Friday 27th - The Plan Falls Apart.

We allow ourselves a lie in this morning and are almost last in to breakfast after which we pack our bags and laze around on the verandah,  writing up the blog and watching the wildlife. There are peacocks parading, several mongooses and a whole tribe of monkeys appears. At the front of the cottage there is a large tree with a fruit bat colony that we had managed to overlook previously.

Check out is 10 am so we shift our bags across to the main building and go for a short walk to look at the colony of Painted Storks that we saw as we arrived on Wednesday. Today they are all up in the tree tops but as we watch they take to the air en masse and fly a couple of lazy circuits before landing back on top of the trees. This happens two or three times and is quite a spectacle. We return to the lodge for a final cup of tea before setting out by car for Tundla Junction where we will catch our next train.

Due to the lack of bridges over the Yamuna the quickest way to Tundla is to go via Agra. This means a return trip over the strip of pitted rubble that has been called a highway. There are some real maniacs on the road today, most of them driving buses, and we are amazed that there are no accidents. Because we are due to be on the train from just after 4 pm until 10 am tomorrow we decide that a meal would be in order. We ask Vinod if he knows a place and he does. The prices are a bit ritzy but the food is OK. As we eat other tourists arrive to eat, no doubt on the recommendation of their drivers. One table of Americans decide to order Chicken Maryland. We left wondering if they got what they expected. 

Vinod is keen that we take a photo of the Taj Mahal and stops at a place with a good view. We read in the paper that there is a debate under way about how to clean it. The photo is taken. What D really wants is a shot of the railway bridge passing in front of the Taj but the opportunity does not arise. The traffic getting out of Agra is bad but once we hit the motorway we make good progress and arrive at the station about an hour before our train is due at 16.10. We ward off a porter who wants to charge us 300 rupees to carry our bags and see us onto the correct coach. When he sees that we are quite prepared to carry our bags the price drops but he has missed his chance. He tells us a story about a two minute stop and last minute platform changes. D does not budge.

The station here is a bit unusual with an island platform enclosed in a very Brunellian train shed. We locate the Waiting Room and grab a corner near to an electric socket. There is a chai vendor just along the platform and we avail of a cup each. This trip is a bit strange as it is one train but two different bookings - Tundla to Delhi in 3 tier AC and Delhi to Kalka in 1AC. If the train is on time we need to change coaches at around 8 p.m. There is a good data connection so we check things out.  The good news is that we have the 2 berth coupe from Delhi, the bad news is that the train is six hours late. D goes to check for information boards. The only one he can find is all in Hindi and there are no train numbers listed. Neither are there any overhead indicators on the platforms to show train number and coach position. 

We while away the time reading and whinging on Facebook.  This place has quite a high mosquito count so out comes the bug spray. Next we notice a rat scavenging under the seats. The power fails for a few minutes and then there are two rats. At dusk the train shed fills with hundreds, possibly thousands, of roosting starlings making enough noise to drown out the noise of the trains passing through the station. Before long they begin to make their mark on the platform surfaces.

At least the station announcer is keeping us informed about the trains that are coming and going in Hindi, English and a third language that we,  of course,  know nothing about. Then the English starts to disappear from these announcements and some trains seem to come and go unheralded. Is it coincidence that another porter appears to suggest that we will need help? D weakens and we agree a price of 100 rupees which will probably have our Indian friends rolling in the aisles. What Lord Cornwallis had to say about Tundla Junction has gone unrecorded but he could not have had a lower opinion of it than we do. We can't wait to leave.

But wait we do. Each update makes the train a bit later until there is finally an announcement just before midnight. The train will be in shortly and Indian Railways deeply regrets having messed the Ws about. At 12.20 the train arrives and the porter appears, picks up our two rucsacs and leads us for about fifty yards along the platform to coach B3. Most people in the coach are in bed but he wakes them all up by asking at each bay if this is 41 and 42. Our lower berth has a young woman in it who he evicts in order to errect D's middle berth where he dumps the bags and holds out his hand. D gives him the agreed fee and he says 'Two bags, two hundred' Every time we have used porters there has been a row like this which is why we haven't used them at all on our last three trips until now. We just want to get to sleep so D coughs up.

