I seem to have missed a major method of transportation here in India: animal. At no point did I ride a palanquin atop an elephant, an arabian horse, or a donkey pulled cart. That being said, below is my analysis of the transportation system.
I rode every class of train at least overnight. For those who are unfamiliar, the trains come in 1st Class, 2nd class, 3rd class, and sleeper. In addition there are two classes for daytrips chair car and AC coach?. The numbered overnight classes all have AC but the sleeper does not. In first class, one has a private room, upholstered seats, and a servant on call 24-hours a day. This is comfortable, but like staying in one's hotel, this drasticly limits interaction. The price of first class is about the same as airfare for the same distance. 2nd class is the best place to expect interaction with Indians in English. While the AC is turned up full blast, each compartment's 6 beds are over 6'6" long and are separated from the hallway with a curtain. 3rd class increases the bunks to 8, drops the AC a bit, and reduces the width of the main bunks to slightly wider than a couch. The aisle bunks are reduced in length to below 6'. 3rd class does have one significant advantage over sleeper, the general public is excluded from the cabins. In sleeper, while the dimensions are the same as 3AC, during the day all sorts of people come in and out of the vehicle. Except unlike 2nd and 3rd, very few venders come in the train. The best part of sleeper is that even with the low price (a 24 hour trip costs about 100Rs) there are still some English speakers for conversation. The day trip AC cars are somewhat like a home theatre with the AC at full blast. Also in these day AC cars, there seems to be the largest variety of food vendors. I had some of the best friend plaintain then. For me, traveling by train would be a toss-up between 2AC and sleeper.
I took six flights within, to and from India, and I have to say that I enjoy the American/International plane luggage rules because I have trouble carrying more than my allowance. Within India flights drop the allowance from 25-35kg to 15kg. Nonetheless, being able to walk up to a counter and by a ticket for the plane departing in an hour for a price 500RS above a 2nd class train ticket is quite nice. I have nothing to complain about on all of my flights, and the international flights had some beautiful waiting rooms with open bars, free massages, or even massage chairs. The only drawback is that for most of these flights, one is going to sit down for several hours, so I prefer to walk the whole time. Also, one notes the price of food increases significantly each time one passes through a security checkpoint. Eventually, it becomes almost economical to eat in a waiting lounge, rather than from one of the venders.
Perhaps my favorite form of transportation were the compact auto, bike, and man-powered rickshaws. These were scaled to the size of the population and are truly stripped down to the bare minimum. I have heard that trafficked areas have deadly accidents when accidents occur, but these professional drivers seem quite adept at avoiding complications and traversing the distance quickly. In addition, many of the authorickshaws have switched over to liquefied/pressurized natural gas. The resulting reduced emissions in addition to their significant fuel efficiency is something any country could do well to emulate. I would love to import an autorickshaw to the US, but the lack of spare parts would be maddening.
Several times in Hyderabad and in Mumbai I rode in taxis. The Indian cabs are the same as in any other part of the world. I have little opinion other than they take more gas than is necessary for most trips, but they are safer than the autorickshaws. My favorites are the mini-taxis which combine a taxi front end with a rearfacing bench seat before the rearmost seat. 12 in such a vehicle is not uncommon.
Aside from traveling on mountain highways, the standard for safety in India must be the bus. While the standard Asian/African/South American/Eastern Europe rule of the largest vehicle controls the road applies, in the cities, more so than everything else, these vehicles slow to a crawl. While I wouldnt recommend riding the outside, decapatations from power lines or being smashed into nearby traffic are two possibilities, a crammed bus is occasionally so crammed that one need not worry about ones balance and could sleep standing up. Unless one has a multihour trip without a seat, I would recommend the buses. As with any crowd, watch your belongings.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Mathura - India 24
From Agra I decided to visit nearby Mathura, the birthplace of Lord Krishna. I crossed 3-8 miles of town to the bus station in under 10 Rs to get there. It was an interesting jog because at times I kept up with the sparse rickshaws while carrying my pack. Here the roads were as wide as an American Highway, yet they were used by very little traffic. These are the new outlets for traffic that get bogged down in the main road, however they lack all the shops and housing that draws people to the main round. Consequently, the main road is still a traffic jam.
My bus traveled right through the center of this jam. City Agra was significantly more modern and looked similar to other Indian cities as compared to the tourist section of Agra. For some time I road the highway from Agra to Mathura. This highway seemed Western in standards: clean with marked lanes drivers followed. As we turned off for Mathura, I noticed a white temple at least as long as a townhouse/rowhouse block, which I thought could be to Krishna.
I got off my bus a bit and found this white temple was to Guru Deo, no relation to Ronnie James. This templ Two things about this surprised me, the temple was white polished stone filled with rope lights of all different colors, and the donations were only accepted from those who had not eaten meat in the last month.
