Backpacker Mark Strijbosch leaves over-commercialised Goa behind in the next stage of his adventure across India and gets too close for comfort with his fellow passengers during a 17-hour train ride.

Riding India’s famous railway systems was always going to be one of the highlights of the trip.

Notorious for their lack of space and general comfort, these old systems have been the veins of the country for decades, pumping people in and out of major cities and it was finally time to endure a 17-hour train ride from Goa all the way down to the coastal city of Kochi (Cochin).

Whatever time you book the train, a delay of at least two hours is almost a guarantee, so opting for a sunset journey seemed smart at first.

However, with the train not showing for more than three hours, my plans were shelved.

Abandoned alone in the station was an adventure in itself as all sorts gather there, ready for their next move.

The constant chatter from travellers exchanging stories was at last drowned by the screeching noise of a huge, green, rusted box speeding our way.

A tut of the horn and it was finally boarding time – in the pitch darkness. Everyone scattered, hoping to find their booked seat, but the odds are lower than winning the national lottery.

Initially, booking a single bunk in a ‘three’ zone, I eventually settled for the highest bunk in a room of five snoring adults.

Upon entering my quarter I was hit by a wall of smell, worse than any of the ones I met so far along the way.

A poisonous cocktail of sweat, gasses and Indian food lingered and the closed window allowed for escape.

At this point I was tempted to jump out to escape the dry, thick atmosphere that weighed me down like a new force of gravity.

Thankfully at this stage all the cabin lights were off, so God only knows the state of the floor, but hey – at under €20 a ticket I was not expecting first class.

Sleep again proved to be impossible as the snores bombarded my eardrums.

There I was, no pillow, no sheet, just lying three metres high on a wooden bunk supported by two metal chains that swung like a pendulum with each movement in the tracks. My mental state was not helped by the fact that I had now been awake for more than 24 hours straight and the temptation to slap everyone awake to stop snoring was almost too great.

Sleeping attempts were interrupted by the odd toilet breaks, which consisted of a small hole punched in the floor of a separate cabin.

Never have I been so grateful for the torch on my old Nokia and that last piece of toilet roll that survived from Goa.

Just at the cusp of sunrise, I finally managed to get some shut-eye, until… ‘Chai, chai, chai!’

Deep into the journey, just at the cusp of sunrise, I finally managed to get some shut-eye, until… “Chai, chai, chai…” came rolling down the aisles, coming from the mouth of a man trying to sell tea to anyone who needed breakfast.

Trying my best to ignore him, a slight tug on my toe shook me awake, causing me to bounce up and almost meet the ticket conductor flat on the floor.

After a total of 39 minutes of sleep, that was not the wake up call I needed.

It was morning now and I glanced around me to finally map out my cabin.

Five bunks piled above one another, with three more opposite. Bodies laid around in single file like in a morgue, their exposed toes only lacking the nametags.

Having an unsettled stomach from dodgy fish in Goa, it was time for breakfast and I attempted the vegetarian samosas, which went down a treat.

Dismounting from my bunk it was time to meet the neighbours, who looked at me with disgust. I was the only European and they were not best pleased with my bag occupying the main space between the bunks. It now served as their coffee table and foot rest.

Innovatively, each bed could be folded into a bench and we could now eat together and nothing broke the ice more than my next move.

Enthusiastically squeezing open the Pepsi that had endured the overnight ride, I forgot one of life’s basics and soon everyone in a two-metre radius was soaked in brown liquid… ooops.

That window escape from earlier would be handy now, I thought; however, somehow somebody made light of the situation and burst out laughing.

For the next 12 hours these drenched, cola-flavoured Indians became my travelling companions.

I was now fully awake and in good spirits, and craving some physical activity meant a walk through the cabin was in order.

Cue more bad looks, I at last clocked a Danish traveller I had met the night before and he showed me one of the best views I have ever seen. We stood between cabins as the train raced over a 50-metre bridge. Gripping the hand rail, I peered outwards to get a breath of the freshest air ever.

I could not help screaming in delight as I experienced a strange feeling of freedom, as I imagined how a dog feels when it hangs its head out of a moving car.

Initially dreading the journey, I grew to love it and that moment instantly became one of the highlights of my trip.

Travelling long distances you feel like you are between worlds, and I feel like a small part of me still rides freely on that rusted box they like to call an express train.

The journey took me to the edges of my mind and back and I would re-commend it over any form of transport, as my heart beat in tune with this massive nation.