The middle berths are not as claustrophobic as D expected but those upper berths really are a long way up.  Sleep! Fat chance. The evicted woman sits opposite us chuntering to the bloke in the lower berth, then the coach attendant arrives, switches on the lights, has a row with the woman, goes away, comes back with our sheets and switches the lights out. Then the TTE arrives, switches the lights on, checks our tickets, has a row with both the man and woman opposite which results in her being sent out of the coach. Every now and then somebody gets up to go to the loo and switches the lights on. As we do not know what time we will arrive in Delhi D has ordered an alarm call from Indian Railways. This comes at 2.30 and a voice says 'You are now approaching Old Delhi station. We get there at about 4.20. We have no chance of making our 5.30 connection nearly 270 km away.

When asked why he comes to India D always tells people that it is for the train travel.

Thursday 26th Pt 2 - Saurus Cranes

Saurus cranes are the world's largest flying birds and Asia's largest bird of any sort. We had seen them before from the train window as we travelled from Kolkata to Delhi on our very first trip to India and the chance to see them up close seemed too good to miss when we saw it on the safari list. We have a quick cup of tea and a biscuit before  heading out in one of the resort's Boleros, an Indian version of a Range Rover. Since we came off the river the sun has broken through and it is getting very warm. Once again Bhoopendra is our guide.

We set off along the dreadful road again but go east rather than west. B has a good eye for spotting birds and soon calls a halt. It takes us while to see what he has found but then we see the pair of Plumhead Parakeets. Mrs Plumhead actually has a light grey head bit you get the idea. We press on eastwards,  across the Yamuna River and then start to search. Phone calls are made and odd locals consulted. We wonder if we have come on a wild goose chase when our driver gives a shout. Out in the fields he has seen a neck and head sticking up above the crops.

We debus and head out in single file on a narrow path between the fields of crops. We now see that there are three birds - male, female and a juvenile. These birds typically have a single chick each year. They are moving from left to right and come out of the higher crops into an open patch in front of us. They are less than 50 metres away and seem unconcerned by our presence. The open ground is in fact a potato field and the birds are digging them up and tucking in. We watch fascinated for 15 minutes or so, getting some great photos before heading back to the car. There are also spots of some much smaller birds. R is very taken by the Scaly Breasted Munia that flits about in the wheat. 

Bhoopendra is keen to find us an eagle and we go in search stopping every so often. Once he tells the driver to stop in the outside lane of a dual carriageway while he checks out a bird in a tree. Eventually he spots something. Near the top of an elecricity pylon there is a nest. We walk across the field for a better angle until we are under the wires and we can hear the current sizzling in the wires. Looking again at the nest we can clearly see an eagle. As we watch we see a jumble of white feathers next to the adult and then a tiny white head with a yellow beak appears. B identifies them as Bonelli's eagles.

As usual a crowd has appeared but as we return to the car we see that this time the assembled multitude are rather older and better dressed than the usual set that we attract. A tall chap with specs wants to talk to us. Would we honour him by taking tea in his institution. Apparently we have parked by the entrance to the Kalpananand Girls College. We check with B who waves us in and we are all ushered into a room where there is a circle of chairs. We are introduced to to the Principal of the College , a relatively young woman, and the Manager , a cheerful looking chap but no names are exchanged. We are asked what we are doing in India which we explain, after which we are asked if we receive Government funding. D's response that the only subsidy we receive is Senior Discount on the trains does not get the laughs it should.

The proposed tea is actually supplied by Bhoopendra out of his flask, with a plate of jammy dodgers and some almonds chipped in by the college. The conversation turns to our plans for the future. Would we like to visit the college for Republic Day next January? We explain that our 2016 plans are a little hazy as yet. We are then presented with a white woollen shawl of the type that is worn on ceremonial occasions as a gift. Photos are taken all round and B packs away his tea kit. This prompts a final question from the man doing the talking. He wants to know what we think of Lord Cornwallis and his comments on Indians. According to this chap he likened Indians to dogs. We told him that this view would be totally unacceptable in modern Britain and that we found such comments abhorrent. As we left we realised thst we had no idea who the chap doing the talking was. A political commissar perhaps? Do they have them in India? (We looked the college up on the net. He was the Director. We also looked up Lord Cornwallis who was in India in the late 1700s.)

We drove back to base voting the afternoon a success. B invited us for a short expedition to see civet cats after dinner. We craked open a couple of beers and sat by the bonfire until supper was called. Another good meal followed by the civet cat spotting right behind the restaurant building. They look like overgrown mongooses and move very slowly. After this excitement we were exhausted and had an early night.