When I finally reached Mathura, I found a big washing pit in the center of town. Six or seven stories from the top of the square was a pond. The water was full of reeds, but was also discolored a shade of red from runoff. I saw women washing their laundry there.
Outside Krishna's dwelling were throngs of pilgrims dressed in orange. Everyone was there for his birthday. I was ashamed to think that a temple as small as the one for Guru Deo could possibly be the dwelling of Lord Krishna. The place was immense. Conveniently outside was an airconditioned enclosed sweets shop that had expensive dainties at American prices. Between the outdoor washing and the indoor food, I am always reminded of the juxtaposition of economics in Indian society.
Before my return to Agra I followed a path down the train tracks to the bus station. I met a begger and offered him my water, which he greatfully drank without touching his mouth to the bottle or spilling a drop. The Indians have perfected this art. At the bus station I have four large vegetable samosas with hot pepper sauce for 20 Rs. Made by hand and fried by the vendor on the pan infront of me, these were delicious.
Back in Agra, my cheap hotel had a laundry service. I payed when I received my laundry but one piece remained dirty and only appeared pressed. When I discovered this and asked for my 3Rs in return, the guy at the front desk hemmed and hawed. The problem with losing small amounts of money is that over the course of a trip they build up. For me, it is the principal of the idea that I should never pay for work I didn't receive. As my time wasn't that crucial (how can it be with train timings up to a day off?) we had a nice 5 minute conversation in order for me to get any change. I recognize that the money ment more to him than it did to me, but charity is to be freely given, not used to excuse shoddy labor.
My bus traveled right through the center of this jam. City Agra was significantly more modern and looked similar to other Indian cities as compared to the tourist section of Agra. For some time I road the highway from Agra to Mathura. This highway seemed Western in standards: clean with marked lanes drivers followed. As we turned off for Mathura, I noticed a white temple at least as long as a townhouse/rowhouse block, which I thought could be to Krishna.
I got off my bus a bit and found this white temple was to Guru Deo, no relation to Ronnie James. This templ Two things about this surprised me, the temple was white polished stone filled with rope lights of all different colors, and the donations were only accepted from those who had not eaten meat in the last month.
When I finally reached Mathura, I found a big washing pit in the center of town. Six or seven stories from the top of the square was a pond. The water was full of reeds, but was also discolored a shade of red from runoff. I saw women washing their laundry there.
Outside Krishna's dwelling were throngs of pilgrims dressed in orange. Everyone was there for his birthday. I was ashamed to think that a temple as small as the one for Guru Deo could possibly be the dwelling of Lord Krishna. The place was immense. Conveniently outside was an airconditioned enclosed sweets shop that had expensive dainties at American prices. Between the outdoor washing and the indoor food, I am always reminded of the juxtaposition of economics in Indian society.
Before my return to Agra I followed a path down the train tracks to the bus station. I met a begger and offered him my water, which he greatfully drank without touching his mouth to the bottle or spilling a drop. The Indians have perfected this art. At the bus station I have four large vegetable samosas with hot pepper sauce for 20 Rs. Made by hand and fried by the vendor on the pan infront of me, these were delicious.
Back in Agra, my cheap hotel had a laundry service. I payed when I received my laundry but one piece remained dirty and only appeared pressed. When I discovered this and asked for my 3Rs in return, the guy at the front desk hemmed and hawed. The problem with losing small amounts of money is that over the course of a trip they build up. For me, it is the principal of the idea that I should never pay for work I didn't receive. As my time wasn't that crucial (how can it be with train timings up to a day off?) we had a nice 5 minute conversation in order for me to get any change. I recognize that the money ment more to him than it did to me, but charity is to be freely given, not used to excuse shoddy labor.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Agra ... Cheap! - India 23
I took a train to Agra Fort. Just about everybody got off at the main Agra train station, but I decided to wait, figuring that the Agra Fort station might be closer to the Red Fort. Granted the wait on the train was an extra half hour, but I guessed I would be bettter off for having less solicitors. When I got off the train, I found out this was for naught. There were still a crowd of auto and rickshaw drivers trying to get me to ride. Interestingly enough, the train station opened onto the rear of the fort. This included a large sign map, the first I had seen in India! As I set out by foot, I was offered directions from rickshaw-wallahs. I even was joined by a few friendly boys who had about as much English skills as I did. It seemed that the fort's wooded area between the crumbling exterior wall and the 6 story high main wall was their playground.
Walking around to the main entrance of the Red Fort I was surprised the backpack check and water were free. Considering at the other UNESCO site I had just been to, it cost a nickel to leave your shoes under guard. There were active archaelogical and historical sections in the process of restoration. Some it was fenced off, but other parts I was just able to wander into and see the workers standing on lashed bamboo scaffolding with a leg on the wall to help chimney the gap. A couple of kids (prolly theirs) were sitting in playing in the nearby shade.
