We arrived at Mangalore at 01:30 hrs, which was early as we had been informed that the arrival time was going to be 03:00 hrs. We got an autorickshaw to the railway station for 4 Indian Rupees and dossed down by the Ticket Office.
Mangalore is a major port city located on the western coast of India at in Dakshina Kannada district, Karnataka State formerly (until 1973) Mysore. It has an average elevation of 22 metres (72 feet) above mean sea level. The city is the administrative headquarters of Dakshina Kannada district and is the state's largest coastal urban centre.
Our short glimpse of Mangalore gave us the impression that it was a shithole along Gorakpur lines. No wonder that there was so little about it in the Lonely Planet “India” guidebook. At 03:00 hrs. the Ticket Box opened, and George and Martin steamed in at the front while I “kept dog” (To keep watch, or lookout, ready to report) on the bags.
The trip to Trivandrum in Kerala cost 45 Indian Rupees and the train left at 04:15 hrs. When we boarded the train, I thought that the interior of the train carriage had been stripped for cleaning, it was so bare and basic. The seats were hard wooden benches with a high straight wooden back. The gay yellow paint did nothing to lessen the discomfort as the train rattled through the day. Throughout the journey the scenery remained the same, thick palm forests with grassy swards underneath and modern-looking houses with red tiled roofs.
The natives wore gaily coloured garb and looked more affluent than their Northern counterparts. Every now and then we would pass over the wide inlet of a river on low sturdy bridges. Paddy fields appeared more frequently in the gaps between the dense palms as we went south. The only other crop to be seen was a vivid green grass-like plant that covered many acres and was tall enough to obscure the bodies of people walking through it. The journey was thoroughly miserable. Outside the heat was almost unbearable, but when(!) the train was moving a pleasant breeze came in through the barred windows to supplement the fans on board.
The train was long and as we were in the last carriage, we copped out on all of the goodies available on station platforms along the way. I finished reading “At One with the Sea” by single-handed yachtswoman Naomi James (1979 book: In September 1977, 28-year-old Naomi James left Dartmouth on a 53-foot yacht, alone except for a small kitten called Boris. With barely a couple of seasons' sailing experience behind her, she set out to sail round the world - non-stop, single-handed, and in record time).
I started reading “Flashman in the Great Game”, a 1975 novel by George MacDonald Fraser. It is the fifth of the Flashman novels. It was a book that my friend James Bascran had sent me. Martin and George sat quietly, Martin marginally more comfortable on his inflatable pillow, fidgeted with impatience at every halt.
George and I had learned to sit things out without tutting and sighing as there was no hurrying Indian public transport. George was feeling run down and a couple of cold sores had erupted on his face. We eventually chugged into Trivandrum at 18:50 hrs. Thiruvananthapuram, commonly known by its former name Trivandrum, is the capital of the Indian state of Kerala. It is the largest city in Kerala and India’s largest city in the deep south.
Referred to by Mahatma Gandhi as the "Evergreen city of India", the city is characterised by its undulating terrain of low coastal hills. We clambered from the train and sweated in the darkness as we fought our way with our kit up Mahatma Ghandi Road. The Lonely Planet “India” guidebook stitched us up and we spent an hour trudging about looking for the recommended International Tourist Home, which certainly wasn’t “opposite the General Post Office”.
All of the hotels had “No Vacancies” so we made our angry way back towards the railway station. We got a rough triple room in the Statue Lodge for 30 Indian Rupees and chucked our kit in before doing the rounds of Trivandrum’s eating establishments. This only increased our fury. Restaurant after restaurant failed to understand what we were saying or jumped the gun and ran off half-cocked midway through our ordering to bring back the wrong stuff. We eventually got a nasty set meal and did the snack rounds, supplementing our diet with peanut brittle, biscuits (glucose) and cooking bananas!
We walked dejectedly back to our smelly room with a begging wretch in tow. “Master, master”, she beseeched as she tottered along behind us, but to no avail. Also, on the streets a mob with a stack of tea towels on their heads walked up and down singing and chanting.
Back at the hotel we slumped into exhausted slumber on our beds.
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