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Published: April 6th 2006
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Street in Kolkata
Plus hundreds of kids wearing white uniforms. Don't know why. Unbelievable. Humidity and pollution so high that walking the street is like being repeatedly slapped around the face by a warm and rather dirty flannel. And the streets - so hectic they make Mumbai look like Milton Keynes on a quiet Sunday, and Bangalore like Worthing on Sea off-season.
The traffic is gridlocked, every pavement is crammed with stalls, touts swoop on you as soon as you stop moving, and the beggars are spectacular. You almost feel like clapping them on the back and saying 'well done'. (But I think that might be in poor taste.)
The traffic is an experience in itself. Everything is knackered, from the taxis pouring out black exhaust fumes to the old boys pulling the human powered rickshaws. Forget auto rickshaws. Or bicycle rickshaws. This is the real deal. For a few rupees you can get your fat Western backside pulled around the streets by a man old enough to be your grandad, and who weighs less than your edition of the Lonely Planet. What does the liberal do? God knows they look like they need the money, but I don't think I can handle the guilt. Not sure what the point would be
anyway, seeing as even the most dinted of the beggars can easily outpace the traffic in this place.
And the weirdest thing? I absolutely, totally unreservedly love the place. Am happy as larry here - it's just an amazing city. I don't know why - the traffic, the unbelievable heat and humidity, the beggars, the pollution... all of these mean I should hate it. But I don't. It just has a real charisma - an energy and bustle that I absolutely love.
That's not to say I wasn't a bit panicky when I arrived. Taxi fought its way through narrow, jam packed streets, and the driver clearly didn't have a clue where he was going. Finally got to Sudder Street - the backpacking heartland - and found my chosen hotel. Which was full. Back up plan was full. Third backup was full. Fourth choice had something - a single room with shared shower and toilet. Right next to the shower and toilet, actually. Imagine a prison cell, although with less natural life than you'd expect your standard prison cell to offer.
Still. At 150 rp a night (less than two quid), it has its advantages. So I
took it. And then took off for a walk. That's when the heat really hit me. Within half an hour or so my shirt was soaked right through. Nice. Wasn't helped by the blind panic caused by the fact that I had about 200 rp left in all the world, and my Egg card is incredibly tempermental. Being stuck in Kolkata with no money is the sort of thing that should be avoided, I think. Thankfully, after about five cashpoints I found one that would accept my little green card, and I was back in the game.
Made it back to the hostel, dodging touts and the very many people who wanted me to look - just look, mind - at their very wonderful handicraft shops, I ditched the sodden t-shirt and gathered my thoughts for a little while. Ended up having dinner at a very flash place at the end of the street. Cost me almost a tenner, which is extortionate over here, especially as I didn't drink anything, but I saved enough on the 150 rp hotel room to make sure that I didn't feel too guilty.
I know that it's the worst cliche in travelling
history to talk about a country of contrasts. Or a city of contrasts, even. But sometimes you can't avoid it. The juxtoposition of this flash restaurant - real expense account territory, full of clearly very affluent Indian families and business men, with the kind of over-staffing that only flash restaurants can manage - and the dozens of bare bones travellers' doss houses was odd enough. But the fact that the doors open right onto a little enclave of street cleaners is even more disconcerting.
I've since worked out that the street sleepers are litter pickers - basically a rubbish truck arrives first thing in the morning, dumps a load of rubbish onto the street, and they pick through it, presumably looking for stuff they can recycle. At the same time, dozens of house crows descend on the rubbish looking for scraps of food - put it on video and you have a crusading documentary, made by Hitchcock in his 'Birds' phase.
The whole street is an experience, actually. Walking down it in the morning, you see smiling rickshaw drivers (pullers?) chatting to travellers having their morning lassies, and a handful of beggars, even at ten in the morning.
Mad faced goat
Lived on my street in Kolkata. Check out the teeth. Then further down, it's like a little village, with men squatting on the pavement by a water pump, covered in soap suds and having their morning bath. Then you come to the street sleepers and their mounds of rubbish, and a few feet further on you hit the total traffic chaos of Chowringee (sp?) street, lined by street stalls selling everything from underwear and kitchen equipment to old coins, novels and kitchy plastic toys. And even at ten in the morning, the heat is incredible.
Honestly, it's such a great city. I can't tell you all how much I like it and, like I said, I have no idea quite why. It's a polluted, dirty, noisy, sweaty madhouse. It's still great though.
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Chris M
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Howrah
Is purportedly the busiest bridge in the world. Now you see why Calcutta was my favorite city in India! Don't forget the sacrificial ghats in the morning... Kali is the patron diety so it's not the best place to be a goat...