India
Mumbai to Hyderabad on rails
August 2011
With less than 3 weeks to go, this client asked us to support with technical assistance on this meeting to be held in Hyderabad, India.
Usually it’s more than enough time to get organized, but you need a travel visa... The trick is I was still in Taiwan when this got confirmed; the visa needs 4 days to be produced, that’s if I go to the Indian embassy in Brussels, as my passport is Belgian. If I would go to the Indian embassy in France, where I live, it would take longer, because I don't have a French passport... And in the meantime, I need to go to South-Korea, plus having planned a visit to my best friends place on the west-coast of France.
So it all started by shuffling around all my travel plans and schedules to fit two trips to Brussels knowing that embassys have very restricted opening hours...
Then with the precious help of The Man in Seat 61, I had a look at possibilities to travel by the train to my final destination to get a view of inner India and travel with the locals. I figured I would travel on the Express train from Mumbai to Hyderabad, 17 hours for 900 kilometres. This in mind, I booked my Air France flight to Bombay, now known as Mumbai, allowing a few days before and after the actual event to wander around.
Everything was planned on my return from Taiwan, on paper that was... Two days home in Nice, then on the road for the next three weeks. Eventually, all went according to plan! No delays, cancellations, missing documents or any issues whatsoever!
By the time I got out of the airport from my Paris flight to Mumbai it was 2.30am. Too late to get a hotel, as I wanted an early start the next morning, but too early to head off to town. So I did what all the Indians do, sleep in front of the airport on the ground, they were all lined up there. They were a bit puzzled to see me do so, but once I had secured my bag I grabbed a good power nap.
By 5.30am I awoke and caught a fancy cab...
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So there we go, for a dawn-race through Mumbai, pretty tough driving! Add to that the battered road surface and the mandatory hooting every two seconds to not get anyone ran over. I was in a bit of a shock until I got used to it.
Once the taxi dropped me at the main station, I checked around to understand how stuff works here.
The suburban trains were arriving on one side of the station, pouring in people coming to town. On the other side of the station, the express trains getting ready for their trip across India.
The suburban trains were arriving on one side of the station, pouring in people coming to town. On the other side of the station, the express trains getting ready for their trip across India.
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In the midst of the rush, people sleeping everywhere on the ground, vendors of all types, beggars all around, everything looking derelect to our standards… Previously, the taxi driver had asked me where I was from, he said: “Aaahh, France, you guys are 60 years ahead…” No?! Seriously?!
I then headed off walking the streets of Mumbai, not really knowing where I was going, just exploring. There’s no such thing as a Tourist Office at the airport or the station, nor anywhere, I believe, you’d have to book a tour from a travel agent. Google Maps on my phone became handy, as often nowadays.
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After a good hour walk, I am in need for breakfast and don’t feel like having Indian food at that time of the day … And that’s when those little things in life that make you feel lucky happen: a western diner. Actually the best for that time of day, Le Pain Quotidien, a Belgian breakfast specialist coffee shop. What else?! Who said globalization? |
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Then a stroll to the Gateway of India monument, opposite the Taj Palace... |
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...then some more roaming around, indulging the local atmosphere and life… coming across a Bollywood shooting ... |
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I slowly head back to the station to get my train seat (and bed) number; these are not confirmed on booking, but are announced two hours before departure on paper listings stuck on a chart and on each carriage.
12.45pm, The Hussain Sagar Express starts rolling en-route to Hyderabad. The class I had reserved was decent and clean. You get fresh sheets and a pillow to put on your bed at night, there’s even a power supply, allowing me to do some writing, charge the camera…
Before the train left the station, I gave my carriage window a wash, to be able to take pictures; in the air-conditioned carriages, you cannot open them, for evident energy waste reasons, but also to keep the dust out. It appeared that there was a better solution, step out on the platform and open the carriage door… I love it. We’re over protected in the “west”, we’re taken away all sense of responsibility. Here you can open the door while the train rides at 120km/h, a notice sign just tells you it’s dangerous...