Thursday 26th Part 1 - On the Chambal

We have pre booked a couple of safari type trips for today. We were given our programme at dinner last night. First up is our Chambal River safari. This means being in breakfast at 7 sharp and on the road at 7.30. It is a misty, hazy morning. D takes a look out on the back verandah and sees an Indian Hare only a few feet away. Good start. Vinod drives and Bhoopendra travels with us as he is our guide today. We have a drive of about half an hour to the entrance to the Chambal Wildlife Sanctuary and not far inside we stop the car. B takes us for a walk up into the maze of gullies and ridges that make up the terrain.

We bag a few birds and return to the car. As we drive further into the Sanctuary we pass teams of camels laden with cut wood. The road runs out and we continue down to the river bank on a dusty track. There are the remains of a floating pontoon bridge here and a couple of boats acting as foot ferries. A train of camels is fording the river as we arrive. The Lodge has an outpost where its staff man small outboard motored boats. Along with Bhoopendra we climb in to one and the boatman heads upstream. 

This is the cleanest river that we have seen anywhere in India. We still wouldn't clean our teeth in it but you can see through the water to the vegetation on the riverbed. We soon see a Pied Kingfisher on the bank and then its mate, really beautiful birds. Next up is a big Marsh Crocodile, resting on the river bank. We get quite close and he just slides into the water. The real signature species for the Chambal are the long nose crocodile (Gharial), the river dolphins and a very distinctive bird called an Indian Skimmer. We soon get the first and last of these in close proximity on a sandbank projecting out into the river. R is showing a hitherto hidden talent as an ace croc spotter, some kind of survival instinct perhaps. These prehistoric looking beasts are quite fascinating to watch but they do detract from the Chambal's attractions as a bathing venue.

The cruise lasts about three hours and we are blessed with hazy cloud which keeps the temperature down and reduces the glare off the water. On the way back downstream we sea the Pied Kingfishers hovering above the river then diving vertically to catch fish. We also see turtles and a baby marsh crocodile peering out of a hole in the riverbank. The only thing that we miss out on are the dolphins. On the river bank near our landing stage a group of policemen are errecting some kind of tented pavilion. As we drive back to base we pass a procession of cars with flashing blue lights, one of which has a badge saying 'Judge'. Later we learn that all of this is to do with a Forest Workers' Family picnic and has nothing whatsoever to do with law and order.

Wednesday 25th -Forty Miles of Bad Road

D gets up in time to watch the early morning train out of Gwalior

clear the level crossing near the hotel entrance. The three man team who man the gates are thrilled to be the centre of attention and even offer D a bidi which is politely refused. The train is less busy than the one D took last year or even yesterday - not one person is travelling on the roof. 

Breakfast is slightly more leisurely today and the auto is ready at 8.30.  R, who feels a bit better today, tells D that this hotel has made up for the dump he booked in Gwalior last year. At the station there are two trains, both late running and both forecast to be a Platform 2 at the same time. While D tries to find out more R is ensnared in conversation by a young man who wishes to practice his English. D's fact finding takes him over to the NG platform where the Big Man is sitting in the same seat in the same coach as yesterday. This train is also much quieter and he has not locked the doors. Greetings are exchanged. 

Back on Platform 2 the train that is not ours is announced and arrives, then departs. Soon our train , number 18507, is announced as arriving. It pulls in 20 minutes later and the running order is the opposite of the platform indicators, which means a 13 coach length dash along the platform to coach A1. We have to evict a group of women from our side berths, which they are using as a sandwich preparation area. By the time that we are settled in it is 10.05 and we are under way, 40 minutes late. We make good progress and actually recover 10 minutes by the time that we pull into Agra Cantonment. 

We cross over to Platform 1 and pass a large delegation of men in uniform or suits with name badges who look like some kind of tour of inspection. The station seems to be rather clean and strangely quiet. At the main entrance/exit there are no touts and hardly any activity. There is quite a heavy police presence and a shifty looking crowd watching from the far side of the car park. It was most refreshing and if maintained will ruin Agra's reputation as 'Tout City'. Our driver, Vinod, arrives a couple of minutes later and we get loaded up. It takes a while to get out of Agra but we get going on the highway out to the south east heading for our next stay, the Chambal Safari Lodge. 

