The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Oh Kolkata! (and seriously, I am DONE with trains!)

October 27, 2015

Oh Kolkata!

Our journey to Kolkata begins with yes – another train journey. If all goes well, we will be in the city by 10 pm. Our guide has already prepared us for the onslaught of Durja Puja. Even though our hotel is only a few kilometers from the station it could take us 2 or more hours to get there with the crowds. Somewhere during the train ride he decides it would be better to get off one stop before. He reasons that we can circumvent the chaos of downtown and get to the hotel sooner. Seems legit. This new stop was “The Black Hole of Kolkata” station. It wasn’t so much a train station as a place where people who need to get off before being seen jump ship so to speak. I am sure drug drops and illegal firearms deals are made here. “Sketchy” is the polite term I would use to describe this area. Our guide left us in front of a noodle stand to see if he could round up some late night taxis. Somehow, I wasn’t convinced this area would be conducive to taxi traffic. But he came through! All it meant was we had to cross 10 lanes of deadly traffic to get to them. GOD I LOVE THIS! Running like a wild hare in the dead of night on a freeway is just what you need to get you into the Puja spirit! LOL! Travel lesson of the day: Pack only what you can carry on your back to maintain a sprint pace for 15 – 20 minutes while not encumbering agility. One never knows when you have to outrun a highway in the dark.

The place where it all begins. Whenever one thinks of British India and epic Himalayan exploration, you cannot help but think of Kolkata. Everyone who has ever done anything adventurous will eventually end up here. As India’s second largest city, it conjures up images of human suffering and grinding poverty. It is also the intellectual and cultural hub of India itself. Communism is the party of choice and no one has forgiven the British for annexing the Bengali hinterlands to Pakistan (now Bangladesh). Anarchy is alive and well. If your hotel is too far away or down a street too clogged by traffic, expect your driver to not so politely tell you to get out and find your own way. If you are a Westerner, be prepared for the price of anything to change at a moment's notice, especially if more than one of you shows up at a time (The cost will increase the more of you there are). And most important of all – be here for Durja Puja. You will not have experienced India if you have not been in Kolkata for its biggest, most jam-packed festival of the year.

Our hotel was situated in the BBD Bagh area on Sudder Street – otherwise known as “The Traveller’s Ghetto.” There are decent places to stay and eat here (as well as many not so decent ones) and you can sate your cravings for home at the Blue Sky Café. There is Wi-Fi, the wise cracking staff speaks good English and it has REAL MACARONI AND CHEESE!!! (And coffee! And salad that won't kill you!!) Because traffic was impossibley congested due to Durja Puja, we decided whatever touring we did had to be by foot. First stop: Indian Museum. Verdict: Don’t bother. It’s just a bunch of rooms with moth eaten taxidermy dioramas, fossil remnants and pickled animal fetuses. There is also a “textile section” that is extremely underwhelming.

Next up: College Street and the Indian Coffee House. Like the Indian Coffee House in Shimla, this one in Kolkata is “brewed’ in history. It resides on the upper level of a derelict building opposite the medical college. Freedom fighters, bohemians, and revolutionaries have been meeting here for years. So have college students who scan the miles upon miles of booksellers that surround the place. You walk in and are practically asphyxiated from all the cigarette smoke. Despite the plethora of signage saying “No Smoking! Smoker’s will be fined!” everyone is lighting up and arguing loudly. After all, this is the birthplace of anarchy! At the foot of the stairs is a man selling t-shirts that say things like “No revolution is won without guns” with an image of Mao. There is also Che Guevara and the slogan “Fight for Freedom! Death to capitalist cowards!”

The following day was spent exploring an area known as Kumartuli. It is here that the giant goddess effigies for pujas are made by kumars (sculptors.) The clay is harvested from the river ghat nearby that is also home to the city’s red light district. This is intentional. Although prostitutes today could hardly been seen as “respectable and valued citizens” that was not always the case. Long before the Muslims and the British arrived, temple prostitutes were revered and considered pivotal to both the Durja and Kali Pujas. As has always been, artists and ladies of the night live and love in a complicated creative holy alliance.

After some back alley wanderings one should head across the river via a local ferry. Just being amongst local life on the water is enough to hop on. (I mean, can anyone really get enough pushing and shoving on open water?) Another reason is to get some wonderful views of the Howrah Bridge. Built during WWII, it is one of the world's busiest bridges and a proud architectural icon of the city. Who knew steel cantilevers could be both a work of abstract art and essential transportation? Technically it is illegal to photograph this marvel while on land. Get on a ferry however, and you can snap away providing you don’t get too paparazzi about it. Always remember: anarchy rules in Kolkata!

