More Kolkata

Oh my we were busy!

After SICW, we had a tour of some of Kolkata's most famous markets. It rained lightly most of the day. The massive wholesale flower market (biggest in Asia) was a tangle of muddy paths with countless flower vendors along each side. This market sits on the banks of the river Hooghly (Kolkata's name for the Ganges) in the shadow of the famous Howrah Bridge.

Despite the overcast and smog, the colors were brilliant. The smell of the flowers, mixed with incense, cheap cigarettes, cooking fires and diesel fumes, formed a blanket around us. I just couldn't take enough photos.
And then I got lost. It was my own fault. I hung back to snap a few more images and was separated from the others. They left the flower market in one direction, I in another. I was pretty sure I could get back to the place where the car was parked, but as usual I failed miserably.

I soon found myself standing in the rain without an umbrella at a rail crossing seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I had no cell phone service. I was surrounded by coolies who were naked to the waist, with short lungis hanging to their knees and small towels around their necks.

I did not feel afraid. People in India are overwhelmingly good and kind. If one man among the dozens had treated me inappropriately, others would have stopped him. I was angry at myself for my series of bad decisions, and very, very worried for Peter. He has a strong fear of abandonment. If I start the car in the garage before he gets in, he panics.

It would be dark in less than an hour. I went up to a tiny tobacco and snack shack and eventually found someone willing to lend me his mobile. But he had no service either.

Then I pantomimed to the crowd to convey the location I wanted to find. Some of the coolies seemed to understand me, but no one agreed to take me there until I offered Rs. 100 (about $2.25). Then a man of about 25 beckoned to me to follow him. We started a long walk down the train tracks, stepping from one wooden tie to another. I wasn't confident that we were going in the right direction, but what choice did I have?

A couple of times, I heard a train coming. I jumped off the tracks and flattened myself as far away as possible. The wind whipped my hair as the train passed.

Indeed, the coolies had guessed a different location than the one I had tried to convey in sign language. We were on the way to faraway Babu Ghat.

Then my phone rang. Our guide had finally gotten through to me. She asked me where I was, and I put the coolie on to explain. Then he handed the phone back to me.

"Chris!" She shouted. "Do NOT go with that man! I repeat: DO NOT go with that man! He is taking you to Babu Ghat. Come to the Howrah bridge! Come to the bridge!"

I was confused. I put the coolie back on. This is how their conversation went.

"Please bring Memsahib to the bridge immediately!"

"But Memsahib wants to go to Babu Ghat! I'm taking her there!"

"No, bhai! Take her to the bridge!"

"But Memsahib wants to go to Babu Ghat! Shaking his head, he hung up on her.

Now I stopped walking. I gestured in the direction from which we had come. The guide called again and talked to both of us. Eventually we began to retrace our steps. 30 minutes later, I met up with the rest of the group, paid my coolie, and got into the car to dry off. Peter turned to me and said, "I was scared, Mommy!". I expected him to perseverate on this for a long time, but he didn't react the way he would at home. In "his India", he seemed less afraid that someone might harm me.

Later, we took a chartered water taxi 90-minute ride under and beyond the Howrah bridge. It was dark and rainy, but we were all in great spirits.

During the rest of our time in Kolkata we shopped for books and handicrafts, sampled Tibetan food (Peter LOVES momos!), strolled around the Victoria Memorial, and had a fun ride in a gaudily-decoraated horse-drawn carriage called (logically) a Victoria.

The smog in Kolkata was absolutely appalling. I have never experienced such poor air quality. All of us -- except Peter -- came down with a raging head cold with stinging eyes, streaming nose and raw throat. (Peter did come down with it, mildly, at the very end of the trip). The locals suggested that it might be smog-induced. It was a misery, but our time in India was swiftly drawing to a close.

All three of our traveling companions had some tummy trouble during the trip. Neither Peter nor I had so much as a rumble. Life is good.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry