Vicky and the taxis

Thursday December 3

Sorry no photos today, due to the NO PHOTOS signs.

Today was supposed to be an easy day and I seem to be more tired than yesterday. Some expected some unexpected.

The unexpected is that the breakfast here, stink is too harsh a word, aren't up to my usual standards. I had planned on going over to the New Market where a city renowned Jewish bakery is located, only to find that they didn't open until 10:30. Oy vey ! That is not what I wanted to hear at 7:30. The desk man did suggest that I try a place called Flurry’s. About a km away. I've found that you don't get a feel for a city unless you walk some of it. I had a general idea where the street I needed was from the taxi ride yesterday. Kinda one lane and one big street 'just over there'. This is a great town at 8 in the morning. It doesn't start to get rolling until 9:30 and full fledged work mode at 10. The walk was actually pleasant. The salesmen along the way weren't in full sale mode, with most setting up sidewalk shop for the day.

I thought I knew where I was going. The street I wanted wasn't to the left, it was behind the hotel. I had a pleasant stroll taking the long way around three lefts and I was on the right street. Then to find the number, which for some reason no one seems proud enough of their address to post it on their shop. Fortunately there was one guide post in the listing on the internet. Opposite McDonald's. I found Mickey D's and looked across the street and voila Flurry's.

Opened in 1927 as a fancy assed tea room for the aristocratic English and local clientele. It has of course been updated to a much more modern look, but somehow still holds that classic feel as well. Half the room is dedicated to enough pastry to satisfy the sweet of any tooth. The other half is set for table dinning. The breakfast menu looked like any that I would find in the USA. Bacon and eggs with hash browns and toast was my choice, though the pancakes were enticing. It was like being at home on a Sunday morning except for the women walking by in saris and the school children in uniforms. The eggs were overcooked, but I'm just being picky. It was a nice break from buffet breakfast choices. The door ma pointed the way back to way hotel area, it cut the trip by two thirds.

Checked back at the room and grabbed Nikon and went looking for a taxi. I had my camera, my liter of water, with Ocean Spray Cranberry Grape powder in it, turning it a vibrant red. Now all I needed was a taxi. On the way to breakfast there were several just up the street. Now nary a one. One will turn up, they always do. Honk, honk, beckon is how it always goes when I want to walk. Now I want a ride, not a peep or a beep. Around the time I about to go back to the hotel and ask them to call one a car pulls up next to me and rolls down his window. It was a white car. Thinking back he could have been anybody. Maybe just a guy who needed an extra couple bucks. No meter, no little light on top, no writing on the door. The price was right and I hopped in. He took me exactly where I was going, no muss, no fuss. There is a saying about God looking out for something and fools. I wonder how much god was watching out for me today.

Destination, Victoria scene of yesterday's two photo shots before calling it a day. A huge edifice with a central dome and a wing on each side. Kind of like the US. Capital, only somehow appearing grander. Dedicated to Queen Victoria. I was about to walk in, but was directed to the ticket booth. Dual tiered pricing one for Indian nationals and one, and actual ten times higher for foreign nationals. The foreigners did get a much nicer glossy ticket than the locals did, I have to admit.

I got t the gate and with the authority that some men are given, he pointed at my red water and hook his head. I saw the sign that said No Food, but not the No Drinks one, because there wasn't one. Plead my case that it wasn't food, but he wasn't wavering. I ad only had two sips out of it, but decided trowing a fit wouldn't help, so I looked for a trash can. Off to my left behind a gate was a trash can. I turned at tossed the bottle high over the gate and without touching any new dropped it perfectly into the basket. This would have been a three pointer on any basketball court. I looked at him and said “How 'bout that ?”. He wasn't impressed. Tough crowd here today. There were a few football fields between the gate and the actual Victoria monument of open area. Half way there it started to rain. Not his heavy northwest mist type rain I'm used to, that tropical marble sized raindrops that makes every one a contender in the wet T-shirt competition. I headed for the one large tree because I didn't want to win. Let someone else have a chance today. The rain was short lived and as I approached the steps to enter was told no photos inside. What is it with this country and their photography prohibitions. They aren't some African tribesman who thinks it is going to steal their soul. There wasn't anything inside that I saw thy needed copyright protection of. Some old paintings that needed restoration so bad that you had a hard time figuring out what the subject was in the first place. An armory of old knives, daggers and cannons and a new diorama of the history of Calcutta. The most photogenic thing in the whole building was the darned rotunda and it was made out of rock.

Forty five minutes was sufficient for me to see what interested me. Besides the men in uniforms and lifeguard whistles kind of got on my nerves. If a family wants to stand neath the portico before hitting the sun drenched sidewalk let them. Don't treat them like criminals.

This whole reverence to Queen Victoria has me confused. After the British were forced out in 1948 I'm surprised the bronze statue of Vicky wasn’t melted down into post and pans and the statues ground to dust. I know we don't have many monuments to our British roots and certainly none as grand as this.

Next stop on today's mini tour was over to Saint Paul's Cathedral. If not for the heat and humidity it would have been a pleasant stroll. On the way out, I had to walk by the site of my great basket and didn't see my bottle in there. As I walked past the guard shack one of the guys called out to me and told me to come over. Oh, boy ! Here it comes, chastisement for not being respectful to silly rules. Instead he reaches behind the counter and like a rabbit from a magician's hat my bottle appeared. I thanked him greatly, and couldn't wait for that first sip to wash the taste of crow from my mouth.

Saint Paul's was built in the early part of the 1800's and of course no photos are allowed inside. Another temple to in this case a gold man, where the worshipers got to sit in seats and could kneel on soft cushions instead of hard marble. Important people were either buried in the walls and floor or had metal or stone signs telling how important they were. There was one photograph on the wall made on Christmas eve with the entire room lit by candles, that if I could have found a copy to buy I would have. My maternal grandmother was Catholic and I remember going with her to church with her once where she it a candle for me. I was hoping t return the favor, but couldn’t find those darned candles in this place. I hope in his case it is more the thought that counts than the actual flame.

