Summer 1988 in India. Two Brits. Two Sweds. And me.
We met while clamoring aboard a train headed west out of Raxaul, Bihar, India. By the time we boarded there was no room to stand, let alone sit. We put our backpacks in the luggage rack and climbed up there ourselves.
The two fellows from Sweden were in their late twenties and spoke good English. They had been traveling in India for some months. The two from England had recently graduated from Secondary School, and were new to India. I’d been in India several months, traveling around.
As it turned out, we all intended to go to Dal Lake, Srinagar, Kashmir. I don’t really remember a lot about the trip. It was hot. It was cramped. Despite sleeping, it was exhausting. The company was good, though. We took turns getting off at the stops along the way. I noted the time when we finally left the train; 23 hours and 23 minutes in those luggage racks.
After a short bus ride, sitting in proper seats, we arrived in Srinagar. Some guys boarded the bus, seeing tourists aboard, and we were convinced to rent a houseboat for a week, all meals provided. The boat was large, docked next to the road, and way too close to a culvert that drained sewage from the town into the lake. But the food was good, and delivered to the boat.
During the week we took several boat trips around Dal Lake in long, narrow paddle boats to see the sites, walked around the town, and in the evenings relaxed on upper deck of the houseboat. We talked a lot about Jesus; I hope they came eventually to accept Him into their lives.
At the end of the week we parted ways, the Sweds off in one direction, the Brits in another, and I down to New Delhi.
Jonah’s Song 