Catastrophe, nearly

da da da da da da, the familiar dulcet tones of my alarm went at 4.30 am. I half fell out of bed and went to the bathroom intending a quick shower to wash away the cobwebs, bed bugs and anything else I might have unwittingly aquired in the night. A very quick appraisal of my immediate surroundings changed my mind and a spot wash was all I could do, I even had to leave there to take my malaria pill. Down to reception to retrieve my deposit although why, when I had paid my room? Another family waiting to check out and I start to look at my watch nervously. Finally I dash across the already teeming main road in the dark to find my train. The platforms are at least a kilometre long and my train was waiting at the far end of course. I installed myself in what was the post wagon where they were sorting the night`s mail, and told to move.....luckily. I have my...backpack, a plastic bag with my snake boat in and....my day-pack, oh god my day pack is not there, my v.expensive camera, all my collected paperwork including flight e-ticket, my diary, my...life is in there. Responding to that electric discharge that the adrenalin effectuates in times of imminant death, I leap from the carriage, my cheeks flushed, my body tuned for fight or flight, I try to run back to the hotel where I realise I left my Bag. My pack must weigh nearly 20kgs and it will not let me lift my legs fast for more than 10 paces so I slow down to a fast walk, back up the platform, through the milling crowds across the teeming street and there it is propped up against the counter where I left it. Now I have to calculate whether it is worth speed-walking back with my dear very precious prodigal bag or give up and take a bus. Never one to give up too quickly, I go for it. It seems to me now that it all unrolled in slow motion, I can still feel every step there and back, seeing the red tail light at the back of the train hundreds of meters away, will it just be pulling away just as I reach it? No, as I install myself, a verirable torrent of sweat is pouring from every pore(it`s already 24 C), I mutter a generic offering to all and any deity that might be listening and another one to me not to be so stupid again!

We arrive an hour later at Mettupalayam and go looking for the steam train. The 4 carriages are already waiting.......full to the brim(?) with people. 2 carriages are reserved, leaving 1 1/2 for 2nd class and 1/2 for baggage. I settle down (stand up) for 4 hours of discomfort. My legs are already suffering from pre-dawn army weight training, I don`t know if I can `stand` this. The rather delapidated engine puffs it`s way behind us, it pushes the train to avoid smoke in the tunnels?, and off we go rocking to the rhythm of the steam power-stroke. We wound through the foot-hills for a while and started climbing, at a speed that you could comfortably jog at (oxymoron?).

The cuttings are so close to the open windows, people were picking flowers. There was just room for my feet on the floor, holding on to seats as we chugged up the mountain. Soon our first tunnel and the 2 groups of Indians, obviosly on a works outing or something, wives, kids and all and a real party atmosphere, starting whooping and shouting which occurred at each tunnl or gorge we came to (300m down). The views were breath-taking as dawn arrived with the plaines appearing below through a light mist, stunning. A lady next to me wanted to join the party in the back of the coach so I finally had a seat...ooof. Passing through immaculate tea plantations seemingly stuck to near vertical hills, rows of tiny tea-pickers huts, we arrived at Coonoor, another hill station and we have arrived, finally, in the Nilgiri hills. 2250m altitude. Change of engine to a diesel loco and off for another hour arriving at 10am. Find a hotel, it`s cold up here, and fall on the bed, I seem to do lots of that! Another unforgettable day but not one to be repeated!