The Travellers search for the perfect pair of pants...

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First, apologies for some of the attrocious spelling in the last post. Its hard to write when you're exhausted, theres no lights in the internet cafe and most of the letters have been worn off the key board. Funnily enough, the 'D' oesn't work so good on this keyboard either so watch out for typos 😊



Kolkata has been brilliant. So much of what I remember. Visiting the fruit markets by accident while trying to find the Howrah Bridge, the smell of ripe fresh fruit in the sun was fantastic. "Wilson! Hello Wilson!" My shirts and Tshits leave a part of my family tattoo visible and I've frequently been called out to in the crowds. "Hello Wilson, howare you friend?"

I've resisted some of the temptation to dress in more local garb and stuck to my more western clothes. My old jandals that protected my feet last time I was here six years ago have done the job again and I feel a small amount of nostalgia toward them. They have travelled a long way; Fiji, Bangkok, Bangladesh, India, Singapore and back to India again. However, although I am in the culture, I know I am still somewhat apart from it. I know what I am: a traveller, a westerner, and ultimately a rich white tourist. I've bought a pair of flares (three actually as it turns out an NZ 32 is not the same as an Indian 32. Isaac thoroughly enjoyed watching me struggle into the first two pairs), part of a four year journey to find the perfect pair of pants and maybe recapture a little of the hippie I used to be. Even the way a friend has started calling me Traveller, it feels like more than just a description, more like a name, and I like it.

I love flares and I always will. Some of the best girls bums I've seen in my life were in flares. I don't want to offend anyone (well, not too much, maybe just a little) but I abhore the current fashion in NZ of making guys look like turnips with big feet. Back in the day I was barefoot a lot more, had long shaggy hair and a stragly beard (although I was quite proud of it at the time). It seems od now almost, trying to recapture something of that younger, carefree, somewhat naieve man but I can't help myself. I still love flares.

I've met some wonderful people aswell just wandering the streets. "Hello, where are you from? Would you like tea?" And now everytime I see him its "Hello Mister Ben!" with a huge smile.

As we are crossing the road Isaac's boot lace catches on something and suddenly he does a flip onto the footpath infront of me. "Are you alright? You are not hurt? Do you need a hospital?" A well dressed indian woman in jeans and a bright pink tshirt and the enormous sunglasses that have become so popular with western women. "Can I walk with you for a while? I was supposed to met a friend but Ah! she worships her husband and I never see her anymore. I am so bored! I hate these indian women sometimes, they need to be their own selves, not just part of their husbands." It is interesting and refreshing to hear her views about her own people and country. They seem so contradictory to the normal way of life here.

We talk for sometime. Well, she talks an we try and slip in a word every so often, and eventually we trade emails and say our farewells. She has offered to help me find a hotel when I return to Kolkata in a couple of weeks and I am much appreciative. I am not totally naieve, there may be other motives, maybe not but this is all part of the journey. Back in New Zealand I determined to put myself out there in the hands of the gods, to travel with my hand out ready to shake any who would take it, to see the best in every man and woman I meet until proven otherwise and just see what comes of it all.

I guess I will see. Time to explore more of Darjeeling now but much more to come in the next few days.

Traveller signing off.

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