I was kind of done looking at buildings for the day and it was time to head back to the barn. It became obvious quickly that this was not a good taxi street. One of the vendors suggested one street corner over. Which was all peachy keen, ducky fine except for the uncontrolled intersection between here and there. Not your normal intersection, one of your super intersections. Full of Buses and Land Rovers. One that can't stop for anything smaller than a cement truck and one that wouldn't. I was doing my real life Frogger across the street and then like any animal of prey I froze. Thanks to that candle I couldn't find in the church, the next car stopped and let me cross to safety.

One taxi did stop and quoted e a price double the regular inflated tourist price. I told him the real price and he drove off. I stood on the new street waiting for the next empty taxi come by, along with an older well dressed man. We both waited and waited watching cabs with fares snuggled in the back seats. I decided hat I'd go try a different corner. No sooner did I get to the next corner but a nice empty blue and white A/C taxi approached, on the other side of the street. I wasn't about to press my luck crossing against the light on this corner. The light changed to my direction and lo and behold, the angles sang. My blue and white savior had made the corner and was waiting for me. His price was exactly what I thought was the right tourist price, but I was pretty hot and tired and would have paid more He drove me to my hotel's door, took the agreed upon price and then I added a 50% tip. We both went away happy.

A bit under the A/C in my room and I was about ready to face the scourge of m trip to Calcutta. The New Market. A gauntlet of pashmina, jewelry and anything else for sale tis side of Luxor, Egypt. One of the helpers that got me to the shirt shop yesterday found me as soon as I emerged from the hotel. Okay I surrender. Let's go to get some money changed and pick up the repaired shirts. Money changed easily the shirts were not there. He 'just' sent the man after them. Please sit, it will be just minute. After 20 minutes of small talk I told him to drop them off at the hotel when they did get there.

One of my friends asked for a small trinket from India and this seemed like a perfect time to get it. I told my helper that I wanted a small brass female Hindu deity for her. We went back t a store that I was in last evening and thought that they liked their stuff much too much and wanted to hold onto it longer, based on their high prices. This time was no exception. The deal was for a mere 1800 I would be the proud owner of a two inch tall rough cast bronze statue. I countered with 300, he dropped to 1500, I upped to 400 and we both realized neither of us was going to leave this deal happy. I walked and he let me. Pretty much the same starting point. I told him she was just a 600 friend, he said he'd do 8 and then caved to 7. I stuck to 6 and he wasn't moving off 700 so I walked out the door, well halfway out the door, before he called me back and accepted my 600, but not before calling me a very hard women. Maybe he wasn't making what he wanted, but he wasn't selling t a loss like he was telling me that I am certain of.

Off to the Sunderbans in the morning. I am not sure if it is a Wi-fi free zone of not. If so, see you in a couple days.

Thank Heavens for and air conditioned Toyota

Tuesday December 2^nd – Calcutta

After a light dinner of soup and carbs I went back to the room and tried to figure out the television and cable box combination. Each required a different input from the same remote and nothing was marked in a manner that was easy for me to understand. Finally the arcane magic of the remote did get a picture and I found something in English to kill and hour.

The morning included breakfast in the hotel. It was pretty Indian and not a lot western. Everything here is spicy. I kind of like spicy, but not to the exclusion of all else. The fried potatoes were spicy, the tomato basil soup was spicy, I wouldn't be surprised if the ice cream here is spicy. There is a Jewish bakery in the New Market, hopefully not near the butchers, I might do that for breakfast tomorrow instead.

I decided that today would be my big tourist day. Hire a cab and drive around looking at things until I was sick of seeing things. Then the choices began. Air conditioned or not? I'm tough, non a/c, please. The bellman hailed a taxi on the street and started talking, then being emphatic, then yelling then – well I'm glad there wasn't a gun nearby. Te fare was expected to be one price and he was asking for double. For the double price I could have an a/c taxi that the hotel sub contracts through. Thinking about it now, I hope they didn't pull some schmoe off the street. Promise him a dollar or two to get yelled at and act indignant.

However it was, he walked and the A/C cab was called. I think they had to build the cab for as long as it seemed to get here. The cab was a newer Toyota Diesel SUV. It soon became apparent that A/C was the way to go. The traffic was horrendous and the stopped traffic sometimes left you sitting for 10 or more minutes before it moved just far enough for the light or the cop to change the direction of flow. The car came equipped with something I haven’t seen in probably 50 years. On the steering wheel was a “Suicide knob”, sometimes known as a “Necking knob”. A round ball that was attached to the rim of the wheel that the driver could one handed steer the car. I think the reason that it was called a “Necking knob” was because the driver would have one hand to steer and one arm to go around his best girl. The “Suicide” part might have had more to do with youth and no seat belts than the knob itself. They were kind of looked down upon by my parents. Only the rowdy boys used them and the rowdiest of them, their ball was an 8 Ball. Today's driver did not fit that mold.

I haven't seen the sun since I have been in Kolkata. There has been a serious fog over the entire city for the whole time. I'm not sure if it is weather related, being near the swamps or caused my pollution. Maybe it is left over from the British and their foggy London town.

In my minds eye, when I pictured Calcutta. I pictured some run down shacks with sewage running in the streets next to a river. That picture must be from another incarnation of mine. It is a huge city. Why, they even have a McDonald’s !

With the site streets not being straight, the mish mash of types of vehicles on these streets. The 12 mile drive to the first temple of the day took about an hour. The temple complex Belur Math got great reviews on TripAdvisor so it was a must see. Maybe I would have liked it better if the NO PHOTOS signs didn't keep getting in the was of my best shots. The temples were a series of temples. One main one and several smaller ones. No shoes of course. The main one was a long marble hallway with people sitting or kneeling on the floor, before a glass enclosed plaster of Paris statue surrounded by silver plates and flowers. Obviously it had more meaning than that, but that is what I saw. It was just to new and sterile for my taste.

