To Gwalior

Wednesday morning we rose before dawn. We left the hostel at 5 am, meaning we had to be out of bed and ready before 5 am. Our bodies were so confused with the time change that we were all awake that early anyway.

We climbed onto our chartered bus, which would become a place of comfort by the end of the week because we spent so much time on it. Out the windows, the city was waking. Some still slept... on sidewalks, at bus stops, in truck beds piled with packages. The hard hostel bed that made my hips feel bruised started to seem pretty cushy. At least it was quiet and private (although we did have some interesting visitors banging on our door the first night to claim belongings they had left behind). But, the streets were busy. Rickshaws sped about and vendors vended along the sidewalk.

When we arrived at the New Delhi train station, we left our safe bus and entered the busy, dark city streets. Headlights blinded me and horns confused me. Following my designated buddy Molly, I ran into an ungrateful rickshaw. That's embarrassing.

Inside, the train station was as busy as Union Station on a typical weekday, even at 5:30 am. The entrance was white stone. People stood around. We weaved our way through the crowd, stepping around people lying on the ground. The tracks were less busy, but still hopping for early morning. We waited for the 6 o'clock train to Gwalior, a city about four hours south Delhi, a few stops past Agra.

We took the first class train, with glass windows instead of bars and assigned seats instead of cramming on. It was pretty much like any Amtrak or Metra train. Our group sat in sections in two different cars. We were served breakfast and chai as we watched slums and fields go by, still an introduction to the sights we would see that day.