Vinod has decent English but he is quite reserved. His driving style is not aggressive and he is not heavy handed on the horn. About an hour out of Agra D remarks positively on the subject of the road surface. Within a couple of miles the good road runs out and we are toiling along amongst the potholes. This road is lined with brickyards and an additional hazard is the bricks scattered around the road from overloaded carts and trucks. The gaps between brickyards are mostly occupied by tyre repair businesses. It wasn't quite forty miles of bad road but it felt like it. Just as we are getting fed up we turn off onto a very minor road, but one that it well maintained.  We pass a pond full of painted storks and we are there.

The Lodge has a central block containg the restaurant,  office and the owners' home and the guest accommodation is in small bungalows dotted around in pairs amongst the trees. Ours is cool and airy with a well equipped bathroomm and a rear verandah with deck chairs and charpoys. We unload our bags and head over to the lawn in front of the restaurant for a cup of tea. All of the other guests appear to be Europeans and most are having an alfresco lunch but we stick to our regime. The lady of the house comes to chat to us. The house has been in her husband's Singh family for generations and has been restored from dereliction. The conversation somehow turns to the raw deal that women get in India and stretches beyond a second cup of tea.

We are invited to join a nature walk around the grounds and the local fields. Other guests participating include an older French couple and a Scandinavian chap in full jungle fatigues who carries a serious camera with a paparazzi long lens. It is a very gentle stroll but Bhoopendra, our guide, knows the patch and finds some interesting birds for us including a brown headed barbet and a collared scops owl that looks like it belongs in a Dilbert cartoon. We continue through the fields to some wetland on the edge of a small village where there are waders and kingfishers to watch. The village itself is one of the poorest places that we have seen with not a single car to be seen and very few motorbikes.  On the way back to the lodge R makes a great spot.  Two spotted owlets, one above the other in a large tree.

It is starting to get dark and a bonfire is lit on the lawn. There is a bar here so we can enjoy a beer as we chat to other guests, most of who are appalled by Indian trains. The Lodge appears to specialise in high end tour groups and people who book through Cox & Kings. The office staff are a little surprised that we have booked direct. Supper is a buffet, preceeded by soup and a tandoori grilled starter. R gets to visit the tandoor which looks a bit like an oil drum. The secret is that the inside is coated in fireclay. After supper we sit at the bonfire, chatting to Mrs Singh and drinking tea until it starts to gently rain which we take as a cue to say good night. 

Tuesday 24th February -D's Day Out

It's fairly quiet around the Deo Bagh Hotel and breakfast does not kick off until 8 a.m. so we take a morning stroll around the grounds. There is quite a bit of birdlife to watch and we even see a small owl but the light is all wrong for a picture.

We get a quick breakfast as D has an auto booked for 8.20 to take him to the station for a ride on the remains of the Gwalior Light Railway. R plans to stay behind sketching and bird watching. The auto is in good time and gets to the station at about 8.45. giving D time to buy his ticket. Rs 25 for 94km. As he exits the booking office the train is being hauled into Platform 5, the NG platform.  In that very Indian way the coaches are already quite full even though this is the source station for the train. 

D not just needs a seat but without R needs somebody sympathetic looking to watch his kit. The first coach he tries is full of ladies sharing a distinctly unsympathetic glare so the rear coach of the train is tried. The doors are locked but a large, loud chap says wait and comes to open the door. 'Sit there , sir. What country?' D sits at the two man bench adjacent to the toilet that has been indicated and goes through the spiel. The Big Man locks the door again. After the introductions are completed D explains that he needs to go and take some photos. 'No problem sir. Leave your bag there. It will be safe.' Once more the door is locked. 

D gets his pictures and returns to the rear coach. There are a few more occupants,  mainly middle aged men who all seem to know each other. A younger man is sitting on the bench next to 

D's bag. The door is unlocked. 'This fellow will take care of you' says the Big Man. This fellow continues to read his newspaper. Other people try the door and are told 'Reserved. Foreigners only!' This is pretty implausible as D is the only one of the twenty or so in the coach who does not look Indian. But it seems to work. The guard's compartment is at the end of the coach and he seems utterly unconcerned. We depart a couple of minutes after the due time of 9.30.

D goes to the door with camera for the trip between the houses as the line skirts around the base of the Gwalior Fort and then runs down the middle of the road through a gorge. As we head into the first station D is asked to sit down and the door is locked again. There is quite a crowd but only a couple of select individuals are admitted to the coach. All along the train people are climbing onto the roof. Low power cables on the first section make it too risky. When we get under way again D is given the OK to go back to the door. The train actually passes along the boundary wall of our hotel.  No wonder the hooter sounds so close.

