Ever since we had left Rishikesh and got another vomit comet bus to Ramanagar, we had no seem another single westerner for a good few days. Except for the Kirsten family, other white faces were difficult to spot. Well, they would be since we were far far off the backpackers' beaten track. Who has heard of Ramanagur? Have you heard of Moradabad even? Even our guidebook failed to mention this pretty large city in India, but it was where we needed to go to start heading out of India.

With the advent of the Internet and India's desire to provide the world with 25% of its skilled workforce by 2050, it has embraced the internet in a big way. One government agency that has made use of this tool is Indian Railways. The wonder of using Internet and Indian Railways is that, once you know how their system works in cyberspace, on the trains and at the reservation centres, you save yourself considerable stress and tension in your travel arrangements. Good in theory, but it still takes the patience of a saint at the window organising it for real! Many reservation staff don't speak English and customer service is an advanced concept to actually imagine, never act upon!

Be that as it may, India does well to transport millions of Indians around India 24/7 with relative ease, but add in the fact that it was Diwali (the Indian equivalent of Christmas and New Year rolled into one) and there was inter-caste violence in the neighbouring, lawless, state of Bihar and the system starts to struggle to cope with the demands made of it. We got to Moradabad station hoping that we could get a train out that day or night to Gorakpur, about 12 train hours away and the jump off point to get into Nepal. We did have a ticket for the next night, but were unlikely to get on that train with tickets waitlisted 17 and 18. Basically to get a bed or a seat, about 200 needed to cancel before us. With cancelled and delayed trains and Diwali just around the corner, hell had a better chance of freezing over. Incidentally, we had booked these tickets weeks before., so it was not a last minute thing and I have not joined the Indian Nuppity Club (for those that work where I used too! You know who you are!)

Arriving into Moradabad station that morning was a real eye opener. We thought that after six weeks of travelling through Indian villages, towns and cities, we had seen the dirtiest of them all. Nope, the station here and its surround went from Moradabad to bloody awful. The station looked like a refugee camp with any and every available floor space, inside and out taken up by waiting, hopeful Indians and their extended families. There were monkeys, cats, dogs, mice and rats gathered in amongst them too. Add in the grit and grim and filth, and it was not looking good.

The fact that we could not get onto the morning train met a long wait at the station. Another good thing that Indian train stations have are retiring rooms. Some of these rooms are en suite and some are dorms. But don't get excited, at 160 rupees (about 2GBP) they are cheap and it shows. For those out there, it was the Hilton. For us, it was escape from staring eyes and slack jaws and a place to sleep and wait for the 2200 train.

When the train did come in, some three hours late, there was not a chance we could even squeeze onto that train. There were Indians hanging off the open doors and trying to squeeze themselves into every available nook and cranny and beat the other 15 blokes trying to do the same thing. Hmmm......we need to resort to plan G and the situation was looking desperate!

Whatever it took, we were getting out of these dump tomorrow and getting to Gorakpur as planned! Another day and evening of being aliens from space was taking its toll. Everywhere we went in this town, the eyes followed us. Most were simply amazed to see white folks in their city. The fact it does not even get a mention in our guidebook means that westerners just never make it here. We were here because it was our best chance in getting out of Moradadawful and India.

Looking back on our trip in India to that point, we thought that we had done well to not be bothered by the open stares and private jokes that westerners are subjected to in India. But alas, no. Ever since we landed like aliens from another galaxy in Amritsar we have had to endure some pretty rude and obnoxious behaviour from men particularly. The stares can be dealt with. Since most Indian men and boys hang around in dog packs, they are morally weak. Not one ever stood up to me confronting them. Beat the pack leader down, and the others meekly follow. There was no spine whatsoever. But worst was the jokes that were made about you. You know when you are been spoken about, joked about and made the butt of their stories. Again confrontations showed the class and character of those making jokes. Either they run away or backed down completely.

When you could engage some Indians in conversation, they talked at us telling us that it was all about the love andaffection they had for us. Hmmm.....lecherous staring has nothing to do with love and affection, mate. Although I did laugh when some young bloke made a pass at me in Amritsar! The bloody cheek.....!