Four days in Gokaner A group of us who had met up in the preceding weeks in Agonda had talked about going down to Gokaner for a few days; a sort of reconnaissance mission. We finally decided to go, but for one reason or another, it was delayed for a week. During that time, the number had reached nine. There was me, Nathan from Belfast, Jenny and Nicki from Germany, Sannaa from Sweden, who spoke with great English, but with an equally great American accent, which could be confusing sometimes, Big Marcus, An Aussie like me, and a really great bloke to have around, Harry from Suffolk, I think, a really nice lad too. Then Chris, aka Bondie and the bigun, my pal Lachie. Lachlan from Glasgow, as was Bondie. So we met up at the appointed place, all early. Then disaster for me. Somehow, in the kilometre or so, I lost my smaller bag, with my money for the trip, R3000, which is not worth worrying about. However, the bag also contained my passport. Unbelievable. We returned to my hotel; looked every where we could think of. It had just disappeared. We were running out of time. The daily train was due soon. I felt that was the trip over for me, but the others wouldnt have a bar of it. They insisted that I come anyway, and sort the bloody passport problem when I got back. They dragged me off with them, we caught the train. 87 kilometres; R180 for the nine of us. About $A3.27 The party had began on the platform well before the train got there. Lachie and Chris and Marcus lit a spark, and after we boarded the train, it turned into quite a party. Beers in hand, smoking cigarettes, music pumping from a great little sound system. Other young Indian guys were dancing, as was all our crew. It was insane. Mobile phones were out, footage and photos taken from a dozen or more phones. Then a copper on the platform of a later station spotted us, just as the train was pulling out. Shortly after that, another policeman came, and deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, quietly told us to knock it on the head. We, of course complied. Well, until hed moved into another carriage, the party roared into life again as we hurtled down the track to Gokaner. After a while, we pulled up at Gokaner Road Station. Then another disaster! I suggested that this was our stop, and it was then that I realised that no one had checked the tickets to see which station was ours. As we hurriedly dug the tickets out, sure enough, this was the one. A couple of us got off as the train began to slowly roll forward, but we decided it was better to stick together, and got back on the train as it was picking up pace, but Lachie got left. So the 8 of us continued onto the next station. That was nearly a disaster too. I dont think the others had travelled by train in India before, because as we slowed as we reached the next station, I said lets get our bags and get up to the door. They didnt know what was coming, and stood talking and slowly getting their gear together as the train was nearly stopped. So Id got my bag, and as the door opened and the mob tried to surge in, I pushed the front guy off the train with a bit of muscle and the rough edge of my tongue. Then a railways guy ran over, and told them all to let people off the train. I was rather surprised by this, as its usually just you or them. The people getting simply wont get out of the way, and usually, no one runs over and gives any kind of authoritative aid. I reckon The others wouldve have ended up in Cochin before theyd figured it out. So there we were, still a long way, about 40 alms from Gokaner. We needed three auto rickshaws, tuk-tuks, to get us to Gokaner as a total cost of R2700. Ouch! The scots were unfazed by this turn of events. They just laughed it off, Lachie, a big man, about 63 in the old lingo, Chris was about my height, but there was about 5 times more of him than there was of me, and it wasnt fat. Lachie has this indomitable spirit,but we had to find him still. Chris, well you see a lot of wild boy in Chris, the laughing, smiling rogue that he is, though you wouldnt think so to look at him. You cant help but like him. The mans a bloody chick magnet, Im not exaggerating. Nathan, didnt get upset about it, and we headed off down, Marcus was cool, and we grabbed our gear and descended about 500 steps (no, Im exaggerating. I think there were only 499) to Om Beach. We found a place, pretty cheap, R200 a night. It had its drawbacks. Like the bathroom water was salt. The walls were paper thin, with sand floors., but the fans worked and the mossie nets worked, But what do you expect for just under $4 a night. Lachie finally caught up with us, so we partied on at our new digs that night. The next day, a few of us got other places, and over the course of the four days, only Harry and I stated on at our original place, Harry had a concrete floor, so he paid R100 more than me. The place didnt bother me, after all, it was only three nights to go, and I didnt want to impose. What is borrowed must be paid back, so wed meet up at various restaurants/bars. The Rasta was the favourite, and a few of the crew were staying in the rooms there. We came across a pretty decent pool table, and spent a few crazy afternoons there before going off to Rastas for a feed and the party just kept rolling on. Other people joined us. I met so many great people in 4 short days. When Rastas closed, wed stock up and go and sit round a fire on the beach until all hours. The last night, theSun beat me, and I got no sleep Thursday night, and it was time to pack upend get the hell out of there for me. The return train was at 10:30am, so I said my good-byes to the ones I could find and finally, after climbing the mount Everest steps off the beach I got the first auto-rickshaw off the rank. Id been told should be R350, so when he said R400, I quibbled, the petrol is getting too dear, he responded, which it is. Dearer than Australia. It was just after 10:00am, and the hotel guy said I should leave by 9:30am, so I agreed, and told him to drive fast, which really wasnt necessary. We made it with 10 minutes to spare. no queues, so ticket right away, and a chai. The 10:30am train arrived punctually at 11:20am, and as I was nearly dozing off, staying awake to avoid the mistake the day we arrived, we made it back to Conacona station, a short R200 auto-rickshaw ride to my waiting bed. Hoping to find the missing bag in my room, as the keys to the lock of the room turned up in my bag, my hopes where raised. I even asked Shiva to help me. Damn. Wrong bloody God. NO BAG!! A quick search, then a longer search, then an obsessive search revealed no bloody bag. I might be able to get a copy of the photocopy of my Indian visa Western Union took when I used them to send my money last week. Ill need that. The hotel was slack, and they didnt write my visa number down, then off to the cop shop. Who knows? Maybe theyll have it. Yeah, right. As if. I can see time wasted answering their stupid questions, like why didnt you report immediately? Why did you travel around without your passport? Dont you know that this is illegal? We may have to fine you. As I need the paperwork from the cops re the situation Ill just put up with it, then its off to good old bloody hot, no beaches here! Delhi. And the bloody Australian ($20 to witness my signature) High Commission, and set the wheels, the many wheels, in motion to become really here again. Well, no use crying over spilt milk, or milik, as the Indians call it. Whats done is done, time to get it sorted. Bloody new visa. Its going to cost about $300 I fear. Oh well, the cost of my last Indian visa. Ill get over it, well, what can you do? Im shanti shanti about it. The only thing that annoys me is it means Ill have to leave Agonda sooner than I wanted to. Oh well, Delhis not so bad if you know s few people there, and I do, so therell be some serious catching-up going on when I get there. Besides, Im running out of charas, so I need to go north, and my schedule wont be to delayed, just costly. Looking forward to Kashmir, Punjab, (I want to see the Monty Python border closing ceremony, though I fear I may be shot for laughing hysterically), Jammu, Kasmir, Leh, Ladak. So then its trundling around the mountains until August, then back the home sweet home, Pokhara. Anyway, its late, Im tired. Im hot, no electricity, so no fan. Must be India. off to sleep. Subaratri, ps. thanks Nathan,Lachie, Harry,Sannaa, Nicky, Marcus, Jenny and last, but not least, the Bigun, Lachie. If you ever get to read this, thanks a a great time.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 22:08:46 +0000
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