48 Hour Train Ride

So I found a USB Thumb drive! 8gb for a little under 20 USD, not bad.And I found (bought) a bicycle! So here is the long train post. Mind you I wrote it while still in Allepey. I leave Cochi today, and will leave the next post when I feel my adventure is complete. (Hope the tension isn't killing everyone) So here it is:

So... how to explain 48 hours in a train. Most say they would die of boredom, or not being able to move, or something of the sort. In the end it was pleasant, entertaining... a very neutral ride. The ride itself, in chronological order would be quite boring. Instead what constituted the interesting parts of this ride were the people and their actions. So don't be surprised if you find that this post is more a description of people than the ride itself. After all, the ride would be nothing if it weren't for the people I met.

When I originally bought the ticket, I was waiting list 14. That was before the trek. When I got back from the trek I was waiting list 5. An improvement, I thought, and with 3 days left, I was bound to geta seat. Two hours before my train ride I checked my status again and I was waiting list one. “Crap”, I thought. No worries, I'll bribe the conductor despite the rumors I heard that bribing the conductor in the AC class is much harder than in the sleeper non A/C.

Anyway, I needed to get to Bangalore.

Being an hour or so late, I jumped on the first Three Tier (Sleeper A/C) car I saw and hoped for the best. The cars inside are divided thus: on one side you have an open-air compartment style seating where six people can sit and sleep (you need to lift up the middle berth bed when you are ready to sleep). On the other side, you have two seats, facing each other. The top half is a bed, and the two seats on the bottom fold down to become a lower tier bed. Since this latter half of the car holds less people,(two there versus six on the opposite side) I sat down in the first available seat I found.

Almost immediately after (as New Jalpaiguri is a crowded station and it seemed like everyone was going to Bangalore), a young man sat across from me on the same side. Little did I know he was going to be one of my companions for the next 48 hours.

Surya Maan (spelling might be incorrect) was his name, and as a native from Gangtok, was going into his third or fourth year of engineering school in Bangalore. At 22 years old, he says he wants to become a software engineer. Surya does not look Indian on first glance. On first appearance he might look like he is from the Philippines or somewhere. I took immediate interest in him because of two things he was carrying.

A guitar and an amp. We began talking about music, what he likes, what he plays, what I like, what I play, and it paved the beginnings of a calm, entertaining, and talkative journey. Due to his love of thrash metal and knowledge of American bands, cinema and the like, (as well as speaking perfect English), something new came out of me as well. For the first time after departing from Jared and Mark, I was acting like I acted at home. He understood my sarcastic remarks, American humor, and things of that nature. It was interesting and relieving at the same time.

Through some shuffling around, and Surya knowing that I was on waiting list one, he told me to follow him to his seat. The whole train was confused because the train numbers on the plaques were in actuality incorrect, and the correct seat numbers were written in blue marker. So I followed him to the next set of seats, and we sat waiting for the conductor. I got my money ready to bribe him, but Surya kept saying don't worry I'll speak for you, don't pay him anything.

Surya more or less became my cultural adviser for the trip. To him I was able to ask questions other might find rude. He explained, from a younger perspective, things about beggars, children, mafia, hijras, conspiracy theories, government, Bangalore, music culture in Bangalore etc etc. He also, like I was meant to meet him, told me where to get good guitars in Bangalore. Birthday present, here I come.

During the trip, he asked if I wanted to see the pantry car. “Sure?” I had said, thinking, like all other trains, its where you can buy snacks and what not. Apparently not. All the breakfasts, lunches and dinners they serve on the train are freshly made in this pantry car. Dividing sleeper non A/C and sleeper A/C this car has grills, broilers, and giant vats of oil where everything is cooked. In small sleeping rooms people were peeling onions and chopping lettuce. It was quite interesting to see all the workers cooking over hot stoves. And apparently their monthly income comes to about Rs. 13,000. 15,000 is USD$300.

On that day (the 5th of August) it was also Raki, the brother sister festival. What is supposed to happen is the brother is supposed to go visit the sister wherever she is. The brother gives the sister a present. Maybe some money, or a sari, or some gold, anything within your means will do. The sister then puts a small bracelet around the brothers wrist and places a single gulab jamun in his mouth (a pancake type of Indian sweet). Well in the pantry car, they were celebrating this festival, and since not everyone could go visit their sister, in one of the sleeping compartments there were two surrogate sisters with a bunch of bracelets, a bag full of gulab jamun, and a tray full of money.