Before the train left the station, I gave my carriage window a wash, to be able to take pictures; in the air-conditioned carriages, you cannot open them, for evident energy waste reasons, but also to keep the dust out. It appeared that there was a better solution, step out on the platform and open the carriage door… I love it. We’re over protected in the “west”, we’re taken away all sense of responsibility. Here you can open the door while the train rides at 120km/h, a notice sign just tells you it’s dangerous...
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After having done several stops in the suburbs of Bombay, we ride through the countryside, at the stations, all kind of food and drinks sellers step on going through the carriages yelling: “Cold drinks, water bottles…” “Chai (tea)”, “Samosa”, “Chicken byriani” … each one specialising in a single article. They usually step off at the next station or even as we ride, in the middle of nowhere sometimes, when the train runs at a slower pace…And then the next ones step in…
On the station platforms, more merchants with big carts await as people step out of the train to move around, have a smoke. Actually you can also smoke while the train rides as long as you’re standing at an open door, not that it’s authorized, but tolerated. Toilets get cleaned at the main stations.
While having my diner I chatted with that women and the young guy travelling in my berth. They gave me some tips on what to eat and see in Hyderabad.
Then by 9pm, I settle in my bed, the train’s slight swaying movements rocking me asleep.
On the station platforms, more merchants with big carts await as people step out of the train to move around, have a smoke. Actually you can also smoke while the train rides as long as you’re standing at an open door, not that it’s authorized, but tolerated. Toilets get cleaned at the main stations.
While having my diner I chatted with that women and the young guy travelling in my berth. They gave me some tips on what to eat and see in Hyderabad.
Then by 9pm, I settle in my bed, the train’s slight swaying movements rocking me asleep.
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When we arrive in Hyderabad, I step out of the station and gaze around, having a walk in the neighbourhood, catching the atmosphere, being hauled every 5 seconds by taxis. No Wonder, the only white guy with a backpack in the entire city!
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Having no clue where the hotel is I decide to go for my auto-rickshaw ride, will be easier to get dropped off there than start wandering in the streets. I mention the Westin hotel to the guy, he says “Yes, Yes…”. Five minutes later, after having avoided 21 accidents, he stops me in front of a Bed & Breakfast and looks at me and says: "Hotel".
OK, he has no clue where I want him to bring me, I deny and write down WESTIN on a piece of paper, at the next corner he stops me at the Mercure “No”, then another hotel… “No”… He drives and then stops on a busy street, in the middle of the road, facing the opposite traffic…!
He must admit with the few words he manages to grumble that he has no clue where I want to go… I then pull out my phone and show him the address in the mail signature of our contact at the Westin. No clue... I start guessing that the hotel is not really in Hyderabad but some remote business district suburb.
My rickshaw driver then stops a taxi driver who speaks good English, when I show him the address, he tells us that indeed it’s pretty far. He suggests taking a bus, maybe even a train to a smaller town called Madapur. Then my driver starts talking to him, after translation, he’ll drive me there for 300 Rupies (approx. 5 euros), a 35-minute ride. I agree, the other guy asking me if I really want to do such a ride in a rickshaw… I’ll go for it, will be fun…
So we arrive in Madapur and as I had imagined, he has no clue, starts stopping me in front of successive hotels, “No! No! No!” Again we finally find a person speaking english that guides us out of town again to a business district.
On the next day we get the first meeting set, the sound system is totally crap, but we don’t really need it so I switch it off, not without wondering if it’s the same one we’ll get for the Main meeting…
That same evening we are supposed to do the set-up of the bigger meeting, the local audiovisual team were supposed to start at 9.30pm but only arrive round 1am with bits and pieces and this lasts the whole night, unorganized and crappy equipment, luckily they get it done by 5.30am, Everything seems to work fine, although I have the impression everything could collapse at any time.
When the meeting begins at 8am, all the sound goes wrong, the technicians have no clue what's happening, they don't seem to know how anything works, their set-up is such a mess there's not a lot I can do. They don't seem to understand what I'm telling them and they nod yes the whole time. At the coffee break I finally get a english speaking technician, send all the others home and we run the event the two of us for the next couple of days.
Once the event is over I jump in a rickshaw that brings me to the busy place of Hyderabad: Chiyarti.