At the second stop the Big Man shakes hands and gets off. D's minder locks the door and boarders are repelled, this time in Hindi. We have a long halt here to cross with an inbound train. It has a crowd of Upper Class travellers on the roof. The line leaves the city behind and we move into agricultural land before climbing onto a barren , rocky plateau where not much grows except thorn bushes. The folk on top make themselves comfy while D gets in some serious door riding in. We pass back into crop growing country and there are a couple of quite major river crossings. At each of these there is one bridge, wide enough for single track, and the coaches just fit nicely between the parapets. The two way road traffic also uses the same bridge with a predictably chaotic outcome.

The last stop but one is a small town and the minder gets off here. We continue through quite flat farmland until we reach Sabalgarh, the terminus of this trip, four hours and forty minutes from Gwalior. It is a dump. The least attractive place that D has seen in five trips to India. Not surprisingly there is a throng of people planning to escape by the next train.  This is where R would have been useful. D heads quickly for the booking office where there is only one person ahead of him, buys a ticket back to Gwalior and goes in search of a seat. There is already a throng of people following him and the attention of a policeman standing at the end of the train is aroused. 'You wish to travel? Sit here.' D is directed into the coach at the opposite end of the train to his original perch. 

There is a vacant forward facing window seat which D occupies.  An earnest young man oposite looks trustworthy and by signs D indicates he is going to take photos and will return. The bag and hat are left as hostages. A few photos get taken but the throng of rubberneckers gets a bit out of hand and D retreats to the coach. A crowd gathers outside and eventually one of them owns up to studying English so he translates all of the usual questions and answers to gales of laughter. He then attempts to sell D a ticket for the Gwalior -Sabalgarh journey and running out of material goes on to show D his voter's ID card, his Aadhar Card and his College registration card. Others start flashing various ID cards. D took the precaution of leaving his valuables behind at the hotel and just smiled benignly.

The train starts with a jolt. The coach is full so no chance of a door ride. The trustworthy looking young man turns out to speak reasonable English so we talk about his studies at Agricultural college and which crops grow in Scotland. The train makes good time until we get to the crossing point with the outbound train. At one stop the students buy a bag of green fruit which they eat with salt. They think thst they are guavas. D has no idea what they are.  By now we have a roof full. The student offers to watch the bag again so D can go for chai and more pictures.  The crowd of spectators is even bigger here and a couple are real nuisances,  jumping up and down in front of the camera. The other train arrives just as it is getting dark and we get underway again. The coach has no lighting and the countryside is dark so the last couple of hours are a bit dull.

D disembarks at Ghosipura, the last stop before Gwalior. He did this a year ago and had to hitch a ride on a motorbike but this year there were autos aplenty and a five minute ride took him back to the hotel. Poor old R had not been well and spent much of the day in bed but felt strong enough for supper. We dined in splendid isolation before retiring exhausted.

Monday 23rd - Heading North

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Our trip from Gondia to Gwalior on the Chhattisgarh Express lasts about as long as the overnight narrow gauge trip but covers 907 km, more than twice the distance. An hour or so after we went to sleep we went through Nagpur again, completing a circle of about 800 km circumference.  In fact we don't just go through it, we change direction there which puts us in possession of the forward facing seats for the daytime hours.

We get a decent nights sleep and are awoken as the other two occupants of the cabin prepare to disembark at Bhopal. They have a bit of hanging around as the train is now running 40 minutes late. We take our time rousing ourselves and risk an onboard omelette sandwich for breakfast. It is not going to be remembered as one of the culinary highs of this year's trip. The chai on this train comes in larger cups than normal and is most welcome.

A couple of stops after Bhopal an elderly couple take up residence opposite and tell us that they are travelling to Jhansi.  He has a little English and we converse for a while, discussing families and his stone quarrying business.  As the conversation dries up a little he explains that he and his wife are Jains and have a totally vegetarian diet. For good measure he adds that they only eat and drink once per day at 11 a.m. We may have misunderstood what he was saying as he did not have the figure of a man who got by on one meal per day. At 11 a.m. his wife opened a large carrier bag containing steel plates and various food containers. From another bag she produces a small milk churn which turns out to be full of water. He offers us some of the peanuts and spicy dal mix that he has on his plate and then passes round the puris. We explain that we don't really eat during the heat of the day as it kills our appetites. 