The other temples were more of the same, except these were moostly dedicated to specific dead men and women an seemed to be either on the place or near the place where they were cremated. More cncrete, marble, plaster of Paris and silverware.

Abou not those 4 cups of coffee were making hings uncomfortable so I went in search of the loo. I found it. Nice and clean, but not Western. The squat toilets were bad enough when I was thinner, now it's a chore to get back up without touching anything. I might of pulled a muscle. Here was a price for a clean toilet though. 1 Rupee for urine and 2 for toilet. So even here it is Number 1 (Rupee) and Number 2 (Rupee).

The driver said to call him when I was ready to go, alas Sprint's i Phone doesn't work in India. So I waited and paced outside for ½ an hour until the driver came back.

The next temple was what I was expecting. Many coats of paint, some peeling, throngs of the unwashed devoted with just a hint of grime covering it all. Dakshineswar temple is great, and it even as a parking lot ! Of course more statues and flowers and silver, but here there was a long line of the faithful waiting to climb the steps an give their offering to that god (I think Kali). After they paid their respects they took one another's photo in front of the shrine, walked over to a man sitting on a chair ho put some red paste on their forehead and they dropped a couple Rupees on his table. Whether this man was a priest of what, is lost on me. He was dressed like another man you would meet on the street.

Opposite of the temple were another 10 or 12 other smaller temples across the courtyard. Each of these had a linga in the center when milk or water was poured along with the occasional flower placed. Some people were doing one and leaving, some were doing each one in order. One lady had water in a plastic gallon milk jug. She was poring some on each linga. I don't know if it was special water, or she thought the gods would think it was milk since it came from a milk jug.

The next scheduled stop was closed from noon to four and so we alternated to the Kali ghat temple at the extreme southern tip of the city. We were at the extreme northern end, of course.

By the time we got to Kali ghat temple, from which it is assumed the city got it's name (Kali = Calcutta) that a/c was feeling really good. The temple complex was crowded and smaller that the previous two, but had a much more alive vibe to it. One room had an old beat up tree that women were praying to for a child. If they did have a successful pregnancy they brought the child back on it's 21^st day and show the tree what they did together.

Even with the A/C the traffic and crush of people were getting to me. A stop was planned for Victoria, a museum or something, but I opted for just photo of the exterior before saying “Uncle” (not Bob's) and begging to return to the sanctuary of my hotel for some quiet and refreshment.

I did have two errands to attend to as well. One was to look in to a trip to the Sundrebans, where I had hoped to go last year, before my crash and burn in Bangladesh's fish market. Found the right place a couple blocks away and with some explaining from them, and crossing his palm with almost a Benjamin, I had secured two nights, single occupancy in the Sunderban mangrove swamps, all inclusive. I am not expecting a lot of comfort or luxury for that price, especially since the travel agent's office was stacked waist high in large backpacks. We shall see.

Next stop was the New Market to find a tailor to repair two blouses Well that turned into a sales trip to rival the best rug merchant in Marrakesh. Eventually I was able to get away with a $10 repair on my $8 shirts and two new shirts at about $12 each. He started out at a hundred. I thought my $12 a shirt offer would be below is price and I would skate away home free without losing face. Guess I should have gone lower.

Whew ! So that is tourism in Calcutta from my point of view. Dinner on the rooftop of Teriyaki Chicken (spicy of course) and rice, with a well deserved Fosters beer.

Oh ! Calcutta !

Kolkata (Calcutta) Tuesday December 1

Well I'm in the heart of it now for sure. I wanted the noise, dirt and chaos that I was expecting from Calcutta and I certainly have found it.

This morning I told the hotel that I would be leaving for more exciting climes. They told me, not until I canceled with Booking.com. I didn't realize that the property got charged a fee from me just booking the room. I thought it was only if I actually stayed there. That was mostly true, but I needed to cancel. It was supposed to be as simple as a mouse click, of course it wasn't. Since I had started the stay, I couldn't mouse it away. I had to call their 800 (008 in this case) number, speak to a real live person to get it done. It went smoothly after getting a nice lad. She sent a cancellation email to me and the hotel and “Bob's your … “ Whoops.

The taxi was called and the price agreed upon and I was back on the road again, though it really wasn't that long of a road. Slowly we navigated the streets of Calcutta. Some almost open road, sometimes a grinding halt as the driver would inch between a bus and another taxi or squeeze in behind a passing motorbike and sneak around an unsuspecting tuk-tuk. Then it was back t wind in my face speeding along for another few miles. Eventually the speeding along became less and less and the worming became more and more, until it was inch worms all the time.

Now there wasn't a single straight anything. Not the decrepit buildings, not the people bent under loads, and certainly not the road. The road must have been following goat and donkey trails long forgotten. Perhaps it was the contour on the ground, maybe it was former stream beds. For whatever reason, the modern road followed the ancient trails.

Some of the taxi cabs have the words “No Refusal” written on their back door. I am curious why or what made them put that there. I just asked the server here at the hotel and found out, that it is not a caste thing as I expected it was a zone thing. Some drivers only want to stay in (for example) the downtown core or just the lucrative airport run. The “No refusal” ones will take anybody wherever their little heart's desire.

