114. Sardinesville

the Golden Man

114.

Sardinesville!

I can barely find a place to put my feet on the floor, let alone sit. But somehow vendors keep forcing their way through the crush of bags and bodies selling cheap watches, bread and plastic “Havoline Oil” containers filled with greasy water.

The train stops frequently and every time it does people swarm off to relieve themselves near the train tracks. It gets pretty slippery climbing back up the slope to the coach.

Some of the passengers are Moslem and they throw down small rugs and genuflect toward Mecca. It is a fight to get off and another fight to get back aboard

I do have one person helping me.

There is a young man wearing a gold fez who brings me a cold soft drink from the first-class coach where he is riding. (A “Sprite”, no less!) He speaks excellent English and appears to me to have a pleasant golden glow. Every time the train stops, he comes back to make sure I am OK. He tells me a little about the haystack villages we are passing and some of the history of the country. It makes me feel a lot better to have him traveling on the same train!

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