On the 5th of August, 2009, I became an official brother of India and have the little yellow bracelet to prove it.

Towards the end of the trip, Surya and I shared an interesting moment. He said he wanted, for atleast a week, to live an American life. He said he wanted burgers, and hot dogs, and stuff of that nature. Mostly it was the food. So, I described to him what me and my friends did every night. I told him it was great cause we're with friends, but it gets boring too. Sometimes you want to do new stuff. He then described his life, which he thought boring, with his friends and what they did etc. Turns out, we didn't really have that different of lives. We did similar things, as long as it was with friends. Still, he yearned for an American life, and I have been yearning for an Indian life. In the end, this is the conclusion we came to:

Fight for whatever life you want, but be happy with what you have anyways. Just cause you are happy with one situation doesn't mean you've given up on all alternatives, or situations you want. Being happy with your current situation is your control over life. Not life's control over you.

But, that's not always the way things are. What can you do.

Let's back track a little, back to when I first got on the train. I was sitting where there are two seats, and Surya was on the compartment side, where six people sit (this is after I followed him to his seat). On the bench opposite to Surya were three people. Three people who would quickly also become companions on my journey. Tenzing, Tshering, and Udait.

First, let me explain Udait. He was without a doubt a companion on the journey, despite how much he slept. I would not very quickly call him a “friend” either – though he did draw a picture of me because he said he was a painter. Udait had to be at least 40 years old and was on holiday from the Army. He was sleeping when I arrived on the train. Let me rephrase, he was passed out because of how drunk he was. When the conductor came by and checked tickets, I was relieved (and I think everyone else was too) to find that he and I had to switch seats. So he sat alone (where he didn't bother anyone) and I was able to sit with the other three.

When Udait first got up to switch seats he looked around and asked “Where is this train going?”

Let that be a guide-post into his character.

He carried three to four bottles of the cheapest rum. When we first saw him, he had finished off one bottle. On trains, its technically illegal to drink, so he did not sit around sipping his rum having a good time. He would wake up, fill a large cup half with rum, half with lukewarm water, and down the hatch it went. No hesitation, no pausing to catch his breath, just an open throat and a lot of cheap liquor.

Then he would fall back asleep.

Occasionally he woke up to entertain us with a dance, or shake all our hands as if he were for the fourth time, meeting us for the first time. I swear he had the memory of a gold fish. He was all the talk of other passengers, and they laughed and made jokes of him, some saying, “He's not enjoying the rum, the rum is enjoying him”, and everyone broke out in laughter.

The first night for him was a doozy though. I woke up to another army man (this one in uniform) yelling at him. People were upset. The family in the compartment next to us was upset. The next morning when I passed by them, they urged me to go to the conductor and complain, complain, complain. What happened? I thought nothing of it and went back to my business.

That is, until Surya and Tenzing explained to me what happened. Apparently this drunken ogre had stumbled awake in the night, walked into the next family's compartment, and believing it to be the bathroom, decided to relieve himself in front of everyone. That explains all the screaming and complaining.

Thank God he got off before night fell on the next day.

Anyway, Udait seemed only fueled by the rum. He would get up, eat something small, make jokes, drink, dance, make more jokes, and fall back asleep. It sounds like a funny story, but his demeanor more than anything disgusted me. Later, when the food conductor came by the collect his bill, he claimed he never ordered anything and the conductor was a dirty liar. So it goes.

(Sorry Vonnegut, it just worked.)

But, while he was the bulk of entertainment, I was most enlightened by a 27 year old man from Gangtok that sat with us.

Tenzing was his name, and he was a social worker in Sikkim. A native Lepcha (people native to old, old Sikkim when it was still a country,) he said that I looked familiar, and perhaps he had seen me on Tibet road when I was in Gangtok. Tenzing was bringing his seventeen year old sister Tshering (pronounced Cher-ing) to Bangalore to begin her schooling as a Nurse.

Tenzing had short hair for the most part. I say for the most part because the back of his head, right above the neck, the hair was kept long. I asked him why? Religious? Political? Personal? He simply said “I cannot tell you why I keep my hair like this, but I do have a joke. Usually when I go to the barber my hair cut costs Rs. 20. Then one day, without me knowing they changed the price. When he was almost done with my haircut I asked how much it would be and he said Rs. 22. So I said, 'okay just stop here!'. And so this is why my hair is like this.”