 The streets went from just crowded and crooked into the narrow warren that I expected for the town, then a turn at a busy intersection and the road was a straight city street with glass fronted stores and shops, not plywood and sheet metal open air stalls. The traffic had changed as well. It went from trucks and buses and taxis and motorcycles to buses, taxis, tuk-tuks, pedal rickshaws, motorbikes and for the first time actual human pulled rickshaws. I think this is the only municipality worldwide that still allows them. I saw one once, a museum piece in Hong Kong that was on display at the top of Victoria peak for the tourists to photograph. But ones that were working – never. I wanted to get a picture of them quickly. I was afraid that the ones I was seeing were an anomaly and I'd better get the image while I could. Turns out that I shouldn't have worried. They are still everywhere. Quite a number waiting for tourists at the expected spots, but also pulling loads and people through the streets that is not just for the tourist trade.

Along the way there was the occasional man facing a wall with his hands in front of his pockets for no good reason. As the city became more crowded there were concrete stalls with partitions about chest high and exactly one man width. I shouldn't be surprised after as many locals as I have visited just how casually men are allowed by society to pee in the open. I can't remember seeing anything even close for women, anywhere. – then there is the spitting. Don't get me started on that one!

On one of the streets there was even a half block of tied walls and sidewalks with running water and drains. This was a bathing area right on the side of a four lane street (well it was closer to an eight lane street since the printed lines don't mean a thing). Men got wet, suds were made and the water flowed, all as the traffic passed by.

As I flew from Mumbai to Kolkata I noticed that the central section of India seemed to be virtually treeless. After dealing with three hotels, various money exchanges and of course the Immigration bureaucracy why there are no trees left. It is because they were all turned into paper to feed the machine. You hand a US dollar for exchange and you get a receipt, and your passport is Xeroxed, both face page and visa page. Hotels have to do the same, only in triplicate and then everything has to go into an envelope. This country would probably be hundreds of feet higher in elevation it it wasn't weighed down in all this paper. I can just picture a basement someplace that stretches off into infinity Indiana Jones style of boxes and boxes of paperwork.

The hotel I am staying at is one of those downtown hotels that have been in operation since before independence. The rooms are of a reasonable size and the ceilings are ten feet high. Over the years hot water has been added to the rooms and A/C has been retrofitted, but the ceiling fans are still in place. There is a certain charm to the room to it. I wouldn't want a steady diet of this type of room, but it is a quaint change for the short term.

Across the street from the hotel is the New Market. It is the New Market in name only. It was built either in the late 1800's or early 20^th century. At the time I am sure it was a show piece. Now it is a very well used piece of the infrastructure. The first part you come to is host to all that is tourist consumerism. Jewelry stores. Enough Pashmina scarves to bald ten times the number of Cashmere sheep there are in the world. Shirts and dress and things to sit on shelves in western homes and collect dust. Each with two men in the stall beckoning you to see their wares, not to mention the roving ones who try and get you to follow them to their special store, just for you today. I try to deal this with good humor, but sometimes enough is enough.

After you get past this area you come to the actual working market. The live chickens in the cages, piles of vegetables and fruits. Men carrying heavy loads on their heads, men lounging on bags waiting for customers all in a dim humid afternoon heat. The scents and smells sometimes good and occasionally beyond description. I met my match at the butchers area. It was enough to make me a vegetarian (for half an hour), the smell sent me in reverse and not fast enough. There is a reason offal is pronounced awful.

Eventually the heat, touts and smell made me take refuge in m hotel room where I dozed under the A/C until late afternoon and came up to the rooftop terrace for writing and refreshment. Which is where I will leave you for today.

No, I wanted New York, not New Jersey

Kolkata (Calcutta) November 30^th

I am in a nice hotel in the Salt Lake area, and unlike Brigham Young this isn't the place.

This area was planned to be the a adjunct to Calcutta proper. It was planned to be the business and technical hub of the city. Unfortunately for me as a tourist is it about forty-five minutes to an hour from Kolkata proper. To make matters worse I reserved for 3 nights, expecting to be in the heart of the city. I guess I am in the heart of the city, just not the city I had planned. The hotel has really been very solicitous, we shall see what we can work out tomorrow. For now it's comfy and secure.

After I last wrote I did decide to stay on the hotel property and just relax the afternoon and evening away. Wrote a scathing review of the Hilton and a not so flattering one on the hotel I was staying at for TripAdvisor.com. Scoured the world wide web for air connections from Mumbai to here and did the same for hotels. The plane one worked out perfectly, and the hotel worked out imperfectly.

I fought sleep though the afternoon and at seven went down for dinner. Thai sounded good for a couple reasons. One it wasn't Indian curry and two maybe it was spicy enough to get things back in normal working order. Time zone changes and dehydration kind of upset the normal routine of things.

The Thai restaurant in the hotel was the fanciest, swankiest Thai restaurant the world, or at least I have ever seen. At home Thai restaurants are mostly come as you are. This one business casual wouldn't have been out of place. Maybe even desired. White linen napkins placed on your lap by the employee who seated you. I have never understood this action. Do they think I am too lazy to pick up a half ounce piece of cloth or that I am too socially inept to figure out why they would have a handkerchief on the table. Either way it does make me a little uncomfortable.

Then came the 10 page wine list. Ten pages of wines in a Thai restaurant? What happened to the 4 choices of beer and maybe some Saki ? I gave in to the theme and ordered a Shiraz, which came cold from the refrigerator. Chilled red wine, this too was new to me.

An Amuse Bouche was presented along with four kinds of dipping sauces. Running from mild tomato, to spicy mustard to a very hot chili honey. I was diggin' on that last one.

Some soup and the old standby of Pad Thai and I was dining in style. It was as good a Thai meal as I have ever had. The price though was expense account prices. Meaning “Someone else is buying, so lets go expensive”. Or what I call a Credit Card meal.

On the way back to my room a western woman nearly ran me over. If I hadn't stopped abruptly she would have sent both of us on our respective asses. I said in my most sarcastic tone Excuse me for being in your way”, she said with that nose in the air that the French have perfected to high style “Par'don?. I didn’t pursue it any further. Americans are know for being loud and overweight, French are renowned for being rude and she epitomized her country men and women perfectly.

