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The next morning, January 4, we headed north. Or more accurately, tried to
head north. Two hours after leaving Ernakulam, the train just stopped.
Inexplicable stops are part of the train experience in India, happen all the
time, so we had no reason for concern. We munched our lunch and relaxed.
Then the train took off, in reverse. Twenty minutes later the train stopped was Trissur. We had another interesting cultural exchange with the station agent. He was so sorry; no more trains today, continuing our journey was not possible. Being unusually helpful, he let us know that since our tickets expire today, we must buy new ones for tomorrow! Would we care to make a booking? So we hoofed off to a nearby hotel, left off our bags and decided to wander about town. These are usually occasions for the most interesting travel experiences. Our afternoon wasn't tremendously exciting, but it wasn't bad. There was a festival at the town's temple, hordes of traveling babas dressed in black hobnobbing with hordes of local babas dressed in ochre. Being regular old non-Hindu babas, all we could do was peer in from outside. A few of the black-robed babas took the time to talk with us. They were on a pilgrimage, headed south to Kanyakumari where Steve had been the day I arrived. Thousands of Hindus, walking miles through the forest - we wished them well. So what else to do? We took in a movie from America, "The Deep Blue Sea" with Samuel Jackson. The theatre was huge, springs sprang from the seats, but the tickets worked out to about a buck, even with our splurge on upgrading to balcony seating. The film was predictable, the humans won and the sharks lost. I hoped the Indians around us in the theatre wouldn't blame Steve and I for the plot, or bad acting. Back at the hotel, we went downstairs to the bar. It was a large, dimly lit room, lined with aquariums filled with nervous fish. Any of them could become dinner at any moment. Everyone in the room was male, it looked like the local chamber of commerce gathering. I expected mashed potatoes, but the Indian food was okay, and a real bar was a novelty. The waiters stared at Steve, marveling at his bald head. Finally one of them worked up the courage to ask him if he was really Reynaldo, the famous soccer star! I suppose a lot of famous soccer stars hung out at that bar. But alas, he had to tell the waiter he was actually Steve, the acupuncturist. The next day we tried it leaving one more time, waiting until late morning for the new edition of the train we had taken yesterday. Once on board, the conductor assured us we would not have to change trains, that this line always goes straight through, and our delay of yesterday could not possibly have happened! And sure enough, when we reached the station where yesterday's train stopped, this train indeed went straight through. The conductor smiled, victorious over our obvious delusion! We arrived after dark in Kanhangad, a tiny station in the middle of nowhere, and headed for Anandashram on Anne Cushman's recommendation. A friendly auto-rickshaw driver took us directly there, about 5 km away. Even though it was late, the cook brought us dinner and they found us simple, but clean and comfortable beds. It was very, very nice.
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