Funny how little things like that, seemingly insignificant, completely changed my respect for that man. As soon as he said that he couldn't tell me why his hair was like this, I thought better of him. Is it right, or wrong? Who knows. In fact, who cares – but that was the feeling that ensued.

We began talking, as most travelers do, about what each other does. He completed his under-grad a couple years back with a degree in Sociology. Currently he said he is working as a social worker for village people in the Gangtok area. On top of that, he is somewhat an activist.

This is where it got interesting.

Him an his team, which I believe go by the name of A.C.T (but I need to confirm this) work against government “development” projects. As with most things, its a double edged sword. Development for the government is building dams, power plants, and other such things, while destroying nature, exploiting the Lepchas and basically forcing them to migrate. He says he understands the importance of such projects, and why the government does them, but global solutions don't always work. He's looking to push for more micro-solutions.

Solutions initiated by the people. Solutions that protect the environment. Solutions that protect culture.

Now it may seem like I am harping on the government a lot. To some, this is not anything new, you've heard my opinions. However, everyone, and I mean every single native Indian that I have asked since being in India the second time around, says “Yes, of course the government is corrupt.”

You saw the post on Pawan and his opinions on the train. Surya, Tenzing, even John thinks the government is corrupt. It's like it is common knowledge. And isn't the government just supposed to be a representation of the people? We can only hope. Therefore, if this is the census of some people of India (who I'm beginning to believe is the majority), how can we trust a government in their “development” projects. Thus why I support Tenzing so much.

I urge everyone to check out, just to see what it's like, his movement's blog – weepingsikkim.blogspot.com . Whether you support them or not, at least see what they are doing. According to Tenzing, they have halted 4 out of the 6 development projects in the area. The pressure from the people is really building in the area and they are making an impact. And all I can think about is what I saw on the trek, and the pictures I took. I would want future generations of tourists and locals to be able to see those sites that I have seen and more. If the government continues their projects, it's all going to be ruined. Sad.

Funny thing is, on my way down to NJP (before I met Tenzing) I saw the dam being made on the Teesta river. Even then I looked down from the road and thought - “That thing looks so ugly. It's going to make the flow of the river look so different.”

It seems almost like I needed to meet Tenzing.

Halfway through the ride, I decided to probe a little deeper into his thoughts and doings. I inquired - “So you guys are really scrapping the governments projects, that's pretty awesome. But I must ask – have you guys done any physical work against government projects? Like going in and taking out a few cement blocks and stuff?” What I meant was obviously destructive undertakings.

He looked at me for a long moment and a small grin crept up the side of his mouth. “I can't say these things, or tell you what I have personally done.”

But we were on the same level, his eyes were telling me, “Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

And so I hope to see Tenzing and Surya in the future. Either in Gangtok, or in Bangalore. I told Tenzing if I ever go to Gangtok again I will surely call him and support him in their fight.

The majority of the ride was like this, talking and explaining, laughing and joking. A fun ride.

Some cross-cultural things I noticed, and was happy about:

Touching and Eating. Let me explain:

Eating first; never once did any of us eat alone. On the first day, I thought in the morning I wouldn't be very hungry for lunch, and didn't order any. As they began to bring out lunches, my hunger swelled, and I asked for an extra egg curry for seat 53. Since I ordered so late, and in the middle of the lunch rush, its not surprising that mine came late. Quite late. As Tenzing and Surya's lunches were getting cold they patiently waited for mine to arrive. Over the course of 45 minutes I urged them many times to 'eat', 'it's getting cold', 'don't worry about me', but still they waited, repeating to me, “better to eat together.”

That is something I really value about India, or any culture that makes sure even traveling strangers don't eat alone. You don't see that too much in America any more (hint hint thank you family for making us eat together!)

Like wise, once when Tenzing's dinner was quite late, we also waited. I think you'll find that your food is much more rewarding when it's eaten with other people even if it is cold.

Onto touching. As I said in another post about guys naturally holding hands as friends; having a smaller personal space is normal here. On the train, other people often came to sit down and talk with us, or talk with neighbors, and our seats became crowded. I began to explain to Surya and Tenzing how being this close is not as widely accepted in America. How even if we did have enough space, and my leg stretched out to touch another persons (friend or not friend) I would not be surprised if that person would promptly retract their leg so as to stop the contact.

