ONE LAST RUPEE....

Wow, so here I am sitting in the airport waiting and waiting and waiting. As I suspected, despite the fact that I have 7 hours to kill before checking in for my flight, I will most likely not leave the airport - or at least go very far. I do have plans to have a bang up dinner at the Sheraton, which is just off the airport property so that doesn't really count. My desire to go back into downtown Mumbai, on Sunday and when the shops are closed as well as the museums, was very limited. I did attempt to head to a place called Juhu Beach just for a look and maybe a movie but when I got in the autorickshaw, they all of the sudden changed their price and wanted quite a bit of money, which I felt was better spent on my spectacular meal later this eve. So now I am just killing time until the restaurant opens for business...probably should clean myself up a bit while I am at it too or they may not let me in for the meal!

Now back to my saga. As you know, I was last in Darjeeling doing, well, basically nothing but hanging out. I did, however, just before I headed out, make it for a spectacular tea tasting. I finally found a store that would actually let me try the tea before I purchase it. At their prices, I pretty much felt that this should be part of the deal. Oh, did I mentiont that in Darjeeling, my first cup of tea was actually from a Tetley tea bag? How funny is that? Figured I'd get some good local stuff but alas, only the good ole Tetley. Where was I, hmmm, tea tasting...yes...the shop had around 20 types of tea, ranging from standard Lipton type tea all the way up to the real posh stuff that the Queen of England consumes. It was quite amazing the difference in taste depending on when it was picked (spring 1st or 2nd pick or autumn) and also the difference in estates. Actually it was quite a bit like doing a wine tasting of different producers and regions. The man was quite patient and actually let me taste around 8 different teas. He started with saying that I could only taste two or maybe three but guess I charmed him into by actually caring about the tea and showing that I really did want to buy something not just taste. He even gave me cups of the top three and boy was that top one scrumptious!

Fortified with loads of tea, I headed to the jeep stand to get my taxi/jeep down the hill. The down ride was a bit more, well, shall we say, trying, than the up version. The driver and his assistant (money taker) both looked like they were 15. My bag went on the roof but was not locked down - climbed up there myself to lock it on. Given the twists and turns in the road, I wasn't about to take chances with my stuff rolling off and down the cliff. It must have been the most phlegm infested, sick group of men in the back of jeep (I requested from seat squashed next to the assistant guy) as the noises coming from the back were none too pleasant. Lots of deep throat, nasal sucking snotting sounding grunts going on and loads of spitting out the window. I think there were even a few, hold one side of your nose and blow going on out the window. Very typical though. I guess I was blessed to be in the front and only have to listen to the two on either side of me chew and spit their paan - stuff they put in their mouths made from beetle nut and all sorts of other junk that turns their teeth red. A few times I was sure that it was going to splatter back into my face but I got lucky. After much twisting and winding down the hill (I even started to feel nauseous) and taking every detour and stop that we could, I arrived back in Siliguri where I took the Darjeeling Mail train to Calcutta (Kolkata). The rickshaw driver made sure to inform me how far he was taking me and how strenuous it was to get to the train station in the hopes of getting a little more money, which he did but cause I liked him and he was chatty and honest from the get go about price.

Yeah! The last train ride! Yippppeeee! It was actually quite pleasant but part of it was that I had decent people (no leering soldiers like when I headed to the Nepal border) in my six bunk section and that I was so tired from getting up at 3:30am that morning that I just wanted to crash - and managed to! I did have to pay an extra 150 rupee charge to get on the train though as it was completely sold out. They have a thing here called "emergency" or Tatkal that allows you to pay more and get off the wait list and guaranteed a spot. The big catch is that you have to pay for the entire train ride so if you are only going 1/2 or the way, it can make the trip quite expensive. Good thing was, I was going the entire way, which made it not such a bad deal given that I HAD to catch the train in order to make sure I caught my flight in the morning to Mumbai.

