Glamping

The restaurant is very nice, and the staff are very attentive. One guy is from Darjeeling, where Sarah went to school. She calls him "Daju", a term of endearment from her school days. Literally, it means grandfather, but they used it for any of the staff who were older. He seems to like that.

Trying to eat while the train is moving, is something of an acquired skill. The wagons are old, but so are the tracks. I can see why the high speed trains need their own, purpose built tracks. Put a high speed train on any ordinary track in the world, and it will derail within minutes. On this train, it is like driving too fast through the worst parts of Christchurch in a bus with two flat tyres.

And then there is sleeping.

Through this whole exercise has been the overriding concern about my motion sickness. Sarah thinks its all psycho-semantics, but we know its real, don't we? Would I handle the train movement, or will I barf my arse off as soon as I put my head down?

I found it surprisingly relaxing, actually. Sarah struggled, and we heard later that many other passengers struggled that first night. She didn't sleep much. Halfway through the night she tried my side of the room. No difference.

I was fine, thanks.

But it got worse.

Sarah had the first shower. Stone cold! Crap! This promises to be a really, REALLY long week.

I check with the attendant. Did I mention that we have an attendant? I think just for our carriage, so three cabins only. Beat that, Dwayne! So I ask him, and he shows me the switch that has to be left on to get hot water.

So who do you think retentively went around last night and turned all switches off, even though she didn't know what they were for?
I couldn't possibly say.