Often times during a joke Tenzing would slap my leg. Or if Surya would turn to me to tell me something a little more personal, I noticed his hand on my knee. After explaining my frame of mind, they said they took no notice of the touching. It was common place. Understandably. Not that I had any problem, in fact I admired the acceptance of smaller personal space. My American mind though registered every time I touched someone else.

Personally what this did for me was reestablish a male camaraderie that had been lost after I left Europe. The slapping of foreign knees, the putting hands on shoulders, leaning on others, or touching to pass between people, strangers, tourists, natives, children, men, women...

It seems more and more that America's ideas of male camaraderie are more backwards than anywhere else. But I am not here to harp on America; I just believe that the closer connection between friends is a positive aspect and can improve lives and relationships.

I'll end it on that. Now I am in Kerala and will post soon the snake boat races. All I can say is that I saw some drills going on, and... wow. The songs, the drum beat, the rowing. I'll save it for another time. Now I am preparing for my next adventure – which may be lengthy. You'll all hear about it soon.

The Hidden Post

One great thing about Blogger is this: If I start a post and save it without posting it, and then post it at a later date, it doesn't go to the top of the list, it stays in chronological order.

Hence, this is the hidden post. Not meant for the faint-hearted. Not meant for big imaginations. Just keep it in context. The following two situations could have happened anywhere in the world. Just out of coincidence, I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or wrong place at the wrong time - however you want to define it.

Within three days I saw two dead bodies... an omen? I don't know, but it did happen.

So here it goes, first instance. On the way back from Geyshing, I took a shared jeep to New Jalpaiguri. Shared jeep but it was only three of us and a driver. Closer and closer, we were driving down the mountain and it was apparent we were getting close to NJP. At one particular spot, a lot of cars had stopped and a lot of people were out, looking over the cliff.

It looked like this: the road went straight, until the hill got too steep. At which the road went to the right and followed the side of the hill, until it turned left, still following the hill and then veering right. From a birds eye view it would appear to be a “U” or very curved “V”. On the right side of the road the hill went straight up, and on the left it went down. At the apex of this V, I believe there was a small waterfall or a trickle of water. Perhaps that water better describes how that part of the hill was formed over millions of years.

Again, from a birds eye view, with the V being correctly positioned to resemble the letter, we had stopped on the left side of it and got out. Looking towards the opposite side, groups of people were gathering, all looking down into this ravine. There was a big red truck among those people, with faded yellow letters saying: “West Bengal Emergency and Fire”. A rope protruded out it's backside and went into the ravine.

Following the rope, at certain points along it were people in uniforms and yellow hard hats holding on, looking down, looking up, and ultimately guiding the rope. A group of people at the top of the ravine were pulling on the rope. There had been an accident. This much was obvious. What kind, I was not sure. “Someone fell?” I asked our driver. Speaking very little English, he nodded, but not in confidence.

At the end of this rope was a man not in uniform, helping the emergency crews with a large white tarp at the end of the rope. It appeared as if perhaps a truck had veered off the road and spilled it's goods into the ravine and the crews and the driver were trying to salvage what they could. But, there was no truck on the road.

So, as my imagination began to take control, perhaps the truck had fallen, but due to the size of trucks, the driver was okay and still, they were trying to get his goods out. The white tarp they were pulling up the hill was evidently filled with something, perhaps soft, perhaps hard, but it was not obvious. Judging from where I was, the tarp was perhaps 3 feet wide and 4 or 5 feet tall. And no more than a couple feet deep. I settled my mind saying there was no way a person could fit in there,unless it was a bloody mess. Anyway, at the moment, it was halfway hidden behind a large boulder and entangled amongst the rocks. The crews were trying to free it.

A strong tap on my elbow and the driver was telling me to get back in the car, we've been here long enough. As I turned to walk, I gave one last look at the white tarp as they freed it from the boulder.

Protruding out the side was a foot. I turned back and entered the car, not being able the see the tarp anymore, telling my mind that I simply must have seen something else. After all, it was only a split second that I thought I saw the foot. My eyes were glued on the ravine as we drove around the V of this hill.