The train alternates between high speed dashes and sections of dawdling, with a couple of unscheduled stops thrown in. The Unreserved coaches just ahead of us must be absolutely jammed as people are getting left on the platform at each stop. 

The Satpura NG crew could teach the big boys a lesson in timekeeping as we get in almost an hour and a half late. There is a silver lining to this cloud as it gives us a quick view of one of the NG locos running round the train in Platform 5 prior to the afternoon departure. Officially that is tomorrow's treat.

 Outside the station we see a sign for prepaid autos. By the time we discover that there is no kiosk we have a gaggle of automen and taxi drivers wanting our business and arguing with each other. We go with the first chap who approached us after all of the others had announced that the fare would be 100 rupees.

The trip to our hotel takes about 15 minutes and we twice cross the NG line on the way. Neemrana's Deo Bagh is part of a small chain of Heritage hotels that gets good reviews. It has been chosen to placate R who was extremely unhappy with last year's choice of hotel here, conveniently situated by the station and cheap as well. She does go on about hygiene at times.

The new place stands in its own grounds, well away from the road noise, and is basically a series of individual rooms with their own terraces around a large lawn. The room has a kettle and fridge as well as AC and a fan. The terrace has its own fan. R indicates her satisfaction.  The bathroom even has a totally decadent rain shower with almost instant hot water. What luxury. We get scrubbed up and take a turn around the grounds. There are peacocks and parakeets, as well as a couple of temples and a summer house. All rather splendid. Best of all we can hear the hooters on the NG locos as they pass quite close by. We sit on our terrace watching the bats as night falls and then enjoy a buffet supper in the rather smart dining room. 

Sunday 22nd -Train after train after train

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The alarm goes at 4.30. Whose idea was this. Quickly dress and pack the last odds and ends. Down three fights of stairs to the darkened, deserted lobby where we deposit our key. Luckily the night watchman is awake and he unlocks the gate to let us out. A brisk eight minute walk takes us back to the station and as we arrive we hear the unmistakable note of a narrow gauge loco hooter. Our first train of the day is just pulling into the NG platform and crowds are already forming around the Unreserved  coach doors.

This first trip of the day is a bit of a tiddler compared with the one that got us here - six hours and forty minutes and 187 km. Total cost for two Senior Citizens just over £6. The train number is 10002 and it is called the Satpura Express. We have reservations in First Class, the only reservable seats on this train. The coach layout is rather odd. We have seats 1 & 2 which are in a twelve seater saloon. There are a further 4 seats in a type of coupe behind a part screen at the other end of the coach. The seats are like settees down each side of the coach, each marked up to seat three people. There is also a space for luggage and a toilet compartment but no electrical sockets and the fans don't work. D fetches tea and bottled water and takes a few photos but it is still dark. The TTE checks our tickets. What a bobby's job his is. One coach to supervise and free rides on NG trains all day. D is contemplating applying.

We leave on time and the coach is only half full. This lasts as far as the first stop on the outskirts of Jabalpur when all of the rest of the seats get filled. D establishes himself at the open door and is able to switch freely from one side of the train to the other as everbody else seems content to sit. Quite quickly it got lighter and warmer, helped by cups of chai where we stopped to pass northbound trains. As befits an express we did not stop everywhere and there was some rather dextrous exchanging of the single line tokens, attached to big cane hoops, as we passed through some of the smaller stations. Again there have been a lot of major works done for the replacement BG line, including some major bridges and embankments.  At some points the new alignment takes a very separate route to the existing one.

After an hour or so we start to climb through forested hills, seeing some colourful birds such as Indian Rollers and parakeets as we go. At the top of the climb there is a level plateau and we race along at maybe 60km per hour. One northbound train is a bit late at the crossing point but the time is made up and we are soon at Nainpur Junction, the heart of the Satpura Lines system and an NG fan's heaven. Here the 2' 6" lines from Nagpur/Chhindwara, Jabalpur, Mandla Fort and Balaghat join together with not a yard of BG to be seen. We stop here for 10 minutes, time for chai and photos. D suggests that we change our plan, get off the train and spend a week here. R gives a very short answer. 

