India to Vietnam

My flight is due to leave Kolkata airport at 01:30. At the airport I developed severe stomach cramps and spent most of my time in the toilets. What on earth caused this? I was feeling a little ill earlier in the day but it had cleared. I'd eaten quite normal food for the last couple of days. By the time I was on the plane I was feeling a little better, but avoided my in-flight meal, which seemed to baffle the air stewardess, who kept asking me if I would like the food yet.

The flight was over quick and I landed in Bangkok at 05:30. One I was finished (literally) fighting hoards of Chinese people to get through immigration I exit into the main area. I have twelve hours to kill - my flight is at 19:05. My bag is going to stay in the airport system, so all I have is my camera and laptop (with no charger and a flat battery!) - I would kill to clean my teeth and apply deodorant. Bangkok airport is a jaw-dropping place, possibly definitely one of the nicest airports I've ever been to. Huge, clean, cool and bright with everything laid out beautifully and logically. There's even a huge garden at the side, but I couldn't find a way into it so I suspect it's staff only.

I decide to catch the swish super-fast monorail into Bangkok centre for a look around. I arrived into the centre and everything's closed. What I didn't realise is that it's Thai new year! I call Talitha as I was set to meet her sometime today, and catch the same flight to Vietnam later that evening, but she's exhausted from an overnight bus trip and needs to sleep. Wandering about the markets for a while more and more people start gathering on the streets, with water-guns. I ask a young chap with a particularly scary and colourful water gun and I'm told that it's part of the new year celebrations - you will get wet! With no sleep, an ever-twisting stomach and my DSLR in a non-waterproof bag I decide it's probably best to get back to the safety of the airport!

Back at the airport my stomach is really churning and I decide that eating something might settle it. I marvel at the array of western eateries, of which I'd seen none in the last three months. I opt for a plain veggie subway - just the bread and salad stuff (no chillies!). Munching this and a flat warm coca-cola seemed to agitate the stomach violently, and I again spend the next 45 minutes in the toilet. I hate this, as they're so quiet, in an acoustic sense, but also busy with people in and out of the cubicles next to you. I also noted that the floor is so shiny you can see the person next door, as if you were lying on the floor underneath them! Once feeling a break in the cramps I decide I need a shower. Where can I get a shower? I notice a sign for the Bangkok airport hotel and head there down the quietest, shiniest passageway I've ever seen.

Passageway from the airport to the airport hotel

 The hotel reception is enormous. Nothing here is small, or basic. Marble, trees, glass and brass covers everything with a huge silver lotus flower high up in the middle - a shower here is going to cost me. The reception being so big however give me an advantage, in that I can sneak, unnoticed, to the health suite. There is no-one about so I follow the signs to the the second floor and enter the male changing rooms - heaven! Big showers, towels, toilets, jacuzzi! I notice an expensive looking watch, shirt and shoes near the lockers, and hear someone in one of the nearest showers. I grab a towel from the jacuzzi and hit the furthest shower. So good. So so good. Incredible what a simple shower can do for you, I instantly felt better. On the way out of the shower I bump into a posh looking western man, say a quick hi then leave sharply, before any questions could be asked. He viewed my attire with surprise! What's wrong with my worn out shorts, sweat-stained t-shirt and holy vans?? I grab a quick shot of the reception from the 2nd floor balcony and ninja-exit the hotel. Job done.

Airport hotel reception

Back in the airport and feeling better I decide to attempt to sleep on one of those uncomfortable three person plastic benches, tucked away near the monorail station, out of the way of the masses. Not thinking I'd sleep at all I wake up startled, three hours later, in such an odd position, wrapped up in my camera bag strap which I'd attached to myself to prevent sticky fingers, and with my now dead left arm almost trapped between the seats. I blearily look at the time - It's now 2pm. Only 5 hours to go! Testing the stomach situation I buy what looks like the healthiest drink I've ever seen. It has pictures of at least twenty fruits and vegetables on it and is indeed delicious, but it immediately gnarls the stomach, and I soon find myself in the toilets again. Dammit :(

Around 5pm the check-in opens. I await the arrival of a good friend, Talitha, with an inkling that she will appear at the top of a particular escalator. Twenty-five minutes later that exact escalator delivers. It's been a long time since I've seen her and we hug it out, compare brown factors (I lost) then head to the Vietnam airlines desk ready for the quick hop to Hanoi! 

Kolkata, India

Howrah station in Kolkata reminds me of a dirty London Paddington, you could feel the Englishness as soon as stepping off the train. So this is it: the last stop in India. I'll spend a few days here, still travelling with Bryan, then he'll catch a flight back to the states while I head out to Vietnam. Out of the station we notice there's no tuk-tuk's, just classic Hindustan "Ambassador" taxi's. Agreeing a price and jumping in one seemed to annoy a policeman who repeatedly banged the roof with a stick and shouted as we zipped off. A couple of minutes later the cost of the journey came up in conversation (I forget why) with the driver deciding on a completely new inflated price for us to pay. We complain and in mid-traffic open the doors to exit - the driver hastily pulls over and we leave the taxi in the middle of a main road. Very VERY annoying. Turns out we'd jumped out of the taxi near to the entrance to the ferry, which could take us deliciously close to where we need to be, for the fraction of a cost of the taxi - bonus!