As we got to the other side I could see the sweating faces of 5 men pulling at the rope, pulling up the tarp. I looked down into the ravine. No tarp, no people. I felt relieved. Until a reflection of light caught my eye. I looked a little further and down at the bottom of the ravine, caught underneath a rock was a black and silver motorcycle.

I had no choice but to succumb to my imagination - as horrible as it may have been – for the rest of the ride.

Later, on the train ride, I spoke about what I saw and Tenzing had commented on it too. He said that when he took the jeep the next day, his driver, in that exact same spot as I described, right after the dam, had said there was a bad accident there just the day before. And rarely are there such bad accidents.

At least that's what I'm told.

Second instance:

This incident is pure coincidence. It must have happened just hours before I saw it. Anyway, here it goes:

I woke up on the first morning of my long train ride. Staggering to my feet, I stumbled through my bag to get my toiletries and towel so that I could wash up. I noticed that we had stopped at a station. In Indian trains, stopping at a station could mean 2 min or half an hour. Either way, I went to the sink, located at the end of each of the cars.

Pulling up on the faucet, water rushed over my toothbrush. I was thinking about how many people are so afraid of even putting their mouths anywhere near the water. Most water is okay to wash up with, just don't swallow it. After I was done, I moved out of the way so that someone behind me could also use the sink. Slowly, I squeezed out some toothpaste onto the brush.

The toothpaste was still in it's somewhat solid form, but warm. Not disgusting warm, but warm none the less. Eyes still glazed over from sleeping, I walked over to the door of the train, which was open, to hopefully catch a nice morning breeze, or wake up in some rays of morning sunshine. My tired eyes slowly looked up from the rocks and the tracks that lay still beneath my feet.

“Oh c'mon, first thing in the morning?” I thought to myself. I looked up and two tracks over was a dead animal. It must of got hit the night before.

Slowly, as slow as the sun rises or sets over the horizon, my brushing slowed down. My heart slowed down. The crows calls to the dead grew louder. More crows began to gather. I nearly drooled toothpaste onto the floor below.

Feet. Ribs. Two nipples. Hands. That was no dead animal, but a person. From the look of it, a poor person, an old person. Probably a beggar. To know what I saw, well this is where it gets gross. Skip this part if you are queasy.

The body was folded in half. Ribs and chest to the sky, the ankles were below the shoulder blades on it's back. I say 'it's' for two reasons. One, it was now considered a corpse. Two, it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman. After the body died, muscles and blood stopped, and everything obviously sunk with gravity. The chest could have been that of a man, or simple an older woman, whose breasts had already sunk into her chest.

The body was broken, as in opened up, in two places. At the hips, where the legs bent behind the back was completely torn open. The cawing of crows, their beaks pecking and pulling at intestines and internal parts. I feel my own stomach quiver as I write this. The intestines were not exactly spilled out on the floor, but still nicely compacted within the body, barely protruding where the skin had broke and the legs snapped.

Then there was the face. This is also what made it hard to identify if it were a man or a woman. There was no face. I was not even sure I saw bone. Instead it was a mess of blood, cartilage and muscle in between the two feet on the ground. Just looking at the face made me realize just how fragile our bodies are. And just how invincible we really think we are. The face was still connected at the front of the neck, but splayed out on the ground like it was an old dirty rag. Like someone had said, 'enough of this rag', and threw it on the ground. Skin is no thicker than rags. Bodies no cleaner.

It was a sight for sore eyes, and not a way to wake up in the morning. I turned around to see who was around me and Tenzing was standing there, smiling. I said, “Look”, and away his smile went.

“Oh”, was all he could said.

“Have you seen anything like this before?” I had asked.

“No, never.”

Before he could say more, we heard a sound, a dreaded sound. The horn of a train. And not our train. Pressed together, we peered out of the door and towards the front of the train to have our worst fears confirmed. On the tracks of a dead body, another train was coming. The crows glanced at each other and fled in a flurry.

“She was definitely hit by a train. I think it will pass over her.” Tenzing said. At that moment our train whistled and began to depart, and as we left the body, all splayed, splattered and torn on the tracks, the other train passed right over it, not even grazing it (to our thanks).

Once back inside we talked about what we had seen. Tshering (Tenzing's sister) said she saw it too and thought it was a goat or something. Surya had never seen anything like that before. For some reason Tenzing kept saying that we should have taken pictures. Perhaps, but I don't know if I would want pictures of a corpse on my camera or computer. Something irks me about that.

