2nd January
Working hard to reduce our sleep deficit, we didn't make it out of the hotel until around 11am. In fairness, this was partly because breakfast was served, rather bizarrely, in our bedroom. We then put our explorations on hold for a while, as we spent the next couple of hours in an internet cafe arranging the next few weeks of our journey. Looking for lunch, we walked down towards Park Street. Everywhere we tried was either closed or full. Eventually we were driven by hunger to the last resort: McDonalds. No beef, of course, so the choice came down to the McChicken and the McVeggie. We went veggie. It was actually surprisingly decent. Nevertheless we felt suitably ashamed.
Well McFueled, we set off on that afternoon's mission: a grand tour of Kolkata's finest sari shops. These stretched out along Park Street, heading east from the Maidan (Kolkata's central park). In total we tried around ten shops: some were large and well-lit; others were dark, cramped, and hidden away down a side street. Sadly we didn't find a sari that suited me; nor one for Clem. It didn't help that the prices were consistently double what we had been quoted in Khardah for the equivalent quality.
After a few hours of sari-hunting thrills, it was time for dinner. Since it had just started to pour with rain, we hailed a taxi - with unusual speed, thankfully - and directed the driver south. We were headed for a restaurant recommended for its traditional Bengali food. I managed to drag Clem away from the clothes shop next door (only after confirming that it would still be open after dinner) and we took a seat at one of the four tables.
The names of the dishes were written on a whiteboard in Bengali, with ticks next to those that were available that evening. After asking several translation questions, we began to order a few dishes. The waiter, however, interrupted to suggest that we simply order a thali; so we did.
The food came quickly and was very tasty. It was also noticably different to the Rajasthani and North Indian food, for example, that we'd had at Teej: milder and more fruity.
We paid our pleasantly reasonable bill and headed next door to the clothes shop from which Clem had earlier been prised. There she bought a kurti, ensuring that the day's shopping had not been entirely futile. The kurti was adjusted on the spot with impressive speed. No longer empty-handed, we could return to the hotel. There we concluded our cultured evening by watching Terminator 3 from the comfort of our bed.
-----
3rd January
On Tuesday morning we were slightly less lazy, just about managing to check out by 10.30. We made our way down to the Victoria Memorial for our fourth or fifth attempt to enter the building. At last, success; we fought our way through the crowds at the gate to the park and climbed the steps to the grand entrance hall. Here King George V (the grandson of Victoria) gazed across at his wife, Mary, over an exhibition of paintings and photographs detailing the genesis and completion of this magnificent monument to the British Empire.
Next we came to the domed hall at the centre of the building, and walked around the large statue of a youthful Victoria while admiring the artwork above. We then browsed through several more halls explaining the history of the city in slightly overwhelming depth. The story began with the arrival of Job Charnock in the 17th century through to British rule, partition, independence, and modern Kolkata. We briefly stopped by a gallery of Indian politicians (no fistfuls of cash stuffed in their pockets, strangely), but by then we'd had enough so spared them only a cursory glance.
We then went back to Teej for lunch, since we wanted to try out the Rajasthani thali. It was vast and flavourful, but featured a little too much curd and paneer for my tastes. After lunch, we headed north by metro to the Indian Coffee House, an old cafe once popular with politicians and now mainly frequented by students. At least, that's what we heard, since we didn't actually make it there. We emerged from Mahatma Gandhi Road metro station and asked for directions. We obeyed, but found only the Marble Palace, a grand but shabby old building, which we were allowed neither to enter nor to photograph.
Back at the flat, we spent a quiet evening with Derya, who had survived by herself, and had an early night.
Working hard to reduce our sleep deficit, we didn't make it out of the hotel until around 11am. In fairness, this was partly because breakfast was served, rather bizarrely, in our bedroom. We then put our explorations on hold for a while, as we spent the next couple of hours in an internet cafe arranging the next few weeks of our journey. Looking for lunch, we walked down towards Park Street. Everywhere we tried was either closed or full. Eventually we were driven by hunger to the last resort: McDonalds. No beef, of course, so the choice came down to the McChicken and the McVeggie. We went veggie. It was actually surprisingly decent. Nevertheless we felt suitably ashamed.
