Elephant Ride

Nov. 26, 2011

The next morning we woke up early to go on an elephant tour. This was the only way we could afford to access the park and it was what had originally lured us here. It was only $2/hour for a tour through the jungle on the back of an elephant. We had wanted to do this for several hours since it was so cheap, but they told us that one hour was the maximum. The elephant driver was incredible, although his lack of English led him to not speak to us the entire time, and we had not yet caught on to any of the local language at all. Soon after getting onto the elephant, my sandal slipped off and fell to the ground. I told the elephant driver and he barely reacted. He used his stick to maneuver the elephant in reverse, then instructed the elephant, through light taps and noises to pick up my sandal and hand it back to him. It was incredible, and all done so casually. Joe said he wanted to kick off his sandal so that he could see it again. We started on the road, but eventually dipped into the jungle. Some of it looked like it was an established trail, while other parts looked like we were cutting through new territory. We went down terrain that was so steep I was sure that either the elephant would slip and we would all tumble or I would just fall right off. It never happened though, because of course the driver and the elephant both knew what they were doing. Getting into the jungle was exciting, though we were never too far from the road. We would have loved to go on a serious daylong tour on the elephant, but unfortunately we could not. And no, we did not see any animals, but I really wondered what it would be like to encounter a wild elephant while we were on one that was domesticated and well-trained. Would the wild elephant judge our elephant as a sell-out? Would it pity its captivity, begging it to reject its unnatural lifestyle and come back to the wild? Or would our elephant think this wild elephant was a savage beast and look down upon him like city folk look down upon country bumpkins as unsophisticated?

Photo By Joe McKernan

Photo By Joe McKernan

At exactly an hour we were back where we had started and the driver pulled up to the platform where we could get off the elephant. Then he grabbed a tin can, held it out and said the only word we heard from him the entire time. “Teeps,” he said in a monotone voice as he shook the can. I reached in my pocket and gave him some rupees for a tip, and he promptly left the park and walked down the road to who knows where.

Photo By Joe McKernan

We checked out of our room and went to Tenkyou’s for a simple breakfast, lots of handshakes and some more “tenkyous”. Then it was time to move along. We figured it wouldn’t be more than an hour or so before a bus would come by. Then we were informed that there would not be any buses that day because of either some sort of holiday or strike. We never found out which, but I assume it was a strike. Someone offered to take us as a taxi, but we were 25 km away from our destination and we couldn’t afford that. So we started walking. There were very few cars on the road, so when one passed we would try to wave it down. People in the nearby fields stared at the passing strangers, wondering where they had come from or what they were up to. We got a ride that only took us a few km. Then we got a ride in a big pickup truck. There were already quite a few people in the bed, and it seemed that this was serving as the local transport for the day. We had to pay a fare that wasn’t much different than what the bus would have been and we were fine with that because it was what everyone else was paying.

Now we were back in Daltonganj and we got dropped off not too far from the train station. The walk there took us through some terribly depressing slums. The people looked desperate and their living conditions were grim. When we got to the station, we tried to get tickets to Ranchi, the capital of Jharkhand. Unfortunately, though, it seemed that we had just missed the train, and it would be a while before the next one would leave. A small crowd had formed around us, with people asking us questions or offering to take us places. It didn’t seem like friendly help, so we walked out of the station. We were soon approached by a well-dressed young man with an agreeable demeanor. He had seen that we were in need of a little help and asked where we were going. We explained our situation and he told us that we would need to take a cycle rickshaw to the bus station, and from there we could make it to Ranchi. He arranged a cycle rickshaw for us and even insisted on paying our fare. I was continually amazed at the hospitality we were getting in Jharkhand.

Normally we would have preferred to be on the train, but since we got a spot on the top of the bus it was ok with us. It was a long ride to Ranchi. Our travel companions were reserved, though some of the younger guys were a little giggly. One of them asked to borrow my camera so I showed him how to use it. He took dozens of out of focus pictures and I eventually had to ask for it back. Most of the land we traveled through was a rural mix of forest and farmland. Occasionally there would be a village and it was amazing how crowded there were. There were huge swaths of open spaces, followed by a tiny, compact village packed with people. It was something I had never seen before.

It was about six hours to Ranchi, getting us there around eight or nine in the evening. Our final destination was Puri, in the state of Orissa, which was still a long train ride away. We got to the train station and went to the ticket office. The woman told us there was a train going that direction in an hour. She sold us the ticket while telling me that we would have to speak to the man in charge of people’s seats once we got on the train. I didn’t understand the point of this since we had purchased general class tickets, meaning we would sit wherever we could, whether there was space or not.