Either way, whoever reads this, don't think of either of these situations of the standard. It could have happened in any country. The second situation, that body was still alive almost. It couldn't have been hit more than a couple hours ago... it was complete chance that we happened to stop where we stopped and saw it.

But, I know this will affect people's judgment of India anyways. What can you do.

And then there was one...

In an interesting turn of events, Jared, Mark and I decided to go separate paths through India earlier than expected. The other day, before leaving for New Jalpaiguri in West Bengal, we wanted to make sure there was going to be a hotel available in Darjeeling. Jared was on the phone all day looking for a hotel with nothing turning up.

It was strange, many hotels didn't answer, many said they were closed - but way more than seemed normal. We finally got a chance to talk to someone in Darjeeling and asked if they knew why...

Apparently Darjeeling is on strike.

The whole city has been closed down for the past week or two because of this strike. Darjeeling, (for supposed economic reasons says my informant in Sikkim) wants to be a separate state. I suppose there is more government funding if they are a separate state and have decided to stop working. Even buses aren't running to the city.

No matter, it makes life more exciting. They spent the next 3 hours planning trips into Nepal and going on treks. I decided I was going to stick to the plan and head as far north into Sikkim as possible. So at 6:30 pm on Thursday I left for the train station Mugal Sarai, 16km away from Varanasi. A 9:00pm train (arriving 45 min late) picked me up and off I went. Albeit a little nervous as I had no plan of action, but excited for the same reason.

On the train I had a met a very interesting person. Pawa Gupta, a devot Hindu, and his nephew, were on a train back to NJP (New Jalpaiguri) from the nephew's father's (his brother's) funeral. Clad in white, Pawa spoke almost perfect English. Even his 16 year old nephew, who was still in school spoke English very well.

We spoke about many things over the course of the next 16-17 hours. Life, religion, spirituality, economics, Indian education and reform, Indian government and it's corruption, the list goes on. Thinking back on it, it was like one of those conversations you hear in novels. It was very invigorating.

When I arrived in NJP at around 1:30 pm, I had heard that you can share a jeep for Rs. 150 a seat to Gangtok. How convenient, exactly that happened. So we packed our stuff, waited for more people and in about 2 hours we were off. How fun I thought - until I realized we were cramming 10 people into a 7 person jeep. I was also quite discouraged because I had not yet seen one mountain, and I was already getting pretty far north. (NJP is on the northern end of West Bengal).

So we drove. Crammed, we drove. I listened to music, no more than 5 inches space between my knees, and we drove down bumpy roads. And large speed bumps. We hit our heads and fell asleep on each other. When we stopped, we prayed for a strong wind to blow the heat away. Thankfully at certain points, some people got off. Certain points.... in the moutains!

Yes! They arrived! We drove through the mist and the clouds and the dust, and we began going up. But let me correct myself. They weren't mountains... apparently, considering the Himalayas are just some more kilometers north, these are the hills. But compared to American hills (NE America) these are mountains. Wet, forest covered, dense mountains. With more flora than you care to trudge through. Winding roads up the sides of these cliffs, foliage on one side, gorge and river on the other.

So we climbed, following the Teesta River to Gangtok. 90+ km from NJP. 4 Hours and we finally arrive, and it's dark. I have now been traveling by land for 24 hours, and I am TIRED. And I was discouraged. I forgot I needed a permit to enter Sikkim. And that Sikkim has semi-strict nature and camping and trekking rules. So I opened my book to see what I could do. Tourists are barely allowed anywhere! And you can't really go anywhere alone - buses don't run to villages, etc. Discouraged, I closed the book and hoped that it was wrong (since it had been before).

I arrive to a hotel I found in my book with Dorm style rooms. Nice and cheap, Rs. 70. It was right for once. To top it off, its not peak tourist season, and there is only one other person in the room. Who leaves at 6am tomorrow. So for Rs. 70, I have a room to myself (we were paying Rs. 500+ before for triples). To top it off again (here's the cherry), I spoke breifly with the clerk at the hotel about what treks they offered, how much etc., and he was saying how the price all depends on how many other people go.

And then he said - "But we do offer solo treks."

Let's just hope it doesn't rain tomorrow.