Got to sleep close to ten and again with the weird dreams. German food? Maybe French, maybe Mexican, but German food? I'd almost rather have English food. Well maybe that is pushing things too far. Anyway slept until almost 5 am. Got up, checked mail, did the shower thing, tried to get my plane ticket printed. Eventually about 7 had breakfast and checked out for the airport.

The airport was about what you would expect, no actually it was better. International airports are generally show pieces of that particular country, domestic airports 500 meters away from the same International airports are generally dumps. Mumbai's domestic airport is beautiful. Nicely set up, clean, where everything seems to work. Of curse there were the lines and some controlled shoving, but I would put it up against most International airports I've been to and it would win hands down.

The concourse is lined with high end shops and there is even a food court that had names familiar to me. Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC), Domino’s Pizza and Subway sandwiches. I should have gone up and had a look for myself, just to see who was staffing the Subway. In the US most of the Subway's in my city are owned and staffed by immigrants from India. I wonder if the ones in India are staffed by Anglos?

The flight was two and a half hours of reasonable comfort. My row was three across wit the middle seat empty. The yowling future head of the household only yowled and screamed during take off and landing, and his feet were to short to kick the back of my seat.

All was good and easy until I tried to get a taxi an couldn't remember the name of my hotel. Sonata? Sonesta? So … something. It was in my email and I was in a Wi-Fi free zone. Not a free Wi-Fi zone. Give me your phone book and I'll find it. The taxi company didn't have a phone book. Is there a place where I can use a computer to look at Trip Advisor, I'll find it right off that way. Down that way to the communications center.

The communications center was a six by six cubical with a mobile telephone and a dial up internet connection. For my dollar and a half, I got 4 minutes on the inter web and the name and address of my hotel. The Sonnet.

Back to the prepaid taxi stand and after much discussion with his colleagues to figure out where this place might be, even with the address. He looked at me and said “Salt Lake !?!?” I should have gotten a clue about that time. The next clue was that it wasn't getting more crowded as we went along. If anything it became more and more open.
 

The hotel is in Kolkata's suburbs. An area designed in the 80's for business and industry. It is nice and open with beautiful new building and absolutely no character. It is an hour away from Calcutta proper and that is if the traffic is going your way. I booked 3 nights and hope they will understand that I made a huge mistake in booking. It did get a great review in Trip Advisor and it did say it was in Calcutta, just not in this part of Calcutta

From what I have seen of Calcutta so far (just my taxi ride to the hotel), I am not very impressed. Even with Mumbai's crushing poverty I didn't get the depressed feeling that I have of Calcutta so far. Maybe it was that dilapidated building we passed named the “Swastika Hotel – For working women”. (A hotel full of Nazi prostitutes?)

Regardless of first impressions, I'll know better tomorrow once I get to the real city and can walk it a bit.

Sorry no pictures today, unless you want a nice shot of a King sized bed with 4 pillows.

The Towers of Silence and the Washer women's blues

Mumbai, November 29^th

Well I stayed awake all the way until 6 pm. If I was home I probably could have found something on the television to entertain me until nine or so, but I didn't feel Ike a couple hours of SKY news or dubbed action movies.

I didn't have the best sleep of my life, several unusual dreams, but other than a few times getting re-hydrated slept through until about 3:30 am. Not too bad, nine hours. Made some in room coffee and puttered on the computer, took a shower and basically killed time until 7 when breakfast was prepared.

Breakfast was about what I have experienced in most Asian hotels. A buffet of 10 things, an omelet station, breads and fruits. Tang orange juice, good tea and so-so coffee. I ordered an veggie omelet that was a 'little' spicy. It was good, though a little more spicy than a little.

The main lobby is generally a manic ball of chaos, but early in the morning, I kind of outlined what I wanted to do with the desk clerk and asked him to write it out in Hindi for me. I got English.

I stepped outside and had one of the men hustle up a metered taxi. Told him what I wanted to see and we were off. The first stop on today's trip was Church Gate station. Everyday the man of the house goes to work in the morning. Wifey stays home and makes his lunch. She packs it into stack able metal containers maybe three or four containers high, called Tiffin tins or Tiffin boxes. These latch together and she gives them to the local Dabawalla who gets it onto a train where it is taken to this station where it is redistributed to other dabawalah's and delivered somehow magically to the right men in the right offices. This is done totally without any help from computers, just some obscure script on a tag on the Tiffin. They do this for millions of meals a day and never miss, or so they say.

We got to the Church Gate on time, and was reminded it was Sunday and no Tiffin deliveries on Sundays. Fiddle sticks ! I did wander about for a bit watching men take loads that required two other men to lift put the load on their head and calmly walk away. That was magic in itself.

A drive past the really beautiful Chowpatty beck and then up some hill in search of the Towers of Silence. I remember reading about them in a 1940 copy of Ripley's Believe It Or Not! Tall towers where the dead are placed in the open and the carrion birds pick the corpse clean. Sounded better t me to feed the crows than to cut down a tree because you died. We drove around for some time and couldn't find it and finally I gave up and old the driver to head to the next stop, Dhobi Ghat.

What the Tiffin wallahs do with the tiffin boxes, Dhobi Ghat does with fabric. Your clothes arrive in a bundle there dirty and leave in a bundle clean. All work is done by hand and line or roof dried. Vat upon vat of washing stations seem to vanish into infinity. It didn't seem too busy today, probably because it was indeed Sunday, but I could see how it could be crazy during the week. I strolled through the surrounding neighborhood. Not slums, but certainly a lower working class community. I finally got brave enough to enter the actual washing Ghat area and didn’t feel totally welcome, nor did I feel unwanted. Just another crow flying by. There were a couple kids who did know enough English to ask for candy and when that failed for chocolate and then tried their luck at money. They came away empty handed.