Early am arrival in Calcutta and actually, I found the city quite OK. I was dreading heading back into a big, crazy, noise infested, dirty city but it really was quite clean. Clean, that is, compared to Indian standards. It was an easy trip to the hostel and I got settled right in and headed off for a haircut. This is something I am really not sure I should do when I travel, especially after the haircut I got in Namibia where the woman took the front section of my hair, twisted it up above my head and then snipped at it randomly and let the bits fall down back to my head. A girl in the hostel seemed to have a decent haircut and she said she got it around the corner, so off I went. I was a bit curious about how the salon would be as the closest thing I had seen to a salon in India thus far was a barber shop. There are all sorts of little barber shop places and people set up on the street that will cut hair or shave you but they really aren't what I would be looking for, nor would they know what to do with women's hair.

So down the street I went until I came across a sign that said something about Ladies Parlour. It had white paper up on the windows to keep people from looking in and pictures of women's product taped on top of the paper. Slightly reassuring as I at least I was guaranteed that it was a salon. Inside were several Indian women clustered around something giggling and chatting. One came to me right away, asked what I wanted and before I knew it, had an apron draped around my neck and was leading me to the shampoo table. It actually was a table thing that was set on the edge of the sink. No comfortable neck rest here and in fact, she was none to gentle with the picking up and putting down of my head as she washed. Done with that, she sat me in a chair (regular chair, not hairdressing chair), divided my hair and pulled out a comb thing with a razor in the teeth. Before I could say much she had razored off about four inches from the length of my hair. I sort of figured she was going to shape the front first and also ask me how much length I wanted off but guess not. When she moved to the back, she only wanted to trim it a bit, which I though was a bit odd given that the front 1/3 of my head on each side was a good chunk shorter than the back. Not sure if she was going for the shoulder length look in front and mid-back length in the back but it wasn't working for me. Turned out that even though she only took a couple inches off of the back, she razored that as well (layers apparently), by the time she was done razoring, the length was almost as short as the front. Overall not a bad cut but I was sure worried what it would turn out like with that razor comb whizzing around my head hacking away. Nothing that won't grow and thankfully my hair grows fast.

After the cut, I decided to head out and face the big, bad city. I started off with the New Market, which was supposed to have some nice stuff. It did look, if you had the time, patience and inclination, like you could find some good stuff. The big problem was that shop keepers or markets workers (not sure how they worked but they had ID cards) would join you on your shopping and tell you how you should go to their shop or this shop or that shop. The continually asked, "What are you looking for miss?" "Sarees? I know a nice saree shop" "Spices? Would you like some spices?" One man persisted for about 20 minutes and no matter how many times I said, "Please go" and "I do not need help, I would like to be alone" he kept following. I finally stopped and very sternly said, "Look, please go away. You are making me want to leave the market area and not shop at all. Do you not understand that if you pester people like this, that they leave the market? It does not make them want to shop or look in any stores!" At that point he left and the store owner of the shop I was in front of, nodded approvingly. That done, I escaped the market empty handed and headed off to see the Howrah bridge and hopefully the flower market.

I never made it to the bridge - although I did see it. I ended up just walking around the town and through a park and mostly along a very busy street next to the train tracks that were blocking the view of the water. Too bad they didn't do a better job with the waterfront, it would have been very pleasant. It was a nice overview of Calcutta though. At some points I did feel a bit uncomfortable though as the men in Calcutta do seem to stare quite a bit and not just at your face. I did a bit of staring back as well and saying "Namaste!", which freaked them out and they turned away quite quickly. One man in the park, wearing the Indian skirt/wrap type pants) felt the need to treat me to a show of his entire toolbox if you know what I mean. I had just finished chatting with a couple Brits and getting directions and turned to go on my way when, oh, there it was walking right at me in all of its glory. I carried on my path, which was diagonal, and pretended that I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary and he wrapped himself back up. I not really sure what these guys get out of touching, staring at and showing private parts to foreigners but it can't be all that exciting.

After my wanders I headed back to the hostel for a bit of break then headed out to tea and dinner with an Aussie woman I met. It was her first trip ever and she chose India! Crazy! She was counting the days until she was leaving but at the same time, was enjoying the trip. That seems to be the way it is in India...so tiring and frustrating but equally fascinating. We sat on a street corner with our chai chatting away for an hour or so (8 rupees for the four cups! Cheapest I have had) and then wandered up to a street called Park Street, which was supposed to have an excellent little street stand restaurant serving a thing called Kati Roll. The Kati Roll was great. It is a parantha (chapati type thing but thicker) with egg, veg, chicken or mutton filling. They put all the goodies inside, roll them up and hand then to you - all for the cost of 17R, or just under $0.50. Quite tasty! I almost had two but was stuffed from the first one.

