We passed this sign whilst stomping up and down between offices!
We set off to the District Magistrates office to obtain the required Inner Line Permit for our trek from Yuksom in Sikkim. We arrived at the magistrates building, found the office, and were promptly informed it was a holiday!
We sat down on seats in the hall thinking about what we could do given we planned to leave for Sikkim the following morning. After about 15 minutes a very polite man and a policeman came and asked what we wanted. They explained that today was a holiday, but we needed to go to another office near the state bank to first obtain pre approval. We could then return and submit this form and get our Sikkim permit.
We found the office submitted the usual information and we were provided with a completed, stamped form.
On returning to the District Magistrates office we were seated whilst another permit was processed. The permit could only be granted for 15 days, which we explained may not be long enough? Apparently we could obtain an extension at the border? They also let us know we could have obtained our permit at the border checkpoint!
All of this contrary to official information on the internet. As usual we left bemused, but happy. We had received a permit on a holiday, but it was a bit short.
We found Kolkata both fascinating and apocalyptic.
The British East India Company’s (and later the British Empire’s) grand buildings, parks and avenues lull the western visitor into a false sense of order, especially on a Sunday, the day we arrived, with little traffic and freshly swept roads.
Then Monday arrives, along with unmanageable traffic, pollution, noise and the stench of poverty everywhere.
We had flown to Kolkata from Visakhapatnam. It was a little bit cooler in Kolkata, a relief after southern India. We stayed in a small hotel (Hotel Cecil) in a tiny room overlooking the tram tracks, street stalls, traffic jams and shabby buildings of the medical colleges of the famous College Road.
Kolkata was the British Indian capital from 1772 until 1911, when they shifted the capital to Delhi. Over that 139 years they reinforced their wealth and power by constructing grand buildings and monuments, many of which remain. But with little to no maintenance in the past 100 years, most are ruins, still lived in where possible by people who have no other choice.
A decaying mansion.
The Victoria Memorial building is still a showpiece in the middle of Kolkata. Built to commemorate Queen Victoria it was deliberately built by the British to be just slightly larger than the Taj Mahal. Of course. It now contains an interesting permanent exhibition on the Bengali freedom fighters (women and men) who fought against the British for over a hundred years.
Victoria Memorial building.
The Writers Building looks great from a distance, but close up it is abandoned and decaying. This building was once the headquarters of the powerful British East Indian company.
Facade of the now empty Writers building.
Walking the streets we saw many large old buildings left empty and decaying. Street vendors set up their shops at ground level, but if you look into the building or up at the upper floors you generally see abandoned decaying darkness.
Tram tracks run along some of the main roads, but very few now have trams. The trams we did see were stuck in the chaotic traffic. Only being able to move in straight lines is a serious disadvantage compared to cars and motorbikes going in all directions.
Early morning tram
We came across what were the ruins of an old outdoor swimming pool, with racing start blocks and all, only no water, just mud and trash.
And yet there is a vibrant creativity about the city.
Everywhere, even in the poorest of streets, people are applying themselves to traditional skills such as pottery idol making, making and selling flower garlands, giving massages, selling fruit and veg or any other item you might dream of.
Flower marketReligious idol making
It did not appear like anyone was applying any effort to maintain the numerous decaying buildings throughout the city centre.
Development seemed to be all in the newer outer section of the sprawling city. Big condos, office blocks and IT parks are popping up in suburbs such New Town and Rajarhat, but the old city seems left to decay.
Also being left to decay is the Hooghly River, also called Ganga, which is the western distributory of the Ganges. Like it’s parent, it is foul possibly beyond repair. People defecate in it a few metres upstream from others bathing and washing dishes. Rubbish is tipped into it with abandon.
Hooghly river bridge.
Needing to retreat from the noise and squalor we wandered through South Park Street Cemetery, formerly known as the ‘Great Christian Burial Ground’, which was one of the earliest non-church cemeteries in the world. The cemetery houses numerous graves and monuments belonging to British soldiers, administrators, and their families dating from the early 1700s.
A wander through the graveyard.
We came across the gravestone of Walter Dickens, son of the famous Charles Dickens. It was moved here from a nearby cemetery.
South Park Street cemetery.
Overall we enjoyed our time in Kolkata, as it was steeped in multiple histories, as well as being calmer and cooler than most cities we had visited. It probably deserved more of our time but we are getting progressively less able to take big, polluted cities.