Back at the taxi I noticed a tour bus disgorging passengers and had my driver come with me while I asked if he knew about the Towers of Silence. Sure he did and he rattled off directions and my driver nodded his head and the hunt was again afoot. Back to the same place we looked previously. I wandered through nice park, but that wasn't it. We stopped and asked a man on the street and he directed us a little further down the road with a left at the corner. Then two men on the street who smiled and waggled their head. Finally a fine dressed lady told us we had passed it and to make a U-turn and go back to the corner where indeed there was a little paved street going up the hill. We drove up found the parking wallah and were immediately told that I was not allowed to enter. I never did figure out why, but he was insistent that I get along little doggie.

Back on the road to the lasts stop for the day the Vee Tee. The Victoria Terminus train station. It has been renamed after some Indian man, but if you say V.T. to anyone you'll get there. It was built in the mid 1800's with all the geegaws, gingerbread and gargoyles that Victorian England could muster. You could look at it for an hour and still miss many of the details of the building. It should be a UNESCO site if it isn't already.

It is also the location of most of the deaths in the 2008 terrorist attacks. I found it eerily creepy to see places that I had seen on the news clips where police sheltered behind pillars and were shot. If it would have been packed with people I can see how it would have been pray and spray for the gunmen. Open area limited entrances and exits. I didn't stay very long inside.

Back to the taxi and back to the hotel, total time about 3 hours and about ten bucks. A couple disappointments, but for the cost of two fru-fru drinks at Starbucks well worth it.

Back at the hotel for a Coke and I think I might be done for the day. Maybe hit the Gateway near sunset, maybe not.

Plane ticket purchased for Calcutta tomorrow, hotel reservation made.

Nine A.M. phone calls and taxi driver handshakes

Mumbai Ten thirty in the morning. Nine pm yesterday back home. Mind and body someplace in between.

The plane ride from Seattle to Paris was a dream. Little child behind me didn't bang the seat too much. Lots of legroom at a small extra cost. The food was what you would expect, not what you would hope for. I mean it was Thanksgiving, you'd have thought that maybe they would have turkey as the poultry offering Alas not, it was chicken in goop over white stuff. It tasted like all the other airplane chicken in mystery sauce over white stuff I've ever had before

It's kind of funny how if you do something nice for someone they feel that they must do something nice back to you. I gave Starbucks cards to the cabin crew. After that it was all, “Anything I can do for you?”, can I get you another something ? I tried to explain that I wasn't looking for anything else, though to be honest if they offered a First Class upgrade, I might have reluctantly accepted it. I thought they had accepted it when they gave me a thank you card signed by the crew and then at landing in Paris one of the crew came over and handed me a full bottle of wine. I was thrilled with the note, for chrissy sakes. I told her that I was going to go through Paris' TSA and they would take it away from me because of the No Liquids policy. She wasn't taking that for an excuse until he third time finally accepting that I might be right and offered it to my seat mate, who was disembarking in Paris. He and his wife were in Paris for a romantic getaway and really appreciated it.

After a short train ride to another part of the airport and a ride back on the same train to the place I started from and the theater that is airport security I found my way to the correct gate for the next leg of my trip. A eight and a half hour tip from Paris to Mumbai. They didn't have any of those extra legroom at extra cost seats on his flight. Just the normal seating for normal midgets. The little plane that flys from Seattle to Bellingham, a 30 minute flight has more legroom than Air France's Airbus 330 configuration. This was uncomfortable enough and then the woman in from reclined to the set's full setting, crashing my knees into the seat pocket and making the television screen so close in front of me that I could actually stretch out my hand, touch my nose with my thumb and my little finger touch the screen. Yes, I measured it. The man next to me had a most unusual odor. I don’t know if it was a bad odor, but it was something that I didn't find olfactorily pleasing. Eventually this scented contortion-ism came to an end and Mumbai lay just a 20 minute walk to Immigration and then another 10 minute stroll to baggage claim.

The plane arrived an hour later than scheduled, Immigration took longer than I wanted. For some reason the new fangled digital fingerprint scanners absolutely hate me. This wouldn't be a bad thing if I was a cat burglar or safe cracker, but just someone who wants to get past the bureaucrat to a bed made for a long time. Eventually the machine got a decent enough reading and I was allowed to enter the heat and chaos that is India at three am.

A quick x-ray of my luggage and Welcome to Mumbai.

I am not real happy with my accommodations. Oh, the room is nice. Exactly what you would expect for a hotel in the over a hundred dollars a night range in a major Asian city. But for some reason Mr. Hilton thought that Paris Hilton needed a new dog or something, and I should help the poor thing get her required support animal, and if I wasn't ready to do that it was time for me to move on.

The hotel had emailed me that for a mere $15 they would pick me up at the airport. The prepaid taxi was $4. It honestly took longer to exit the airport property than to drive to the hotel. At check in I was asked if I wanted to extend my stay and I said yes. Somehow the price jumped from about from $100 to over $200 a night. Hey, it's a nice place, but I could stay at the Taj, in downtown Mumbai with a view of the ocean for that price and it is a world renowned hotel, not some airport chain. I told her she needed psychiatric help and went to the room.

Got into bed all wired from the trip and popped a Valium and crashed into the downy softness of my pillow. I woke up at home and confused why there was light coming from that part of my bedroom, before I realized that I wasn't at home. The clock said it was 8:30. So I got close to 5 hours of sleep which wasn't too bad. I would have liked another REM cycle and awoke at ten, but it was what it was. A cup of Starbucks best instant and I was ready to face the day, almost. That was until 9 am when the phone rang. It was Ms. Reception wondering what time I would be checking out. WTF ?!? Can you be serious ? I can't think of a single hotel from a one star cold water hotel in Ethiopia to a five plus star hotel in Bangkok that has ever done that. Pretty low rent on high rent if you ask me.

