Thursday 7th February - City of Joy

The beds at the Harrington are super comfy and it is about as quiet as downtown Kolkata gets. The building opposite is the US Consulate and traffic past it is severely restricted. The noises we do hear are the brain fever bird in the tree outside and the staff making conversation in the dining room. We are well rested and ready for breakfast which is cooked to order in the open kitchen at the end of the room. It starts with fresh fruit and we are asked for our cooked preferences. Masala omelette seule for R and with bacon for D. The waiter brings a dish to the table and announces it as bacon. D's pet breakfast hate is tepid baked beans. When his omelette arrives it is accompanied by rather good bacon so he is mollified somewhat. Also delivered are toast, pancakes with honey and slices of fruit cake. We aren't quite that hungry.

After breakfast we set out on the errands. More rupees, a SIM card, a lightweight phone charger, flip flops for R and a train ticket that we need for next Monday, but which couldn't be book before we left the UK. D was a bit miffed to discover last night that the Indian bank whose ATMs we have loyally used for the past eight years has decided to impose a 200 rupee charge on transactions with a foreign card.  Sod that. The bank next door does not practice discrimination in that way and we will be their loyal customers henceforth. One rather annoying thing about Indian ATMs is that the maximum withdrawal is 10,000 rupees, just over a hundred quid. In Bangladesh we could get 20,000 Takas on a single transaction, almost £200. This means we will be making double the number of £1.50 donations to Richard Branson and his pals.

After the bank our next port of call is the Airtel shop on Park Street. They ask a lot of impertinent questions about us having a Kolkata resident referee. Getting a SIM in India has always been a bit of a performance but over the past few years has got a bit easier each time. We have never had to provide a resident referee and anyway we haven't got one. Plan B is rolled into action and we visit our regular dealer in his little shop on Chowringhee Lane where we have always had total satisfaction. The man in charge recognises D and has just what we need. Free calls within India, 100 texts per day, 1.5 Gigabytes of data per day - 600 rupees for 28 days. We didn't use 1.5 Gigs in two weeks in Bangladesh so that should be plenty. Surprisingly he doesn't even ask to see a passport.

From here it is a short stroll to the New Market which is just waking up. Inevitably a tout attaches himself suggesting souvenirs, shawls, small elephant. D explains that elephant fodder is in short supply in Scotland and waves him away. The trick in this place is not to admit to wanting anything but just take pot luck on what you find. We hit the jackpot. Bags of small orange boiled sweets for Rs 10. We buy two. The sweets in BD were either mango or  lime with salt in the middle. Disgusting when you are not expecting it.

Next stop is Sealdah Station to buy the tickets. The booking counters are upstairs and not too busy when we get there. With the help of a bystander D is soon equipped with a form that he completes. Picking a queue with two people in front will hopefully mean a speedy conclusion. Wrong. After dealing with person 1 the lady behind the counter disappears. Person 2, followed by D, moves smartly to the right where person 1 is just leaving and person 2 has just become person 1. This means that the original person 2 is still person 2 and D is still person 3. Meanwhile R has been deputed to take photographs of the entire process.

When D gets to the front of the queue he loses points for not signing the form but is allowed to stay as person 1. The lady cashier requires sight of both passports and conducts a lengthy conversation with a colleague for guidance. When D gets up at 03.00 UK time to book train tickets for India in advance it doesn't take as long as this. The amount of typing into the computer is mind boggling and at the end of the day the tickets don't even have our names on them. All of this for a transaction totalling Rs 140. She does give D a nice smile at the end of the process.  Meanwhile a lady rozzer has ticked R off for taking pictures. 

At the entrance to the Sealdah Station forecourt is a branch of Big Bazar, a sort of cross between Matalan and Wilko. These stores are air conditioned and contain all sorts of wonderful stuff that you didn't know you could live without. We never miss the opportunity to browse and marvel at the odd use of English that they employ. We might also find a pair of flip flops.  This visit was totally satisfactory up until the point of paying for the flip flops. Their checkout staff make Sealdah's booking clerks look like Usain Bolt on speed. No wonder Indian retailers are terrified by the prospect of Tesco or Walmart getting a foothold.

Chores complete we head back to the Harrington to plan more fun. D wants to ride trams while they still have them but R doesn't. She wants to sit and draw. Throw in a visit to the nearby Earthcare Bookshop and we have a viable plan. D's tram expedition is successful as he manages to bag a trip not previously enjoyed on any Radinja outing. The number 5 heads east along Lenin Sarani, then north up Normal Chunder Street, continuing up College Street and its extensions north to Shyambazar. On College Street a film crew board  and start conducting vox pops at the front of the car. Sadly D's opinions are not sought. The outward journey takes around thirty minutes but the return, which is mainly against the flow on one way streets takes nearly an hour. Thoughts of a celebratory beer in Shaw Brothers notorious men only shebeen are dashed when D is refused entry for wearing shorts.

No visit to Kolkata is complete without a trip squeezed into a Metro train. Tonight we take a two stop ride north on a really busy service. The walk from the metro to Jimmy's Restaurant on Lindsay Street takes us through the colonnades on Chowringhee, outside the Oberoi Grand Hotel. Market stalls occupy half of the pavement and the vendors are keen to sell. D enjoys the repartee. "Uncle! T shirt only 500". "I don't want to buy a factory". Halfway along there is always a man selling fold up laundry baskets. There are also touts for the shops who ask you how much you like Kolkata and then attempt to lure you into their emporium. R gets into the spirit of things when one optimistic offers to show her pashminas. "I could sell you pashminas" at which he drops out.

As we walk along Lindsay Street something is happening. The pavement hawkers and the guys with the hand pulled rickshaws are having some kind of panic and departing as quickly as possible. Behind us a police jeep of some kind is edging through the crowd. It must be some kind of special force because there is never any shortage of the normal cops around here. Jimmy's is a small restaurant with cold beer and mainly Chinese food. We feast on sweet and sour pork with fried rice. Excellent. On the Metro ride home R even gets a seat.