Friday 8th February - Miracle on Park Street

The Harrington Arts Centre has no exhibition until mid February, which comes as a bit of a blow to D, who had hoped to count it as two days of Art stuff when the scores are settled. The Residency excels again at breakfast and today we remember to take a picture before getting stuck in. We are moving on today but there is no hurry. Our vast clean laundry delivery arrives just after breakfast and we actually have some  clothes to wear today.

R is starting to feel a little below par so we decide against anything adventurous. The room is cleared and the bags are stored. R has spotted a shop in the building next door called Kamala, the Crafts Council of India outlet. It is full of wonderful stuff but we would have to haul it round India for the next month. The building is actually the Rabindranath Tagore Centre but the galleries do not open until 3 p.m. by which time we will have gone. It's a very impressive building though.

Kolkata is known for strange rituals and ceremonies and there is one that D has always wanted to see, but never been in the right place at the right time until now. Park Street is a five lanes wide thoroughfare running NW/SE through the heart of the city. Until 1 p.m it is one way heading north west, after which it becomes one way in the opposite direction. In our experience it is always packed with traffic and we cannot conceive how an orderly changeover happens. At 12.45 we occupy a window table in Flury's Tearoom which is situated at a prominent junction part way down Park Street. On previous visits we have seen a police armoured car parked outside but there is none today. The traffic is heading north west in force. At 12.57 it suddenly dries up and at 12.59 the first batch of yellow Ambassador taxis roars by heading south east. Quite miraculous.

We are lost for words as we walk back to collect our bags for the shortish Uber trip to Ballygunge. Described as one of the two most affluent areas of Kolkata we have been urged to stay here by a natibh. The Uber is a rather small and scruffy Maruti and the big rucsac has to go on the front passenger seat. Our driver has no English but seems to know his way around. We fail to spot the sign for the Ivy House guest house but we pull up anyway and ask a local who very kindly walks us round the corner.

There are only four rooms, each named for a flower. We have Marigold, which we should be able to remember. The room is very nice although the windows look out on neighbouring walls. The bathroom has just deposed the one at the Harrington as the best we have seen in India. R has decided that she is going to rest this afternoon so D gets to go out and indulge his public transport habit.

A fifteen minute walk takes him to Ballygunge Junction (code BLN) where he hopes to track down one of the elusive Calcutta Circular trains. These run south out of Sealdah then across the south side of the city and then north along the east bank of the Hooghly river. In previous years there has been the odd sighting of one of these trains but never the chance to ride one. At BLN the ticket office is found and the clerk seems impressed that D knows the code for his destination, KOAA. Easy to remember after the hours we spent there on Wednesday. The fare for this is 5 rupees. No wonder Indian Railways are skint.

D waits on the platform for a train supposedly due at 15.33, but which does not appear or get announced. A check of a different source on the internet says the line is currently closed for maintenance. But they sold a ticket. A bit of searching finds an interesting alternative route that bypasses Sealdah station and involves a change of train at Dum Dum Junction. The train taking that route is due shortly so a decision is made.

When the train arrives it is not too busy and D can stand at the door to watch. It is a Local so stops at every station and nearly every signal in between. There are only a few trains a day along here so the locals are happy to sit on the track playing cards, laying out their washing to dry and letting their offspring play. Every shack alongside the railway has a satellite TV dish and a wire connected in to the nearest lamp post. The trip to Dum Dum takes about half an hour and when we get there it is a real stramash as people trying to get off the train collide with people forcing their way on. D was rather glad that R missed that bit. (Editor's note: R was also rather glad that she missed it)

Dum Dum Junction platforms are packed with people and D decides not to try for the connection to KOAA but instead to catch the Metro south through the city centre. This costs an extortionate Rs 15 for a trip about the same length. At least there is a Senior Citizens' seat available for D when he boards. It is not yet rush hour so the train doesn't get packed.

From Khaligat Metro it is a brisk two mile walk back to base, along pavements that are lined on both sides with market stalls selling mainly clothing. Navigation goes well and D is soon back at the Ivy House where R is sound asleep. The best thing about the ritzy bathroom is that there is a bucket for D to soak his aching feet in.

R is feeling a bit better but doesn't want to risk eating. We go to the next door Karma Cafe which is under the same ownership. They serve wonderful Darjeeling tea and D wolfs down a plate of momos and some apple pie. Door riding certainly works up an appetite.