We had been holed up in a homestay for two days due to rain and strong wind. Our hosts of Nepalese descent were lovely people, who spoke very good English and were keen to chat. We learnt a great deal about the local environment and culture.
Sami and Poonam, our hosts
Sami and Poonam had spent many years working in Dubai (and Poonam in Hong Kong) so had experienced western cultural ways and ideas. They had one child, so had decided it was better for her to live in their own country.
They made us feel very welcome and fed us great Nepalese food, including traditional momos with wholewheat flour.
MomosMaking momos.
The house was quite modern by Indian standards, but heating is not the norm. After spending time on the hot Indian plains the cold was a bit of a shock to the body.
Our homestay
We talked and talked with our hosts – religion, culture, IVF, child rearing, tourism marketing and so much more. He comes from a Christian family, she Buddhist, and much against her family’s wishes converted to Christianity. Some parts of her family still don’t converse with them, and there are ongoing cultural issues to navigate such as the important role he, as eldest son-in-law, should have taken at her mother’s funeral but didn’t.
On the second morning the rain had stopped and the clouds lifted for long enough for us to catch a glimpse of the high Himalayan peaks to the north, south out across the Indian plains and east to Nepal, just a couple of hills away.
Looking towards Nepal.
Our hosts’ rooms were fully booked for the following days so we moved to another homestay in Sukhiapokari called Gurasay Sherpa Homestay, a slightly bigger, more rustic place that promised a great view when the clouds lift!
After moving, it was still pretty clear, so we took the opportunity go walking and check out the local markets. As the clouds started to roll in again we wandered through an eerie pine forest scattered with Christian grave sites.
We eventually came to a Hindu temple on a hill top.
On the way back we passed many churches and a brand new Buddhist monastery. Such a small village but it seems to gave strong religious tolerance.
By mid afternoon we retreated to our room as the clouds enveloped us again and the temperature dropped.
Later in the evening we paid a social visit to our previous hosts and wandered the village in the mist.
This past week we really learnt how friendly, warm and generous Indian people can be.
We were very lucky to have two different Indian friends who live in Alice Springs visiting their respective families whilst we are in India.
They both invited us to visit their families, Karan in Bangalore and Kumar in Visakhapatnam.
Kumar and Andrea dressed for a wedding.
We met our friend Karan at the Bangalore airport, and he quickly transferred us to our accommodation the family had organised at the Bangalore golf course. Here we first met the family for dinner at the restaurant.
Karan taking us on tours in an auto rickshaw.
From then on we were treated to lots of lovely food and drinks in some wonderful restaurants and cafes.
Karan also borrowed the family car to take us on tours of the town. We visited the bike shop he helped get started a decade ago that is still going from strength to strength.
Trekking to an old fort.
We drove from Bangalore to a couple of great treks at nearby sites including 1000 steps to Nandi Hills, a granite outcrop rising high above the plains.
Water storage tank on top of Nandi Hills.
We met Karan’s extremely lovely parents, uncle and younger brother who showed us around the family business.
Dinner with Karan’s parents overlooking Bangalore.
Flying north from Bangalore to Visakhapatnam we were picked up by Kumar who took us to his family home where we spent three interesting and delightful days sharing meals and stories with Krishna and Murali.
Kumar’s parents, Krishna, Murali and us.
On the first night we attended a wedding and warmly welcomed to join in the festivities.
The happy couple.Everyone had to be the photos.
We slept in the upstairs quarters of the family’s home and were taken on very interesting tours of the town by Murali and Kumar. Andrea even got a ride on the back of Murali’s motor bike to buy fresh (still alive) fish from a fish market.
We visited a submarine that Murali had completed fabrication maintenance work on many years before. The sub has been decommissioned and placed on a foundation at the beachfront allowing tours of the inside. Krishna took us on a personalised tour, explaining all the sections of the sub.
Learning from Murali about submarine fabrication.
We also visited several temples on hill tops, including walking from the family home up the 600 odd steps to a significant temple Kumar attended as a young boy.
They always ensured we were well fed and cared for, with a number of special meals and remedies for Andrea’s upset stomach. We got to try lots of interesting food, fruits and preserves specific to the region.
A lovely dessert made from special cows milk.
We had many fascinating conversations and learnt a great deal from both families about India and Indian family life.
We need to practise an answer to the inevitable question ‘how was your trip to India?’.
How can one do justice to this incredible country that refuses to be reduced to a phrase. Or even a jumble of sentences.
