14 W

MN-E01-S3W

MN-

E01-

S3

14 WESTERN MORNING NEWS SATURDAY FEBRUARY 25 2017 15WMN-E01-S314 SATURDAY FEBRUARY 25 2017 WESTERN MORNING NEWS WMN-E01-S3

Tr a

v e lJohn Raby

spent six hourson the HowrahMail, one ofI nd i a’s mostfamous trains

On track forthe exotic

TextI’m sat on atrain going toSrikakulam inAndhra Pradesh;the Howrah Mail tobe precise. I

boarded this morning and will getoff in six hours, but this trainactually left Chennai yesterday andwill ultimately travel the 1040 milesto Kolkata, arriving earlytomorrow morning.

Rushing by are the wet ricepaddies, countless palm andcoconut trees and, well, life. Thereis something truly comfortingabout the gentle rock of the traincarriage as it speeds along. Onsome of the longer journeys I havetaken across this mystical andsacred land, I’ve had some of mybest nights’ sleep on a train.

I’m sat in the compartment withtwo Indian men. One is quitechatty, the other not so. Maybe it’sthe language barrier. This is aTelugu speaking area and somespeak English and others do not.Meanwhile, the chai wallahs areplying their trade up and down thecarriage, announcing theirapproach with vociferous cries of,“Chai! Coffee!”

The quiet guy opposite, wearinga loud purple, green and bluestriped shirt that would be hard toignore anywhere, is tucking intohis packed lunch.

At then, the official IndianRailways food guy turns up.Luckily for me, my talkative fellowpassenger rouses from his slumberin the bunk above me and comes tomy aid. The quiet guy also getsinvolved, and after severalexchanges between the four of us, Ithink I’ve ordered a vegetablecurry with rice and roti.

The landscape outside my trainwindow has altered again. Ricepaddies have all but disappeared,replaced with fields and distant,alluring hills. Palm trees andcoconut groves still regularly appear.Lush vegetation dominates, andbeing monsoon season, a cool, greygloom pervades. I see dhobi wallahshard at work on river banks,washing what looks like bed sheetsor saris and laying them out to dry.

The quiet guy opposite is now ina prone position, sleeping andsnoring contentedly after hislunch. A young man from theIndian Railways turns up andsprays the carriage floor with acurious yellow liquid and proceedsto mop. Disinfectant, I guess. Ourcompartment smells sweeter andfresher momentarily.

The train crosses a dry river bed,save for a small water coursenestling in the bottom. For me,there is something quintessentiallyIndian about trains crossing riverbeds. The rhythmic clang andclatter reverberating around the

laugh about the quiet man snoringsoundly across the way. Ravi laughsand says it doesn’t matter what timeof day it is, this guy manages tosleep and snore all the time.

While we are laughing andchatting, the train starts up againand now rolls slowly intoVisakhapatnam, otherwise knownas Vizag.

Ravi tells me that he is anassistant manager for anautomotive lubricant company andhe is returning home to Kolkata.Meanwhile, the quiet man has nowwoken up and is joining in the

conversation again. It turns out heis a children’s clothing wholesalerfrom Nellore, and is on his way toKolkata to buy clothing todistribute from his warehouse inthe south.

The Howrah Mail, which is neverlate, according to Ravi, leaves Vizagand tracks north towards herdestination. The quiet manhelpfully informs me that mystation will be approaching inabout thirty minutes. I will be sadto disembark as this has been oneof the most enjoyable rail journeysI have taken.

As the train finally draws nearSrikakulam, rain-laden monsoonclouds tower above the cooler hillsand hot plains below. Time for onemore iron railway bridge before wearrive, arching over a wide andponderous river beneath.

The reassuring clatter of metalagainst metal is heard as severalhundred tons of rolling stocklumber across, moving inexorablytowards solid ground once again.

For travel details visitincredibleindia.org andindianr ail.g ov

iron framework of the bridge, asinnumerable carriages roll at speedacross the span of the river bedbelow. A banana plantation passesby fleetingly outside.

Another Indian Railways officialturns up, checking on thecleanliness of the carriage. I haveto sign a form, and give my ticketnumber and seat reservation. Hedisappears but then quicklyreappears to question somethingabout the phone number I have justgiven him. I can’t completelyunderstand what he’s saying butthe talkative guy above me comes

to my rescue again and tells him tostop bothering me. He goes again.

Some of the other trainpassengers are chatting andlaughing amongst themselves, inwhat I presume is Telugu but itcould also be Tamil. I’m feelingreally hungry now and wanting myvegetable curry to arrive.

A shower of rain appears outsidebut ends as quickly as it began. Wecross yet another river bridge, anold rusty one by the looks of it.Palm fruit trees stand sentinel overthe fields below. We’re in themiddle of nowhere but the train is

now slowing to a stop, which canmean anything in this part of theworld: waiting for a another trainto cross, a breakdown.

Right on cue, lunch appears. Thetray is laid on the table and I amtaken aback by the amount of foodserved in neat little foil trays withlids: rice, roti, two types of curriedvegetables, one with paneer, somedhal plus the mandatory raita tocool the palate.

The talkative man now climbsdown from the top bunk. Heintroduces himself as RaviChakrabatti from Kolkata, and we

T H E G RO S V E N O R H OT E LTo r q u a y ’ s U n e x p e c t e d D e l i g h t

FROM £109Includes dinner for two by our new 2 Michelin

starred Chef John Burton-Race

STAY AT THE NEW GROSVENOR HOTEL, TORQUAY, DEVON

CALL TO BOOK: 0800 005 2244 www.grosvenorhoteltorquay.co.uk Terms & Conditions apply. Vaild until 30th April 2017

PER ROOM PER NIGHT