Anyway finished a couple pieces of bread and coffee and now time to go find another abode.

After checking out I caught a taxi to my new hotel. Half the price, twice as manic. Once you are out of the public areas it settles down nicely. The room is nice, but is showing it's age a bit. It is one of those hotels that changed hands recently so none of the taxi drivers know the name, if you give the old name and 'Bob's your Uncle.” (Maybe I shouldn't use that phrase here, since it refers to General named Robert or Roberts who was to the Indians what Custer was to the other Indians, except Bob didn't get killed)

I wanted to see the India Gate, Mumbai's iconic landmark. The desk man said it was too far to walk, but he did give me a map and pointed “That-away pardner” I set out and immediately made a right when I should have made a left, ended up in an Army base. Did my best About Face ! And made another right when I should have kept straight. A friendly taxi driver showed me the error of my ways as he drove me there.

It was underwhelming. Maybe with better light, maybe with less police presence, maybe with fewer

Mumbai Ten thirty in the morning. Nine pm yesterday back home. Mind and body someplace in between.

The plane ride from Seattle to Paris was a dream. Little child behind me didn't bang the seat too much. Lots of legroom at a small extra cost. The food was what you would expect, not what you would hope for. I mean it was Thanksgiving, you'd have thought that maybe they would have turkey as the poultry offering Alas not, it was chicken in goop over white stuff. It tasted like all the other airplane chicken in mystery sauce over white stuff I've ever had before

It's kind of funny how if you do something nice for someone they feel that they must do something nice back to you. I gave Starbucks cards to the cabin crew. After that it was all, “Anything I can do for you?”, can I get you another something ? I tried to explain that I wasn't looking for anything else, though to be honest if they offered a First Class upgrade, I might have reluctantly accepted it. I thought they had accepted it when they gave me a thank you card signed by the crew and then at landing in Paris one of the crew came over and handed me a full bottle of wine. I was thrilled with the note, for chrissy sakes. I told her that I was going to go through Paris' TSA and they would take it away from me because of the No Liquids policy. She wasn't taking that for an excuse until he third time finally accepting that I might be right and offered it to my seat mate, who was disembarking in Paris. He and his wife were in Paris for a romantic getaway and really appreciated it.

After a short train ride to another part of the airport and a ride back on the same train to the place I started from and the theater that is airport security I found my way to the correct gate fr the next leg of my trip. A eight and a half hour tip from Paris to Mumbai. They didn't have any of those extra legroom at extra cost seats on his flight. Just the normal seating for normal midgets. The little plane that flys from Seattle to Bellingham, a 30 minute flight has more legroom than Air France's Airbus 330 configuration. This was uncomfortable enough and then the woman in from reclined to the set's full setting, crashing my knees into the seat pocket and making the television screen so close in front of me that I could actually stretch out my hand, touch my nose with my thumb and my little finger touch the screen. Yes, I measured it. The man next to me had a most unusual odor. I don’t know if it was a bad odor, but it was something that I didn't find olfactorily pleasing. Eventually this scented contortion-ism came to an end and Mumbai lay just a 20 minute walk to Immigration and then another 10 minute stroll to baggage claim.

The plane arrived an hour later than scheduled, Immigration took longer than I wanted. For some reason the new fangled digital fingerprint scanners absolutely hate me. This wouldn't be a bad thing if I was a cat burglar or safe cracker, but just someone who wants to get past the bureaucrat to a bed made for a long time. Eventually the machine got a decent enough reading and I was allowed to enter the heat and chaos that is India at three am.

A quick x-ray of my luggage and Welcome to Mumbai.

I am not real happy with my accommodations. Oh, the room is nice. Exactly what you would expect for a hotel in the over a hundred dollars a night range in a major Asian city. But for some reason Mr. Hilton thought that Paris Hilton needed a new dog or something, and I should help the poor thing get her required support animal, and if I wasn't ready to do that it was time for me to move on.

The hotel had emailed me that for a mere $15 they would pick me up at the airport. The prepaid taxi was $4. It honestly took longer to exit the airport property than to drive to the hotel. At check in I was asked if I wanted to extend my stay and I said yes. Somehow the price jumped from about from $100 to over $200 a night. Hey, it's a nice place, but I could stay at the Taj, in downtown Mumbai with a view of the ocean for that price and it is a world renowned hotel, not some airport chain. I told her she needed psychiatric help and went to the room.

Got into bed all wired from the trip and popped a Valium and crashed into the downy softness of my pillow. I woke up at home and confused why there was light coming from that part of my bedroom, before I realized that I wasn't at home. The clock said it was 8:30. So I got close to 5 hours of sleep which wasn't too bad. I would have liked another REM cycle and awoke at ten, but it was what it was. A cup of Starbucks best instant and I was ready to face the day, almost. That was until 9 am when the phone rang. It was Ms. Reception wondering what time I would be checking out. WTF ?!? Can you be serious ? I can't think of a single hotel from a one star cold water hotel in Ethiopia to a five plus star hotel in Bangkok that has ever done that. Pretty low rent on high rent if you ask me.

Anyway finished a couple pieces of bread and coffee and now time to go find another abode.

After checking out I caught a taxi to my new hotel. Half the price, twice as manic. Once you are out of the public areas it settles down nicely. The room is nice, but is showing it's age a bit. It is one of those hotels that changed hands recently so none of the taxi drivers know the name, if you give the old name and 'Bob's your Uncle.” (Maybe I shouldn't use that phrase here, since it refers to General named Robert or Roberts who was to the Indians what Custer was to the other Indians, except Bob didn't get killed)

I wanted to see the India Gate, Mumbai's iconic landmark. The desk man said it was too far to walk, but he did give me a map and pointed “That-away pardner” I set out and immediately made a right when I should have made a left, ended up in an Army base. Did my best About Face ! And made another right when I should have kept straight. A friendly taxi driver showed me the error of my ways as he drove me there.