Well McFueled, we set off on that afternoon's mission: a grand tour of Kolkata's finest sari shops. These stretched out along Park Street, heading east from the Maidan (Kolkata's central park). In total we tried around ten shops: some were large and well-lit; others were dark, cramped, and hidden away down a side street. Sadly we didn't find a sari that suited me; nor one for Clem. It didn't help that the prices were consistently double what we had been quoted in Khardah for the equivalent quality.
After a few hours of sari-hunting thrills, it was time for dinner. Since it had just started to pour with rain, we hailed a taxi - with unusual speed, thankfully - and directed the driver south. We were headed for a restaurant recommended for its traditional Bengali food. I managed to drag Clem away from the clothes shop next door (only after confirming that it would still be open after dinner) and we took a seat at one of the four tables.
The names of the dishes were written on a whiteboard in Bengali, with ticks next to those that were available that evening. After asking several translation questions, we began to order a few dishes. The waiter, however, interrupted to suggest that we simply order a thali; so we did.
The food came quickly and was very tasty. It was also noticably different to the Rajasthani and North Indian food, for example, that we'd had at Teej: milder and more fruity.
We paid our pleasantly reasonable bill and headed next door to the clothes shop from which Clem had earlier been prised. There she bought a kurti, ensuring that the day's shopping had not been entirely futile. The kurti was adjusted on the spot with impressive speed. No longer empty-handed, we could return to the hotel. There we concluded our cultured evening by watching Terminator 3 from the comfort of our bed.
-----
3rd January
On Tuesday morning we were slightly less lazy, just about managing to check out by 10.30. We made our way down to the Victoria Memorial for our fourth or fifth attempt to enter the building. At last, success; we fought our way through the crowds at the gate to the park and climbed the steps to the grand entrance hall. Here King George V (the grandson of Victoria) gazed across at his wife, Mary, over an exhibition of paintings and photographs detailing the genesis and completion of this magnificent monument to the British Empire.
Next we came to the domed hall at the centre of the building, and walked around the large statue of a youthful Victoria while admiring the artwork above. We then browsed through several more halls explaining the history of the city in slightly overwhelming depth. The story began with the arrival of Job Charnock in the 17th century through to British rule, partition, independence, and modern Kolkata. We briefly stopped by a gallery of Indian politicians (no fistfuls of cash stuffed in their pockets, strangely), but by then we'd had enough so spared them only a cursory glance.
We then went back to Teej for lunch, since we wanted to try out the Rajasthani thali. It was vast and flavourful, but featured a little too much curd and paneer for my tastes. After lunch, we headed north by metro to the Indian Coffee House, an old cafe once popular with politicians and now mainly frequented by students. At least, that's what we heard, since we didn't actually make it there. We emerged from Mahatma Gandhi Road metro station and asked for directions. We obeyed, but found only the Marble Palace, a grand but shabby old building, which we were allowed neither to enter nor to photograph.
 |
| The view from outside MG Road metro station |
The Indian Coffee House was nowhere to be seen. We asked for more directions, again unhelpful, and tried to find our bearings on the poor LP map, but to no avail. This area of town was particularly squalid, even by Kolkata's standards, so we weren't inclined to linger. Clem stopped off at a couple of sari shops on the way back to the metro, but we didn't tarry too long because we were by then in a rush to make it to Dum Dum before the start of rush hour.
We arrived at Dum Dum at 3.30, and it was clear that we had failed. The first train was completely packed, and we had no chance of getting on. There wasn't even room to cling to the side of the train, had we been so foolish as to try to do so. After this a young girl in a bright white school uniform approached us shyly, and asked to which station we were headed. she told us that the next train also went to Khardah, and should be less crowded. With our thanks she bounded back over to her mother to receive a sweet, perhaps as a reward for her bravery. She was right, and we managed to squeeze on the next train. "Less crowded" was still crazy, but we made it home relatively unsullied.
We arrived at Dum Dum at 3.30, and it was clear that we had failed. The first train was completely packed, and we had no chance of getting on. There wasn't even room to cling to the side of the train, had we been so foolish as to try to do so. After this a young girl in a bright white school uniform approached us shyly, and asked to which station we were headed. she told us that the next train also went to Khardah, and should be less crowded. With our thanks she bounded back over to her mother to receive a sweet, perhaps as a reward for her bravery. She was right, and we managed to squeeze on the next train. "Less crowded" was still crazy, but we made it home relatively unsullied.
We decided not to take this train..
Back at the flat, we spent a quiet evening with Derya, who had survived by herself, and had an early night.
No comments:
Post a Comment