Not a big fan of Chennai...

Well, it's only because I had a bad experience. I said, I had a bad experience. In Kerala, I was convinced to skip Kanyakumari by my hotel host, Samesh, because there was nothing to see there, only the southern most tip of India. Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed and decided to go straight to Chennai after another night at the guesthouse I was in, which was a great place. In many ways, the exact reason I choose to go to some places is because there is nothing to see except the southern most tip of India, and for the sheer enjoyment of saying I went there. However, the combined coaxing and thought of being short on time made me cut it out of the plan and head to Chennai before making the long trek to Agra. Needless to say, I will be coming back...maybe to make an exclusive trip to Kanyakumari to see nothing at all. THERE. In your face, Samesh.

The journey to Chennai has been one of my worst by far. I had to reserve a ticket last minute, so I got stuck with a sleeper-car chair seat, not a bed, for 14 hours. It wasn't so bad after we got going, and after 3 or 4 hours a man boarded the train and offered to switch his bed for my seat, which was just above it. After a few more hours of frequently interrupted sleep (mainly food vendors and the men that sell coffee with their heavy accents, so it sounds like 'copy copy copy copy copy' ) , I felt a little bit of the famed "Delhi Belly" coming on. I tried to fight it in my mind and prove that I wouldn't be susceptible to it at this point in my travels. But sure enough, there I was, ralphin' out the side of a speeding Indian train in the the middle of the night on way to Chennai, Tamil Nadu.

Hence, the terrible night on the train and onset of some sickness made for a very bad introduction to Chennai. I arrived exhausted and dehydrated, without an idea where my hostel was in a very big city. I found a pre-paid taxi, which took me to the Salvation Army guesthouse I had booked for and entered my fairly dilapidated room, ready to pass out. To make matters worse, I sharted. Yes, that's right, I sharted. If you don't know what that means, look it up or ask a friend. I won't go into details, but let's just say I'm glad I brought some extra t.p. and there was a wash bucket nearby.

Let me be clear people, this stuff just happens. It's India, and I'm a foreigner. I don't mean to complain, and I've been in mostly good spirits about it. I met some older men from Holland and Switzerland, also backpacking, and we have shared a couple of meals together so far. There are valleys of sorrow in our lives, and they can really beat us up. But there is always a river of joy waiting, and that river came when I finally found someone who helped me with my train tickets. The ticket to Agra was not confirmed and I was on the waiting list, but the lady at the reservation office in Chennai sorted it out, and made it clear that I have a guaranteed seat on the long, 25 hour trip to the north. The Lord is showing me the meaning of relying on Him, and singing praise even in the crappiest of train rides or hostel stays. My experiences with travel troubles are nothing compared to the vast poverty and brokenness of this subcontinent, which I see every day in various ways, always giving me something to ponder and to pray for. Tomorrow morning (6.12.09) I will be on my way to Agra to see a gleaming white tomb and a red fort, then on to Rishikesh to relax and get my yoga on ;]

let 'er flyyy

Reid