Finally, end your day at the Victoria Memorial. Described as “The Taj Mahal meets the US Capital” it is considered one of India’s most beautiful buildings – even if it was built for a dead British Queen and not an Indian one. The building was began in 1901 but not completed until 20 years later. I am sure “Vicky” would have been impressed with all the white marble and shrubberies. Be sure to take a selfie in front of the extremely corpulent and depressively dour Queen Victoria statue. Sadly no photography is allowed inside. If it were, you could repeat this action in front of King George V in his campy breeches and looking rather Queen-ly himself.

(We never did get to Mother Thersea's "controversial" Motherhouse orphanage. It was closed to the public on the days we were there.)

OH GOD ANOTHER NIGHT TRAIN!

Just when I thought train travel could not get any worse we find we are on a 13-hour 3-tier night train to Kalimpong. I thought 2-tier was hell. Apparently I wasn’t even close. 3-tier is beyond hell. 3-tier is the hell people from hell get sent to make sure they understand what hell really is.

Whereas a 2-tier sleeper train is made up of 30 beds arranged as two level bunks (with curtains), 3 tier is 52 beds arranged as three level bunks with no curtains. That’s right – zero privacy. This is also Durja Puja so that means 3-tier is sold over capacity – way over capacity. As in twice the number of people capacity. Kill. Me. Now. Ok - to be fair it was pretty fun on an over crowed 3 tier during Puja for the first 4 or 5 hours. People were in a great mood. We had all sorts of vendors coming in and out - guys selling saris, socks and underwear, kids toys, idols (both Christian and Hindu), food (of course) and “unmentionable things." Then it got time to actually sleep. Now we had to fight the 4 guys who were in our two bunks to move. They – like many – were on “stand by” tickets hoping that someone would do a no show and they could get the bed. By midnight I had 4 guys in the bed beside me hunched over resting their elbows and arms on my bed leaning inches from my face. Then the guy who’s bunk they were on showed up. MAJOR SHIT SHOW. One of these 4 guys was Chinese and he was extremely pissed that his three Indian “companions” had not secured him a bed. It was intense. This Chinese guy did not look like a tourist – if you catch my drift – so it was pretty touch and go as to how this was gong to be resolved. Then the military got on board and made it known that this was going to be a NO BULLSHIT over capacity 3-tier night train from hell. After that, the Chinese psychopath and his friends were relegated to that space in between cars where the toilets reside and the cars connect. I still got zero sleep. We had a major sleep apnea case beside us and I spent the rest of the night shaking him awake so he would start breathing and stop snoring. The next morning Ken says “Man. Can you imagine if that guy had a heart attack and died right beside us?” I told him that would never have happen. During Puja, you cannot transport bodies on the train. Clearly the goddess wanted me here to keep him alive <groan>.

Next stop: Kalimpong.

We are now making our way into North East India – in the mountains and closer to my spirit place – the Himalayans (they are calling me….)

Kalimpong is not a must do or must see. Again, it is a waypoint for rest and recuperation before we cross the border into Sikkim. Its history revolves the wool trade across the Jelepla Pass into Tibet. Until the 18^th century the area was controlled by the chogyals but then fell into the hands of the Bhutanese who later passed it off to the British. For whatever reason, this area was a favorite one for Scottish missionaries determined to convert the predominately Buddhist population. They failed. Although McFarlane’s Presbyterian Church still remains, the Durpin Gompa Monastery is the real soul of the town. As is the military. This is also home to some of the best-trained and best-funded Indian Military battalions in the country. Many served heroically in all our wars and continue today to patrol the borders of India nixing any “ideas” China may have of popping over for tea.

After you visit the monastery it’s worth a stop at the scenic nine-hole golf course. Built by two army generals, it and its grand clubhouse are open only to military higher ups (although rumor has it if you are current or retired military from a “friendly” nation you can score an invite). Then make you way to the bizarre and wonderful Nurseryman’s Haven to view rare orchids and cacti (all imported from far off lands). The memorial to the owner of this collection is worth the visit alone. They guy is a cross between Omar Sharif and Dr. Evil. His bust is painted up like an old “whore-ticulturalist” and he is wearing rose tinted sunglasses from the 1970’s and an assortment of bad patterned ascots. He is EXACTLY what you imagine an eccentric rare orchid and rarer cacti collector would look like. His staff still work at the greenhouse carrying out his last will and testament – to keep the plants alive and well and his family of small furry mongrel dogs fat and content. It’s a pretty good gig – perpetual well-paid servitude to flora and fauna of the rarest and hairiest kind.

But most important of all – the temperature has dropped to a cool 18 Celsius, the air is crisp and clean and I can see blue sky. I love you, Mountains.

And there won’t be any more trains for a while…