Travel  

CALCUTTA

The travel agent took a look at my ticket, 'CCT, now where is that, Caracus ... no!'. 'Calcutta', I replied dryly. Thinking where the hell is Caracus, WHAT had I gotten myself into. I hadn't been OS before and now I was headed for India, first stop Calcutta. 

Whoever I gleefully informed of my impending trip stared back with the vacant look of disbelief, 'India, why do you want to go there?!' 

Flying out of Sydney I was watching the stimulating viewing of the little plane pixiling across a crude map of Australia. The display alternated between the map and flight statistics. The altitude display quickly ticked over 3000m and I looked out the window seeing clouds below and I realised that I was leaving Oz and would soon be walking at this altitude and higher. I would be trekking in the Himalayas. First there would be a 10hr stop in Bangkok; to shop! I guess my preconceived ideas did not allow me to appreciate the place, perhaps I was only thinking of India, perhaps it was the smog and the overwhelming smell of burning waste. I was to meet Shannon, a friend from Sydney, somewhere in Bangkok and there was to be a message at the airport. That was the plan, was I organised or what? So it happened that everything went smoothly, made it through the 'feared' Thai customs and I stumbled into a taxi. A ride through the haze of the polluted night, hit by the oppressive humidity after the air-conditioned flight, past the multitude of multinational billboards. Shannon was waiting, as promised by her note, so I crashed for a few hours before daylight. In the morning we toured around in the heat of Bangkok - but there was nothing too outstanding, I could have been in Sydney's China-town. 

We arrived that afternoon at the airport and, with packs on, made out way to the Air India terminal. There it was, highlighted by the Indian gentleman (the Manager) standing on a counter yelling in Hindi at the throng amassed around his counter. People were waving tickets in the air, others were dragging mountains of luggage into the hordes. Most had large plastic carry bags, those red white and blue striped disposable things. They were larger than any I had seen before, two or three to a person crammed full and taped up for reinforcement. There had obviously been some serious shopping going on here. When Shannon and I finally got to the counter the Manager was at a fever pitch, waving like a orchestra conductor at the allegro climax of some unknown symphony. Ignoring some hopeful travelers, dismissing others and all the time "trying" to remain in cool, trying to explain that the plane was full. We were regretfully informed that because the plane had been over booked we would have to be upgraded to first class (Shannon shrugged, I smiled - how would we cope?). 

For the those of us who have been or wish to go to India, it is just one of those unexplainable urges. The sub-continent has always been a place of mystery to me and there was some irresistible gravitation towards it. But this turned out to be only in my mind. While waiting on the Bangkok tarmac, sitting on the Air India "Your Palace in the Sky" flight, an announcement came over the intercom. 'This is the Captain speaking. I am sorry for the delay, but we are having difficulties finding a part for the Aircraft. The search is on so please be patient and I will get back to you shortly.' Needless to say we weren't going anywhere and ended up spending the night in so called 5 star accommodation. 

So it was back through customs, our passports being held by customs officials. With only our hand luggage we began again the waiting game, this time for busses. I guess accommodation for an entire flight was not that easy to arrange on such short notice. They had managed to fix the plane by morning, but the number of Bangkok tuk-tuks that had been sacrificed was not mentioned. 

I landed in Calcutta at around 7:00pm, the mosquito population had brought their relatives to greet us. India was all it was said to be: pockets of random chaos floating above an underlying sea of confusion. The .303 toting guards at the door were a little disquieting but they were inert and defined unlike the typical Indian queue (many more to were to come) that posed as customs. The whole Air India experience had brought together the Australians on the flight, 6 of us in all. Dale was an old hand at the India experience, consequently we virgins put a lot of trust in his suggestions. 

The airport terminals in India have some rule preventing non-ticket holders entering. That does not deter them from gathering at the door and shouting at those inside. 'Change money' or 'Taxi/Rickshaw' being the most repetitive mantras. Dale suggested we book a government taxi from within the terminal before exiting our sanctuary for the onslaught outside. We could have haggled a cheaper price outside, run the gauntlet of 50 anxious divers for a few rupees, or flashed an official chit of paper and get escorted to a waiting Ambassador taxi. After the flight I was not yet ready to play the game. The taxis are a remnant from the British Raj, originally being a Morris, the plans and factory being bought by the Indian government. The Indians, possibly out of respect, have remained loyal to the original design for the last 40 years. 

The darkness in some way veiled the 'awe' of the streets, the overwhelming chaos peeled back slowly by the headlights of our Ambassador. We arrived late into Sudder St., backpacker haven of Calcutta, not the best bargaining position. We found shelter at a chai stand and were honored by being offered the luxury seating facilities of a plank and a couple of bricks. We chose a room with a double bed, and got some mattresses for the floor - kind of cosy for 6 people. We would be able to find something more appropriate in the morning. 

The mornings proved most enjoyable for viewing India. The streets still devoid of the milling crowd, and strangely clean. The streets are swept with hand-held straw brooms and the last days litter (considerable by any standard) piled at one end of the street to be sifted by the untouchables. They scavenge most of it, the roaming dogs eat the food scraps and what remains is eventually burnt. Dale and I went out to find breakfast We walked past the local street families bathing at the hand operated pumps at the street corner, past the mound of garbage where an untouchable was already salvaging nails (straightening them between two rocks), to a street side puri stand. I felt like a child in this environment - everything was new, everything had to be explored. Breakfast consisted not of one large meal but several small snacks. We ate our curried vegetables (sabzi) from a banana leaf bowl with freshly fried puri bread and washed it down with a chai. But that was just the beginning, next we stopped at a fruit juice stand, a shop smaller than a small garage, open to the street and so small that the blender/kitchen was actually on the street. How it survived being alongside 3 or 4 other fruit juice 'shops' is one of India's secrets. Electricity came from electrical cables seemingly thrown into the mains transformer overhead, and was similarly distributed to all the other shops. The transformer was more a surrealist sculpture then any power distributor - barbed wire wrapped about the pole, jagged steel teeth rimming it and a complex myriad of filaments stretching in all directions to the shops below. As Dale and I slurped down our second juice the sun was starting to beat down, the crowd was growing and the noise was rising to a familiar buzz, it was time to return. 

How can I describe Calcutta apart from being just another large city. It was born of the British Raj in their desire to create a capital, so it boasts wide streets and large inner city park areas. The Maiden I would describe as being similar to The Domain or Central Park in Sydney. It is host to the Cricket ground, squats, a few herds of sheep, various cricket clubs, and lots of empty space. The more permanent buildings in Calcutta were prime examples of Victorian architecture, now they are draped in reams of electrical cable haphazardly lashed to the exteriors. There is also a Calcutta subway which to some of my colleagues was the cities only redeeming asset. Footpaths are constantly being excavated to repair the underground conduits but the earth is merely stamped back leaving earthen scars along most walkways. 

My remaining days in Calcutta were spent sheltering from the heat in the Paragon Hotel. The occasional foray for food led past the street urinal (complete with open drain - which accounted for THAT smell) , past various food stall and fruit juice stands and obligatory beggars. How do deal with the poverty, with the beggars? You should realise you can't save them all. You should realise some children are deliberately maimed to attract more sympathy. This is a profession (one which is exported to the middle east), there are rules, distinct boundaries, territories that opposing groups can not enter. Once you have given you are marked as such; you may decide to be the benefactor of a chosen one, you deem worthy/genuine (you can play God). The mutilation and deformities, lepers, cripples, but con-artists too. 

I had five days in Calcutta now it was time to leave, train to Siliguri in the north, the to Nepal.