Arriving in Calcutta

Indian women may politely defer to the Indian men, but the elbows slip out from under the saris when they deal with other women. Most train stations have separate counters set aside for ladies, so I left the bags in a corner with August, who was sick again, and went to buy tickets. The line was rather a mob of women crammed between a railing and the wall, desperately pushing toward the counter. One particularly violent woman moved in on my right and trapped me between her chest and the bar. She pushed me so hard I actually gasped in pain. Not long after that, a security guard saw my blond hair and pulled me out from under the railing. I was ready to sacrifice my ribs with the rest of them, but he insisted I come up to the front to buy my tickets, being a guest in their country.

On the train, we were lucky enough to get a whole luggage rack to ourselves, where August tried to stretch out and sleep for part of the nine-hour ride.

We arrived at Calcutta late at night, and had quite the time finding a hotel. As soon as we climbed out of the taxi, a tout descended upon us. He followed us in and out of our three top hotels, all of which were full. We were exhausted and August was in desperate need of a bathroom, so we figured it couldn't hurt to at least have a look at the touted room. It was all right for a night, though we later discovered that our inspection of the bathroom hadn't included checking for a sink. The next day, when we went to find another hotel the next day, we learned that neither sinks nor toilet seats are the norm in Calcutta.

The British built Calcutta as their Indian capital, complete with huge imperial monuments, wide boulevards (with street signs!), and plenty of churches. It was like walking through a European city that had woken up one day to find it was in Asia, and didn't quite know what to make of the people and climate around it. We visited one church that was nearly overgrown by jungle, where fans dangled from the vaulted ceiling, failing to dispel the sweltering heat and humidity.

Over all the weather in Calcutta was the worst in India. It was impossible to sleep at night, and August and I both broke out in rashes from the constant sweating. To add to that, August was sick the whole time we were there.

Despite such unfortunate physical circumstances, we both loved the city. The food was the best in India, too. Our favorite meal was at Bengali-Rupasi (in case you are ever there). We ate prawn and coconut-milk curry, along with stewed banana flowers, and a traditional fried bread. We were the only people in the restaurant at 6 pm, and the frighteningly attentive waiter insisted on doing everything except lift the forks to our mouths.

The people of Calcutta were also nicer than average, with almost no touting and begging outside of the tourist neighborhood. This might be because they are more used to seeing ex-patriots than tourists, most of whom don't go further East than Varanasi. One of the most exceptional interactions we had was with a man who accosted us in the street. "Why are you here?! It is too hot this time for people like you!" He seemed very relieved to hear we were going up to Darjeeling next.

Another time as we were struggling to find a bus, a young man insisted on leading us across the parking lot. We were certain he must be a tout, and told him we didn't want a taxi. He did show us the bus, however, though we were even more nervous when he climbed on after us. As it turned out he was just an exceptionally nice man, and wanted to make sure we didn't get lost. He apologized for the way some people in his country treated foreigners and said that he hoped we didn't hold it against India as a whole. We couldn't help but be impressed this one man trying to uphold his whole country's reputation.