Old Delhi
India doesn’t slip by gently. It pummels the senses, drags on the body, depresses and stimulates the mind in equal parts.
How can you love a country that treats it’s natural environment as a sewer and rubbish tip, making the beautiful ugly, the waterways full of plastic and faeces, and the air unbreathable?
River through Hyderabad.
How can you judge a country when your own has it’s own savage environmental record?
How do you negotiate a country with more people than you have ever seen before, continually in your face, loud, persistent and pushy? (Especially when your home is one of the least populated parts of the planet.)
Smog over traffic.
How, as a tourist, do you learn to see beneath the skin?
On the other hand it is easy to love a country whose people embody resilience, family love, ready smiles and friendship.
Loads of friends at Daulatabad FortPeople are genuinely friendly.
And the hard days are all forgiven when the rich, tangled history excites and inspires. And all those times when random conversations in train stations or on footpaths teaches you something new.
Northern Indian Thali.
Delhi (population 33m)
Delhi is exotic. A city that has been razed and rebuilt so many times in its history, and is still uncomfortably negotiating its post-Partition future (truth-telling here throws up some ghastly, brutal conflicts).
The Red Fort, Delhi.
It has all the things that attract tourists from around the world. Incredible, ancient forts, mosques and temples; mazes of tiny, over-inhabited laneways; brightly coloured markets of spices, silks, gold (and plastic) trinkets.
Old Delhi
It also has some of the worst air pollution on the planet, and plastic and human waste covering almost every patch of dirt in the city (and yet it has an excellent public toilet system, mostly free).
Interestingly, almost no beggars. Although plenty of indications of malnutrition and failure to thrive).
We walk miles and learn to catch the metro. Hardly see another non-Indian tourist, although the place is full of Indian visitors.
Mosque
Language
Its fun negotiating the language. Although most people speak at least a few words of English, Indian English has it’s own vivid expressions. My current favourite: ‘to go shoe parking’ (taking your shoes off and placing them on a rack before entering a temple).
Ancient script at Hampi.
We are finding it difficult to learn any Hindi. Probably because there is a lot of English around.
Rajasthan
Rajasthan. All the history and exoticism you would expect in this dry state that borders Pakistan and has for thousands of years been on the trading routes between Europe and Asia.
Rajasthan singers at Jaipur Literature festival.
Jaipur Literary Festival was fabulous, although we missed a lot due to Delhi belly. New ideas, new ways of thinking about history and culture, beautiful marquees and music. So wonderful to see a massive crowd of mostly young Indian women and men turn up to revere their famous poet Gulzar Sa’ab. And on a totally different subject, hearing the incredibly humble Mrs Murty (who happens to be Rishi Sunak’s mother-in-law, although she never mentioned that once) who broke many glass ceilings for women and is much loved in India.
Mrs Murty
No road rage!
The road is completely blocked. A fruit-seller’s wide, heavy, wooden hand-cart has come to a halt so he can exchange goods. Cars, motorbikes and pedestrians push past from all directions; add in dogs and cows and it gets to the point where nothing can move at all. The tooting and pushing doesn’t stop one tiny bit. No-one is working out how to resolve the mess – everyone is ensuring they won’t lose out. BUT! No-one is angry. It’s just life. Everyone respects everyone else’s right to fight for their bit of space. And eventually it all untangled.
Back street traffic is calm.
Coming from a queuing culture, it makes you realise how you instantly get resentful and, yes, angry when someone pushes in front of you. ‘How rude!’. But it isn’t . It’s just India. You are welcome to push back even harder. And to be truthful my grey hair gets me special treatment from most…
I never did get to see the result of what looked like an interesting encounter on the narrow road outside our hotel in Hyderabad. A big crane heading down the street and a big police car coming the other way with no room to pass. Neither were giving way as I slipped past.
Getting around
So far we have taken trains (sleeper and sitting), busses (sleeper, sitting and standing, including the very crowded local buses that charge 20c), metros, a plane, tuk tuks, rickshaws, ferries and a couple of times a taxi or car.
Local bus ride.Bus station.Comfortable train journeys.Waiting in the train station.
We haven’t used elephants, camels, horses, ox carts, boats, motorbikes or, funnily enough, bicycles. We walk lots, sometimes close to 20k in a day. Walking and using local transport is the best way to look, observe and learn.
From here?
We’ve had a peaceful break at a laid back beach in South Goa and the next month will be spent in Southern India.
Andy and Laurie's Adventure Blog 