Of course, while we were eating, the ever present street urchin showed up and tugged on our sleeves and shoved her plate in our legs, arms and stomachs. It is a bit frustrating as, yes, I know that they are hungry, but they never bother the Indian people. It is only the tourists that they pester and poke and prod. I had pretty much had enough at this point as she stood there for about five minutes moaning and poking so, as rude as it was, I wadded up my greasy paper from the Kati Roll and put that on her plate. Boy did I get an angry look. She continued after us poking us with her plate as we walked off. I did feel a bit bad but really they should take care of their own a bit here and the fact that we were the only people she pestered really got me - oh, and that I have been listening to this for two months. India supposedly has the most millionaires in the world, recently surpassing China - they aught to donate a few rupees here and there to the suffering population. I do wonder sometimes if India has just made me heartless. The fact that I can walk by a two year old that is hungry and has her hand out for food and not even blink or care or feel any sort of pulling at my heart is terrible. Yet, I know that her mother and/or father has put her up to it and that if I give her money, she won't use it for food anyway. Half the time if you give them food, they run off and sell it back to the shop you just bought it from. I can't imagine if my little niece was hungry how I would do everything I could to feed her and I am so thankful that she does not have to know what it is like or to stand on a street corner holding out her hand.

Back to happier things...I think I have done and clearly from the above, am doing, India a disservice. I wonder how bad my blogs make this place sound. It really is a good place and very interesting. Many of the people are wonderful, friendly and kind and the places you can visit are spectacular. I do not think that I did a good job of describing the beautiful moments and places. India is such an overwhelming country on all sides - the noise and chaos, the people always around and with you (you are never alone) and the distances you must go to get places. I think I have barely scratched the surface of what I experienced and don't know how to put most of it in words. Sitting here now, I am very glad to be leaving India and can't wait to get on the plane. If you would have asked me a couple of days ago though, I would have told you I wanted to stay and go South. I do still want to go South at some point, so I will probably be back, but I also think that India is a country that must be taken in small doses and not all in one go. For now though, I am happy to be safe and sound in the quiet airport waiting for the plane.

To finish, as I am going to head off for a top notch meal in about 1/2 hour, I would like to end India on a food note. Just thought I would share a few of my favorite/interesting culinary experiences/visions:

The Cockroach Apple - My aunt and uncle would be proud...Ella squealed that there was a cockroach on her apple up in our room and out of curiosity, I had to go look (that would not have happened several years ago - I would have been the squealer). It was quite an impressive feat the cockroach had accomplished. It was about 2 inches long and it had chewed a hole in the apple big enough to stick its head in. It was almost cartoonish the way it was munching away putting its head in the hole and pulling it back out. I bagged the little sucker and brought him down for the manager and so Ella could have another look :)

The Cockroach and the Soy Sauce (seems to be a theme) - While dining in our favorite restaurant in Darjeeling - eating Momos - a cockroach decided to join us. First just on the table, then it went for the soy sauce but as it was covered, we just shooed it away. Thinking we managed to get rid of it, we carried on but next time I went for the soy sauce, I found little legs squirming around. What to do! I scooped him out and shook him off onto the floor and kept going...yes, I did still use the soy sauce BUT with a different spoon. He was a persistent little bugger though and reappeared climbing up the wall. Those things never die!

A Well Dusted Chicken - Last night a rickshaw driver passed by (walking one) with a passenger and about 6 chickens tied to the crossbar on his wheels. The chickens were well dead and tied by the feet, their beaks almost touching the ground. Guess they were getting a fine dirt dusting before heading off to someones plate.

Egg Plant Lasagna - or, Egg Plain Lasagna as the proprietor called it. On the menu it said Egg Plant Lasagna very clearly. What I got, however, was fettuccine type noodles with fried/scrambled egg strips tossed in with it. The sauce was good though. When we asked about it, the owner said, "Yes, Egg Plain Lasagna, what is wrong?" I think he knew exactly what was wrong but it was funny enough (and still tasty) that we didn't complain. The Danish guy ended up with salad on top of his Lasagna (Fettuccine) noodles!