THE off-duty train attendant across the table eyes me coolly as he stubs out his cigarette in a glass of tea. I turn to his colleague to ask for water.
She grabs his glass, flings its contents out of the window, disappears and reappears a few seconds later with the same container.
I glance nervously at the ash in my drink. And raise the glass to my lips.
The man breaks into a grin and asks: 'Where you come from?'
Forget about fine china, cosy cabins and soft-lit carriages that ease your way into a country as you whizz past verdant fields of padi.
Taking local trains through South- east Asia initiates you into a quirky order unspoken of among the hundreds of people crammed into 10 moving wagons for hours on end.
First things first: Make yourself at home. And bring whatever you need for that.
On the way from Butterworth to Bangkok, as the train crawls near a particularly troubled stretch of southern Thailand, I watch with alarm as a fellow passenger draws a menacing chopper out of her handbag - then proceeds to slice cherry tomatoes for a snack.
On another overnight ride, from Hue to Hanoi, an elderly Vietnamese man changes into his full pyjama suit before falling asleep, fully upright, on his third-class wooden bench. His neighbours bring out the 'bed linen'. They lay rattan mats under the bench and nod off with their faces just inches from the other man's feet, in a carriage that smells of orange peel, chicken porridge, unwashed hair and medicated oil.
Armrests are armrests only until the passenger behind props his feet up by your elbow to recreate that chaise longue experience. Curtains are curtains only until they find new use as blankets draped over children shivering from cranky air-conditioning.
And there's no shame in entertaining yourself on such long rides.
Attendants on a train from Lao Cai to Hanoi get round the boredom of the eight-hour shift by creating their own karaoke lounge in the dining car. Over cans of Tiger beer, they belt out songs of heartbreak to video clips of chaste lovers spending half their time holding hands and the other half staring at the ocean. Mid-octave, the crooners check out female tourists who stumble in.
In Cambodia, when the cargo train stops in the middle of nowhere for repairs two hours into our nine-hour ride, its staff just shrug and cheerfully disappear into the bushes for a leak. They emerge minutes later with bunches of wild berries, which they thrust into our hands. Then, they brandish some plucked ferns and start explaining about the kinds of ailments the ferns can cure.
And in the confines of each wagon, there are lots of room for kindness.
One morning, as our train makes a pit stop at a small station near Hanoi, a woman in rags rushes onboard with a gunny sack. She ekes out a living collecting empty plastic bottles scavenged off trains she boards when their staff are not looking.
The passengers rummage around their seats for contributions, calling out to her as she makes a mad dash through the aisle like a contestant in Supermarket Sweep. They thrust as many bottles as they can into her sack before the whistle blows, and she deftly jumps off the moving carriage.
On the rickety ride from Bangkok to Aranyanprathet, a villager laughs as I smart from the spicy minced pork I ventured to buy from a vendor on board. Then, she hands me a bunch of buah duku before getting off. 'Here,' she seems to say, 'this will take away the burn.' And when I cut my elbow wandering through the train from Butterworth to Bangkok, two offers of Band-Aid come flying before I can say 'Ouch'.
As I stand on the platform, slightly giddy after spending more than 75 hours on these regional trains, it occurs to me: Hey, the rides may not be smooth, but the company more than makes up for it.
