easy. We spent most of the day walking, waiting and/or negotiating with people from all walks of life.
TOP 6 EXCUSES A RICKSHAW DRIVER MIGHT GIVE FOR DENYING YOU A RIDE:
6. I don’t have enough fuel (when in fact he has plenty of fuel)
5. I don’t speak English (words which are delivered in easily understood English)
4. I’ve never heard of the central train station (seriously? how long have you been driving a rickshaw?)
3. That’s too far.
2. That’s too close!
and my absolute personal favorite…
1. I’m wearing the wrong color shirt! (Evidently they can be punished for this. I don’t see how that’s possible.)
The driver with the wrong color shirt took pity on us, however, and even more impressive, he talked the guy with not enough petrol into magically having plenty of petrol to shuttle the second half of our party to the central train station neither of them had heard of, which was simultaneously too close and too far away and, okay, to be fair, one of the women in our party speaks the local language fluently, so it’s possible he did not speak English. Whether or not he was later caned for wearing brown, I’ll never know.
We took a local train instead of the express, and I don’t know why, but since we didn’t know which track it was on, I was happy for the extra half hour we were granted to search for it. I have some recordings of the woman announcing the trains, tracks, and arrival times over a distorted loudspeaker. I felt I was at a crossroads. Either I could try to understand the words, or I could attempt to determine their meaning, but both would not be possible. Nevertheless we eventually did make it onto our train, and had a pleasant ride all the way to our destination.
Trains in India are very divided. There are women-only cars, for unmarried women; Men-only cars for smelly, stinky, unsavory characters (which are abundant, by the way); and family cars for the rest of us. Having decided for ourselves that we smelled good enough for the family car, Pascal and I stood until enough seats opened up for us to be able to sit comfortably, across from a charming Indian family who entertained us, loved our stories about Obama and thought I was hilarious. Naturally, I liked them a lot.
I learned some interesting things from talking to the father of this family:
- Hindi is not the local language in this province. Marathi is.
- All sciences in India are taught in English.
- He takes his family someplace different every weekend so that his children (both boys, age 9 and 5) can see what their expansive homeland has to offer.
I’m not sure where I expected the caves we were going to see might be, but I definitely didn’t fully grok that they were in the mountains that I hadn’t noticed, whose foothills were an easy five miles from the railroad tracks. So when presented with the options of Rickshaw or walking, the adventurer in me perkily sprouted, “Let’s walk!”
We passed a couple of Sadhus (Indian spiritual men) who waved off my camera (darn! I would really like for you to have seen them), and then the Vedanta Institute, which was a really nice looking compound. Had I been alone, I’d have been very tempted to go in and perhaps document some of what I saw on video. But I digress. We stopped off to eat in a restaurant that was barely open, but actually really delicious. Let’s face it. Kitchens in all restaurants are scary, but Indian kitchens are even scarier still. Nevertheless, the food that comes out of them is nothing short of sensational and we were fortunate to have a very good meal. It took over an hour, and they were unable to serve most of what was on their already limited menu, but the meal they prepared for us was terrific, it was delivered with a smile, and if I knew how to find it again I would most certainly recommend it to a friend. It’s amazing how much more I’m enjoying the Indian food in India than I do back home. Even more surprising, my stomach is enjoying it better as well!
Once we resumed our trek to the mountain, I got separated from the pack by a Kirtan group who wanted me to photograph and videotape them and send the final products to their Facebook pages. (Look for this footage to be available soon.) I was then taken amicably hostage by a group of four young mechanical engineers who were resourceful enough to suggest I phone my friends using one of their mobile phones. They walked with me and talked with me for several miles and eventually ended up in the caves as well. To the left is a picture of them.
The caves were apparently not that spectacular as caves go, but I’m not really a huge cave person. I thought they are pretty impressive and I love to see how life was lived before I got here. Evidently there are some much more elaborate caves that involve a bit more effort to go see, but I’m opting for an Ayurvedic spa weekend instead, starting Saturday morning. As much as I’m in enjoying the hustle and bustle of Pune, I look forward to some fresh air, some quiet time, and reading my book about Steve Jobs.
The train ride home was a breeze, but we were once again greeted with rickshaws who refused to take us to our destination, so we hoofed it for a final 30 minutes back to our apartment. It was a fitting end to a fleeting day. I look forward to what tomorrow may bring.