South of Nainpur we descend through some most attractive country until we arrive on a plain devoted mainly to rice growing. There are oxen ploughing some of fields and monkeys scamper away from the track as the train passes. All too soon we arrive at Balaghat Junction,  the end of the NG line. It used to continue on to Gondia, a further 40km but that section is now BG. D gets the tickets for the trip by multiple unit, 10 rupees each. There are two trains within an hour and quite a crowd waiting. The second train will start from here so we decide to wait rather than trying to get our luggage through the scrum.

Balaghat Station has resident goats and a chai stall so there is enough to amuse R, while D goes in search of photos.  The loco of the Satpura Express has been run round to the other end of the train for the return trip and the crew invite D on board for a look. Time is short as the train is about to leave but he does get a shot of the driver's view. The second local arrives in good time and we get our bags on the racks and secure seats. The seats fill but the train does not get overcrowded.  We are very quickly the centre of attention and it is photo time. What happens to all of these pictures of us? 

One young female feels brave enough to come and chat. She is at college studying maths and her English is not bad. She runs through the questions about where we are from,  what are we doing in India and about our family. In no time flat she is flicking through the photos on R's phone. When those run out she press gangs her sister into making a phone video of a repeat of the question and answer session. Everybody else in our half of the coach watches in breathless silence. She tries to tell R how easy it is to learn Hindi before she and her sister get off at the stop before ours.

The train terminates and R actually manages to persuade the ladies trying to board the train to desist until we have got off with our luggage. Gondia Junction is mainly famous for having the single letter 'G' as its station code. Otherwise it does not look too promising although we do find the Cloak Room which shares premises with the Parcels Office. This facility does not appear to be over used. The lock up cage marked Cloak Room is empty and the form that gets filled in is actually headed 'Way Bill for booking of animals and birds at other than parcel rates'. Paperwork complete, and thebags locked away the man gives us the reassuring news that it is a 24 hour facility. We have around four hours to kill and dragging our rucksacks with us does not appeal in the heat. 

A quick internet search of hotels in Gondia reveals that there is a Taj Gateway hotel on the outskirts of town. This has to be a safe, if pricey option, and we look for an auto. There are none in sight and the cycle rickshaw guys don't understand a word we are saying.  After a few minutes an auto drops somebody off and we go to talk to him. This is not going too well but it does attract a few onlookers who chip in freely. Eventually somebody works out what we want and the crowd turn their attention to negotiating the fare for us. One hundred rupees appears to be the concensus view so we agree. The rickshaw is the most beaten up and decrepit that we have travelled in but it gets us to the Gateway, a modern building in pleasant grounds.

Inside it looks to have been recently refurbished and when we say that we want to eat we are ushered through to the restaurant.  There is one other table which has about a dozen people including some noisy children. We are in no hurry and enjoy the air conditioning and lime sodas while we choose from the menu. The all day choices are not the most exciting but we are hungry and order kati rolls and veg pakora. When they come there are two enormous kati rolls each and we are not too disappointed that the pakora portion is on the mean side. The waiter apologises for the length of time it has taken because it was freshly cooked. We feel like telling him to take as long he likes. When we ask for the bill the manager comes to chat and invites us to sit in the lobby until we need to leave for the train. We take him up on the offer and they ask when we plan to leave so they can call us an auto. As far as we can see we are the only customers. All this with a decent meal for the price of a couple of pub sandwiches. As we leave the staff are preparing for a party.

The auto for the return trip is in slightly better shape and drops us at the foot of the main overbridge. We go to the refreshment stall to buy bottled water and as we watch the various insects on and in the food display cabinet we congratulate ourseves on our dining choice. At the Parcels Office the man tells us "Babu on platform 3. Wait." The Parcels Office appears insect free so we sit down. The man turns up with his keys a few minutes later and we head off for Platform 3 and our third train of the day, number 18237, Chattisgarh Express. Gondia Junction's other notable feature is the Digital Clock with blue figures on Platform 1. Every other platform clock that we have seen is red.

 It is anounced as 10 minutes late and arrives 15 behind time. There is an elderly chap asleep in Cabin B but we cannot manage to sort ourselves out without light. A couple of minutes later another man arrives so the cabin is full. We all fix our beds and our bodies for sleep, lock the door and get settled down when there is a banging at the door. Two of the catering team are demanding admission.  They have hidden their personal kit in the cupboard in our cabin and have come to retrieve it. Once they have gone we get our heads down.  It is about 8.30 pm.