It was underwhelming. Maybe with better light, maybe with less police presence, maybe with fewer people (though I believe that is an impossibility) it would have been worth the look. As it was, it was cheek to jowl with people in their Saturday best The main area was blocked off so it was a ¾ stroll around the edifice and back again. I think the picture I want, the image is one from a boat or point of land at sunset. Up close it is just too big.

I walked around the area for a bit. Fended off the postcard sellers, the balloon vendors. Walked by the Pashmina salesmen, had a hard time shaking the milk scam man and baby, and demurred to the orphanage, with color pictures, solicitors.

Eventually my water bottle was empty, jet lag was tickling my heat exhaustion, so I caught another taxi back to the hotel. The price he asked was outrageous, and we settled on just one that overcharged me. When we got to the hotel I gave him the agreed upon fee and he asked for a dollar. I told him that he had charged me three times the going rate and didn’t think I wanted to add a dollar to that. He got the biggest grin, held out his hand and shook mine. Guess it was acknowledgment that I knew I was an Anglo mark and accepted my place in the Indian taxi hierarchy.

Back at the hotel, it is almost 4 pm, and I am starting to fade. Gotta power through the next couple hours before bed. Maybe a caffeine jolt from a Coke will do it.

people (though I believe that is an impossibility) it would have been worth the look. As it was, it was cheek to jowl with people in their Saturday best The main area was blocked off so it was a ¾ stroll around the edifice and back again. I think the picture I want, the image is one from a boat or point of land at sunset. Up close it is just too big.

I walked around the area for a bit. Fended off the postcard sellers, the balloon vendors. Walked by the Pashmina salesmen, had a hard time shaking the milk scam man and baby, and demurred to the orphanage, with color pictures, solicitors.

Eventually my water bottle was empty, jet lag was tickling my heat exhaustion, so I caught another taxi back to the hotel. The price he asked was outrageous, and we settled on just one that overcharged me. When we got to the hotel I gave him the agreed upon fee and he asked for a dollar. I told him that he had charged me three times the going rate and didn’t think I wanted to add a dollar to that. He got the biggest grin, held out his hand and shook mine. Guess it was acknowledgment that I knew I was an Anglo mark and accepted my place in the Indian taxi hierarchy.

Back at the hotel, it is almost 4 pm, and I am starting to fade. Gotta power through the next couple hours before bed. Maybe a caffeine jolt from a Coke will do it.

India part two

Five and a half years ago, upon returning from India I read somewhere that the word “India” was
actually an acronym. It stood for “I'll Never Do It Again” and I heartily agreed at the time. I came home from India after seeing wonderful and exotic sights. After seeing the Taj Mahal, a temple for rats, a cremation site that had been operating for millennia, the most elaborate evening border crossing closing and dozens of other new and worthwhile places in India – All I could remember was the pushing and shoving of people all wanting to be someplace else and I was in their way to get there.

Well, I'm going to try it one more time. I thought about going back to South East Asia and a visit to Laos, but my past three international trips have taken me to that area and it was getting routine.

I decided to give India a second try, I mean if a visitor came to the USA and only saw – say – New York city and went home and told all their friends that the USA was crowded, dirty, expensive and full of homeless people, that would hardly be fair. Maybe my experiences in India were of a similar nature.

So after finding that they now had a VOA (Visa Of Arrival) program, where you filled out an on-line questionnaire, sent a recent photograph and a PDF of your passport and a few dollars and if all went according to plan had a visa in 72 hours. I decided to give it a try. In about 24 hours I had my new eVisa in my email-box.

I am leaving on Thanksgiving day. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, but greed overcame my desires. The day before was about $300 more and the day after about $500 more, it really was a “No brainer”.

I leave Seattle (known for 1993's Sleepless In Seattle), fly to Paris (recently know for – well you know) and arrive in Mumbai (also know for a 2008 – well you know – Slumdog Millionaire). Twenty One hours of cramped seating, airline meals and waiting in lines.

My plan is to arrive in Mumbai (Bombay for you old folks) and go to the closest hotel possible to the airport for a bed and jet lag relief. I doubt I'll remain at the airport hotel longer than one night, since the airport is around 20 miles or one hour from the actual city center. It doesn't sound convenient for wandering and exploring. A few days there seeing the sights, with maybe a jaunt out of town to see some rock hewn temples.

Then off to Kolcutta (Calcutta). I thought about taking the train and watching India pass through the window, but it is a 24 to 30 hour trip. That would necessitate a sleeper compartment which would probably need to be shared. I don't share well. If I can't score a solo compartment I think flying is the only other realistic option.

I don't know a lot about Kolcutta. I recall hearing about The Black Hole of Calcutta, but don't know if that refers to a specific location or just the city in general. They still had actual human pulled rickshaws in 2012, though there is a big push to stop them. There should be enough, temples, churches, government buildings and general sights to see to keep me occupied for a few days.

Kolcutta is also the gateway to the Sundarbans. That great mangrove swamp that spans both India and Bangladesh. Last year's ill fated trip of mine to Bangladesh to visit the Sundarbans was cut short by my poorly executed double back flip dismount at a fish market in Cox's Bazar. This year I plan on avoiding all fish markets, so maybe I'll get a chance to visit the Sundarbans. Maybe see a tiger, probably not.

Darjeeling, of tea fame is in the general area. High in the foothills of the Himalayas with the peak of the world's 3^rd highest mountain, Mount Kanchenjunga (after Everest and K2) in sight of the city.

All in all I expect the should be enough to see and do for two and a half weeks.

Got my passport, visa, clean undies, shin guards, spiked elbow pads and the 1400 page Lonely Planet guidebook. I think I'm ready to face India again.

(photos used in this are drawn from Google image search – not my work)