We arrived at the Bangkok International Airport with only 100 Thai Baht to our name. We already had our final meal in Thailand, but figured we could probably buy something sweet before our flight. Since we had more than 2 hours to kill, we walked around all the shops looking for a good place to depart with our money. We settled on ice cream blizzards from Dairy Queen. Aaaahhh - globalization. Isn't it great?
As we sat in the waiting area near the gate for our flight, we quickly realized our adventure was about to take a huge change in direction. Dozens of brightly dressed Indian women and their families nervously waited for the airline staff to announce the departure of Thai Airways' nonstop flight to Calcutta.
Our observations of Indian customs and behaviors began in no time. On the plane, we noticed how as soon as the seatbelt sign went off, all the Indians simultaneously unbuckled. Similarly, as soon as we landed, everyone seemed to jump up to get their bags from the overhead. If nothing else, this behavior reminded us a bit of Israelis. But the similarities ended there.
As soon as we got to the airport in Calcutta, we searched for an ATM. It turns out no ATM exists in the international terminal. Instead, there is only an ATM at the domestic terminal. So here we were after an international flight, lugging our bags to another terminal just to take some money out. Luckily, it was only a 4-minute walk over, but that did not stop one of the taxi drivers from offering us a ride, insisting it's a long way's away.
After securing our first fistful of rupees, we walked over to the prepaid taxis, a line of yellow cabs with many male drivers hanging around and chatting. It seemed odd that so many of them were available, but we had to wait for one driver to come pick us up, especially since he was the only one who didn't speak English or know how to get to the hotel. After getting directions from the other drivers, we were on our way.
The drive was mostly uneventful. However, we did not miss the billboard advertising Penorub (pain reliever), which kept us entertained for a bit.
We reached the main area where our hotel was supposed to be (near Sudder Street), but the driver could not locate the exact address. Finally, he gave up, got out of the vehicle and said, "you go with rickshaw man." We insisted he continue trying as we did not feel safe getting out in the middle of the night with all our bags to be carried on the back of a wooden cart by a barefoot man. Luckily, the driver finally found the hotel and we were on our way to a good night's sleep. Or so we thought.
The hotel keeper was nice enough. He presented us with a glass of water and told us we can relax before seeing the room. It turned out the room we requested was taken; they planned to put us in a small room across the street. Once the front door was opened, we found two men sleeping on the floor by the door. They may have been securing the place, or maybe just workers who did not have a room to sleep in. The room he showed us was small and not what we reserved, so we decided to go somewhere else despite the darkness, the luggage, etc.
Luckily, we found Hotel Pushpak nearby which seemed more pleasant. The shower had hot water, so we were happy. That is, we were happy until we had to take a shower and then realized you have to fill a bucket with hot water and then splash it on your body as there wasn't enough water pressure. Needless to say, we found a better hotel (Tourist Inn) the following day where we remained for the next few nights.
The next morning, we saw how the local Indian men shower. We didn't have to peek into their bathrooms because they were right there on the street by the water pump. They covered their bodies with a cloth from the waist down and used the water and some soap to get cleaned off. As far as cleanliness goes, there was more for us to learn. We knew that Indians tend to eat with their right hands only. The reason for this is that they traditionally use the left hand to wipe after going to the toilet. However, what we didn't know was that after eating in a restaurant, they only wash the right hand, as it is the one used during the meal!
We started the morning off by visiting the West Bengal Tourist office near a street called BBD Bag. While waiting for our number to be called, we watched a man cleaning the entire office. That seemed great, except the rag he used was blacker than black. It is anyone's guess whether his efforts made the office cleaner or dirtier. We booked a city tour for the next day. We then headed for the Hogg Market where we were followed by men offering to be our personal shoppers (that's how they get commission).
That evening, we headed to a neighborhood called Shakespeare Sarani for New Years Eve. Many of the places mentioned in the guidebook were packed with young Indians, so we ate at a nondescript Indian restaurant. When we returned to our room, we found out that "dance party India" was outside our hotel bathroom. That is, the locals had set up speakers and played music at full volume on the street, which was just on the other side of the wall to our bathroom. That night we welcomed the new year in by sleeping with ear plugs.
The next day we set off to see Calcutta on a city tour. Because it was New Years Day, crowds of locals were found everywhere. This was particularly the case at Dakshineshwar Kali, a temple outside the city limits we did not get to see due to the heavy crowding.
And the slums are hard to forget as well:
On our last day, we saw Marble Palace. It is an old home that was converted to a museum. It was a very strange experience indeed. Photography was forbidden even from the outside. Once we got inside the gates, we couldn't figure out where to go to get a guide. There were a couple of guys hanging around. Finally, one of them told us we can sign the guest book and he will show us around. His English was not very good, but after giving us a short tour (and without turning on any lights), he demanded a tip for his services.
We spent the remainder of the day visiting Calcutta University and the Indian Museum. At night we saw a fountain show at the Maidan, a popular park destination in the center of town. Because of the crowds, we did not manage to see the famous Victoria Memorial (named after Queen Victoria).
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When travelling around the globe, we always find it interesting to ride public transportation. Calcutta was no exception. In the 1970s, the government built a subway that traverses the length of the city. Even though there is only one line, it does manage to go to quite a few places throughout the city. For roughly 10 cents per person, you can pass through the metal detector and cram onto an already crowded train without A/C. The subway would prove to be quite convenient for us on our last day in Calcutta.
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On the morning of our departure, we noticed quite a few taxis without drivers inside parked near our hotel. We walked down the street and after several inquiries, discovered there was a taxi strike that day. After questioning a hotel concierge, we determined our best bet was to ride the subway as far as possible before transferring to an airport-bound bus. After arriving at the last station, we climbed the stairs to street level and looked for the bus stop. As with most activities in India, we had a hard time finding it and none of the locals seemed to know either. As we were waiting, a man in a private car drove by and asked us if we were going to the airport. We haggled over a price and finally jumped in for a ride. Within just a minute or two, he turned his head around and started to again haggle with us over the price. He finally agreed to our original price and we "relaxed" as we sat in bumper to bumper traffic with him honking the entire way to the airport.
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Flying in and out of an Indian airport is an experience that should be avoided if possible. Security is the highest we have ever seen (even more than Israel) and the staff takes unreasonable measures to check and recheck your person and luggage. After being "felt up" by the security staff and waiting for a couple of hours in the lounge, we finally boarded our flight to Kathmandu.
For more photos, visit: grossmintblog.shutterfly.com
1 comment:
I couldn't decide if I should laugh or cry when I read your India posting... regardless, I definitely appreciate the eye for details and the wry humour!
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