Although saving money in the taxi incident we splurged on a nice hotel called the Sapphire Suites, with an amazing shower to wash away the Indian colouring and fast wi-fi catch up with photo uploads. The shower was so good, with big drops of hot water and fragrant fresh soap! The dirt that came off is indescribable, leaving the water running brown to the drain. Drying myself on the pure white hotel towel seemed to take another dirt / tan layer from the skin. There's a link with dirt depth and tanning speed, I'm utterly convinced. I'd not really caught the sun on my arms for weeks, they were as brown as they could get, but after that shower they almost instantly burned. Bryan noticed the same effect. *Top tanning tip - wash regularly*

On a food mission we decide to hit a top rated Bengali restaurant east from the hotel. Thinking they would be quicker (and of course for the experience) we hopped on one of the old British city trams, dating back from 1902 - and they look like it. Trams are a great idea: move people around the city in your own lane, skimming past road traffic and having traffic light priority. But this is not quite how it works in India. Everyone and their dog can go into the tramway, whenever they like, meaning you don't go any faster that anything else on the road. I love old, quirky, pointless stuff like this though, and they're great to ride - after all, I'm not in a rush to go anywhere. At the Bengali restaurant there's a queue of locals and a security guard making sure no one jumps the queue. Inside there's three (maybe four) tables - that's it. Thinking we're going to queue for a while we start to walk off when we're called in. The restaurant is called Bhojohori Manna and has branches all over Kolkata. It gets its name from a famous Bengali song. We share a kind of taster menu with six or seven dishes, and they are all fabulous. I recommend!

some prawns

After food we start a mission to find Bryan a new charger (of which he'd dropped the old one) for his laptop. We ended up in a swish, empty Dell dealership which, strangely, didn't have anything useful. That's a mere side-story for the moment though as on the TV in the Dell shop an Indian news channel were showing extremely inaccurate computer renderings of an under-sea earthquake off the coast of Indonesia, which had apparently just happened while we were at lunch. The shop-keepers said there's rumours of possible six meter waves hitting Kolkata. The walk back to the hotel was mostly talk of tsunami's and how the hell high is six meters exactly??

We tried some paan from a roadside stall. All through India you see red spit up walls and on floors - at first it you imagine it to be blood. Paan is a crushed areca nut, chewing tobacco and some paste rolled in a betel leaf. It tastes unlike anything I've ever tasted, not bad, just odd. It's a stimulant. Your mouth fills with red saliva and forces you to spit. I was brought up with "spitting is wrong" so spitting in the street every five minutes I just couldn't do! I had to take it out and dispose of it. Besides the spitting, having red teeth / no teeth is never a good look!

That evening we continue the charger mission with a trip around the market. A commission based market guide latches onto us asking what we're looking for. We tell him we need electronics and off we zip - through the underwear section, sculptures, incense, tables, hats, trousers, then finally electronics, where there's nothing remotely resembling a charger. The man deserts us, and we're pointed to the second floor, and a curious electronic repair man bent over a dim-lit table. He intensely looks at the broken charger - maybe it can be fixed. Twenty minutes later, a cup of chai and five separate tools he breaks into the sealed unit, frowning while moving his circuit testing gadget over the board. After another ten minutes poking about it's decided that the charger cannot be fixed. Ah well, worth a try, and interesting to see him at work, surrounded by a million tools and circuit boards. I can't imagine this is something I'd ever see again in England. We then go and get drunk in a rooftop bar.

Next day we're hazy, and up late, just in time for the breakfast in the super-clean and very empty hotel restaurant. I'm convinced we're the only guests. An over-attentive waiter brings us local papers with Tsunami news plastered all over the front and images of people evacuating buildings around Kolkata. Gladly the earthquake turned out to be of the horizontal kind, causing minimal water displacement.

Kolkata's cute. It has huge sweeping boulevards, tree lined roads and massive green areas. It feels very different to most other Indian cities. On the way to the Victoria memorial we walked past some antique shops with old gramophones, music shops with classic CD's and vinyl and bookshops selling everything from Orwell to Mills & Boon. We walked through the parks, packed with hundreds of people playing all manner of sports, mainly cricket. The memorial's impressive, complete with an awful statue of Victoria, slumped on the throne. I'm not sure I've ever seen a Victoria statue that I liked.

 

Our last evening and we checked out of the hotel and said our goodbyes. Bryan will soon be back in Philadelphia living the dreams of home cooked food. I had to wait for a few hours before I could even consider going to the airport so I headed back up to the rooftop cafe and had a couple of beers and some food. At 9pm I spoke to a taxi driver and agreed 350 rupees to the airport. He kept looking at me in the mirror, then at some traffic lights turned around and said 500 rupees. I said that we'd agreed on 350 and that was all I was going to pay, but he kept saying 500 (and kept driving). I kept shaking my head and saying 350, all the way to the airport, and he kept saying 500. On arrival I gave him 350 and he loudly said something in Bengali. I left the cab and entered the airport. What is it with taxi drivers here??