Hyderabad is a Muslim city and it is Ramadan period, so as the sun was setting people all head out for a bite, they break fasting with the local famous Haleem. The best one is from Pista House. It’s absolutely delicious, besides containing all the nutrients for re-energising your body after a day not eating.
The mad rickshaw drove me through town up to the the market area where I strolled around grabbing pictures...
He must admit with the few words he manages to grumble that he has no clue where I want to go… I then pull out my phone and show him the address in the mail signature of our contact at the Westin. No clue... I start guessing that the hotel is not really in Hyderabad but some remote business district suburb.
My rickshaw driver then stops a taxi driver who speaks good English, when I show him the address, he tells us that indeed it’s pretty far. He suggests taking a bus, maybe even a train to a smaller town called Madapur. Then my driver starts talking to him, after translation, he’ll drive me there for 300 Rupies (approx. 5 euros), a 35-minute ride. I agree, the other guy asking me if I really want to do such a ride in a rickshaw… I’ll go for it, will be fun…
So we arrive in Madapur and as I had imagined, he has no clue, starts stopping me in front of successive hotels, “No! No! No!” Again we finally find a person speaking english that guides us out of town again to a business district.
On the next day we get the first meeting set, the sound system is totally crap, but we don’t really need it so I switch it off, not without wondering if it’s the same one we’ll get for the Main meeting…
That same evening we are supposed to do the set-up of the bigger meeting, the local audiovisual team were supposed to start at 9.30pm but only arrive round 1am with bits and pieces and this lasts the whole night, unorganized and crappy equipment, luckily they get it done by 5.30am, Everything seems to work fine, although I have the impression everything could collapse at any time.
When the meeting begins at 8am, all the sound goes wrong, the technicians have no clue what's happening, they don't seem to know how anything works, their set-up is such a mess there's not a lot I can do. They don't seem to understand what I'm telling them and they nod yes the whole time. At the coffee break I finally get a english speaking technician, send all the others home and we run the event the two of us for the next couple of days.
Once the event is over I jump in a rickshaw that brings me to the busy place of Hyderabad: Chiyarti.
Hyderabad is a Muslim city and it is Ramadan period, so as the sun was setting people all head out for a bite, they break fasting with the local famous Haleem. The best one is from Pista House. It’s absolutely delicious, besides containing all the nutrients for re-energising your body after a day not eating.
The mad rickshaw drove me through town up to the the market area where I strolled around grabbing pictures...
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...several people asking me explicitly to take a shot of them. 
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This man selling his colourful cloth as I was taking a picture of the boutique next to his, tells me: - “What is my sin?” - “Sorry?” I say. - “Yes, what is the sin I commited for you not taking a picture of me?” ... ... So he too got his shot. |
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After walking around several hours energized by the Haleem, I catch a rickshaw back to the hotel, the guy stopping every now and then to step out and wipe his wet windscreen… |
August 28th, I now have to head back to Mumbai. The hotel car drops me at the station to catch my 3pm Hussain Sagar Express.
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On the trip, I met up with Jo, a Sikh, who runs a re-location business with his father. They specialize in making all the arrangements (apartment, furniture, admin, school…) for expats settling in India.
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This train follows a faster route and we pull in at Mumbai terminal stop by 5.30am, where it’s pouring rain. I hang around the station a little, read, have breakfast and then finally decide to go and wait for my 2am flight at the airport. I had intended to visit Mumbai but not under pouring rain. And it really rained the whole day, flooding parts of the city as I saw on my way to the airport and on the news later on in the waiting lounge. So no real regrets, I felt like going home anyway.
However, that was the longest wait ever at an airport, 18 hours and no Airline Lounges. But I had stuff to do: write, sort pictures, read, sleep, eat… Sleep, eat, read… |
At some point I was offered those spicy biscuits by the younger of those two Indian men discussing at the table next to me. I asked if he had made them himself, the older one said: “You Europeans are not normal, we don’t do anything here: no cooking, no wash, no cleaning. Nothing; the women do it!”…
Flight on time, got upgraded… and really happy to be back in Europe after three consecutive trips to Asia.