Mumbai to Goa

As I waited for the Mandovi Express in Dadar, Mumbai I thought that I had come far to early given that it was only 6:55 and the train was scheduled for 7:22 AM. Better this way than the other way around, I thought, but the dirt and smell of Dadar didn't help much. Even after shooting for a couple of days in the slums of Bombay I would have imagined to be somewhat more resistant, but nay, I wanted to get out and wasn't all too patient. After figuring out where the D3 section of the train was I waited for sometime until the train came. But this wasn't the Mandovi Express, so again, after the longest 15 minutes I waited once more for the train. I walked in and found my seat, number 19. The number 19 was written on the seat with a permanent marker, or something of the sort. I waited for a while before sitting down because my seat was wet. Seated and curiously looking through the steel bars I saw how we passed Thane and then Panvel. There we were behind the Hills that mark the end of what I consider to be Bombay. The lush green fields were mixed with some random houses that seemed worn out by weathering but new in their form and architecture. I was later woken up by a girl who claimed my seat was hers. She asked to see my ticket, and  i replied, I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours. It would have worked If I hadn't noticed that I wasn't supposed to sit in D3 but in B3. I asked the crowd if someone happened to know on which side of the train B3 would be. "AC. AC." somebody said, but I failed to see who said it and whether they were pointing, as the girls mother was trying to make me move away, speaking loudly form the platform through the prison like bars of the window in the non-AC compartment. Afraid that I would miss the train if I didn't I run, I ran. Only then I realised just how damn long the Mandovi Express is. With my backpack another bag and a small tripod I ran along the platform. When i finally found my spot, nr. 19 on B, yes B3 a man had asked me if I could go to B4 where he had been allocated but separated from his family. I said yes, and asked what his name was, Alley he said. Alley Rosario. Another Catholic I thought. I wasn't interested in talking about Goa or anything, i was just happy that I wouldn't forget his name in case there would be an issue with the switch and all. I sometimes think that some people in India like permissions and documents more than their own lives. But It all worked out. I finally sat at the seat 36 in B4 the AC compartment. The windows in the AC compartment don't have bars like in the non AC, but they are polarised or filtered with yellow and blue foil, depending on which side of the compartment you find yourself. Our window was tainted blue, but that didn't bother me too much because the doors at the end of the compartment were open and I would be able to take a look and also make some snaps while I was at it. Speaking of which, you, dear reader will find here, some impressions of what I saw and liked as I travelled from Mumbai to Goa on the Mandovi Express.