When our train finally arrived, late, it seemed surprisingly short. There were only about eight cars, and I didn’t see any general class cars. In fact there were only first class cars. We looked for the man in charge of the seats, but could not find him. We boarded the lower tier of the first class car and found an empty berth and sat down, wondering what would happen. We were confused by why they would have sold us a general class ticket when there was no general class on this train. We hoped that the controller would never come around to check our ticket, but even if he did, we figured we couldn’t get in too much trouble for being in the wrong class. After half an hour on the train, it looked like we just might get away with it, especially since there were very few people even in our car. Then a man in a uniform appeared, and asked for our tickets. WE handed them over, and as expected, he told us these were not first class tickets. I tried to explain our situation, saying that we had bought a valid ticket but there was no general class car. He said it didn’t matter, and that we would have to get off at the next stop. I asked if we could buy a first class ticket and he said no, it was full. I asked if we could just sit on the floor somewhere, or outside the door to the car next to the bathroom. He refused. We had no idea where the next stop even was, or when the next train would be coming along for us. This didn’t  matter to the man of course, and we were kicked off at the next station at around 11 that night.

This was not a situation that I relished. Indian train stations can be fascinatingly overwhelming places at best, terribly sketchy bordering on dangerous at worst. This station was not large, nor was it inviting. A naïve tranquility hung in the air when a train wasn’t passing through. We were able to find out that the next train going to Puri was not coming until early morning. This is what we had wanted to avoid; spending the night in the train station. I had spent the night in bus stations before in places like Mexico or Thailand, but this would be a new experience. Other families that were either living in the train station or were also on long layovers laid out mats made of sewn together potato chip bags. We found a spot that was not too close to anyone else, but not dangerously secluded and laid out my tarp so we could stretch out. That tarp, which I had bought in Malaysia five months earlier, kept turning out to be a valuable thing to have in my pack. We played some cards, did some reading, dozed in and out of sleep. In the end, it was not the worst thing that could have happened. It was simply a situation we could not have predicted, which I guess is business as usual in India.

When our train finally came in the morning, we managed to get in quickly and I secured one of the luggage racks above the seats to lie down on. It was made from dirty wood planks and had cobwebs all over it, but it was bed enough for me. Joe decided to sit on the seat below. More people packed themselves into the train at every stop. Most had no idea I was up there until Joe would acknowledge me. Then whoever didn’t know would look up and seem shocked to see me there.

The train took us well into the state of Orissa, but not all the way to the coastal town of Puri. After about nine hours, we arrived in Bhubaneswar, the capital of the state. There we transferred to a train that would take us to Puri. The train station was crowded and it seemed like it might be hectic to find our train. We made it on the train at the last minute and found it nearly empty. The train had been coming from Delhi, and most people had gotten off at this station. The train was filthy, and the floors were covered with garbage from discarded food containers. It didn’t matter much to us as we could stretch out on any bench seat we wanted to.

It was a one-hour ride to Puri, and upon arrival we looked for something to eat on the way into town. The town seemed sleepy, hot and dusty at first glance, and there was nothing much to eat. We passed by all the men trying to offer us rickshaw and taxi rides and hoofed it into town. Some people tried to take us to hotels, but we ignored them and they were not that aggressive. One place we wanted to stay at was full, another had raised its prices significantly and another was under construction. As we walked down a dirt path between the beach and the main road, a young man tried to strike up a conversation. I was just going to ignore him, but Joe humored him. He said something about his guesthouse and that he could get us a room for cheap. I hate getting led to a guesthouse by someone who will collect a commission off you, so I wanted to move on. He asked where we were from and Joe said “America”.  “We have somebody staying with us from America!” I was getting annoyed, “Oh really?” I said, “I bet we know each other.” Somehow, though, he eventually got us to check out his guesthouse. It turned out that it was a great deal, and we agreed to check in.

Puri is large town, though you wouldn’t know it by visiting the areas by the coast. To us it felt like a tranquil and modestly touristy beach town. The town attracted three main types of tourists: Indians from West Bengal on a short beach holiday, Indian pilgrims paying a visit to the Jagganath Temple, and budget backpackers of the slightly hippie persuasion. One thing that was remarkable was how little hassle there was in the town and how relaxed and friendly everyone was. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought I was in Belize.

After we checked in and got situated in the room, the man who brought us to the guest house, we’ll call him Kailash, returned to the guesthouse on his motorcycle with the American guy he had referred to before. He had a bald head and a big beard. It turned out that he was from Vancouver, Washington and was studying at Evergreen State College in Olympia. I felt bad for having been rude to Kailash when he told me there was an American at the guesthouse. The fact that he, Joe and I were from places so close to each other did give us a lot to talk about. We asked Kailash where to go for food, and he offered to take us somewhere on his motorcycle. He turned out to be very kind and generous, making me regret even more the attitude I had given him earlier. We asked him if he knew of any good place to eat for cheap. Very cheap. He took us somewhere not too far and dropped us off. It was a crusty stall that had about too dishes on offer to accompany the rice. We got different dishes and I didn’t mind whatever I got, but Joe’s lentils were terrible and flavorless. Throughout our time in Puri, our meals were one of the low points. However, I feel that in small beach towns in many parts of the world, what you gain in atmosphere and tranquility, you pay for in quality of food and drink. Either way, we were happy to be in a new town, and get to settle down for a few days. We had been moving almost constantly since we had left Kolkata and we needed a rest. This would be a great town to fulfill that need.