A third section, the majority of the fort, was walled off because it was still military. I guess when a large section of area is walled off, there is little reason to convert it from original use. My guess is that the base was too big an area for the city to politically muscle out and redevelop into a housing/industrial/commercial area.
From the top of the red fort I saw the traditional UNESCO view of the Taj Mahal. That view is surrounded by further buildings situated back from the river. There were several swimmers floating down the river past the Red Fort and the Taj Mahal. It seemed like a good pastime for the hot weather. Damn the pollution.
From the Red Fort I decided to walk to the Taj. As per normal, the auto drivers were incredulous. I definitely learned that as a fool of European the best way to get a cheap fair anywhere is to start walking. After all, by foot gets one across town in under 10Rs. [Graphic with Want to travel across town for under 10 Rs? Start Walking!] The only problem is with directions. Many maps lack the necessary signals or landmarks and since most roads lack signs, this leaves other drivers as a source of directions. One simply never knows if a driver looking for a fare will give you the right directions. I have gotten bad ones several times. During this trip I start walking through a park and an Indian who has hired a rickshaw for his family admired the comfort unlike the method employed by me, "the fool of a European." He had hired a driver for a three-quarter mile shaded park lane.
The Taj is more than the view. It is place thick with monkeys (which stole the water bottle from a guy with whom I was talking), parrots (who are mostly dumb), and dragon flies (which dodge and dart above the fountains). In addition, this tomb is not in isolation, but has museums within the gates and is surrounded by the old city.
In the evening I wandered throughout the town. The tourist area teemed with internet cafes, restaurants, and gift shops with wares from the whole of India. The local part of town had walkways scarely wide enough for me to pass another along with an open sewer drain. I tried to buy curd, but the dairy seller wanted to sell it for a price 10x what I had seen elsewhere in town. When I rejected his price and walked away, a few teenagers started walking with me. They escorted a bit through town, but were as incredulous as the auto drivers when I didn't know the name of my hotel.
My wanderings took me another hour through town in order to find my hotel home. I did find some excellent milk: one ladle of cream plus three of milk, all hot, mixed with sugar into a small terra cotta pot. Just like "Guys and Dolls", this is an excellent way to get kids to drink their milk.
At the Taj I decided to live it up backpacker style and grabbed a cheap room next to the Western gate; I still don't know the name of the hotel. This provided for a great view from the rooftop cafe of the Taj. The next morning I had breakfast with one Eric Levi, a Portlander from my neighborhood of Sellwood traveling through India. The red star on his chest reminded of one person and his demeaner of another, Joe Stalin and Eric Joseph Stofferahn [Stalin] respectively. Eric Levi's birght red star suggested his following of communism, although I believe him socialist from our conversation. In addition, he recognized that the Safeway on SE Powell and 39th in Portland has a nice big picture of Joseph Stalin in the window. Eric Levi's relaxed personality, and his detailed recollection of animal fueled insanity in Varanasi reminded me of the animal shelter Stofferahn's mother ran.
I enjoyed Agra, in addition to all of this, I was back in the land of 24 hour internet.
Walking around to the main entrance of the Red Fort I was surprised the backpack check and water were free. Considering at the other UNESCO site I had just been to, it cost a nickel to leave your shoes under guard. There were active archaelogical and historical sections in the process of restoration. Some it was fenced off, but other parts I was just able to wander into and see the workers standing on lashed bamboo scaffolding with a leg on the wall to help chimney the gap. A couple of kids (prolly theirs) were sitting in playing in the nearby shade.
A third section, the majority of the fort, was walled off because it was still military. I guess when a large section of area is walled off, there is little reason to convert it from original use. My guess is that the base was too big an area for the city to politically muscle out and redevelop into a housing/industrial/commercial area.
From the top of the red fort I saw the traditional UNESCO view of the Taj Mahal. That view is surrounded by further buildings situated back from the river. There were several swimmers floating down the river past the Red Fort and the Taj Mahal. It seemed like a good pastime for the hot weather. Damn the pollution.
From the Red Fort I decided to walk to the Taj. As per normal, the auto drivers were incredulous. I definitely learned that as a fool of European the best way to get a cheap fair anywhere is to start walking. After all, by foot gets one across town in under 10Rs. [Graphic with Want to travel across town for under 10 Rs? Start Walking!] The only problem is with directions. Many maps lack the necessary signals or landmarks and since most roads lack signs, this leaves other drivers as a source of directions. One simply never knows if a driver looking for a fare will give you the right directions. I have gotten bad ones several times. During this trip I start walking through a park and an Indian who has hired a rickshaw for his family admired the comfort unlike the method employed by me, "the fool of a European." He had hired a driver for a three-quarter mile shaded park lane.
The Taj is more than the view. It is place thick with monkeys (which stole the water bottle from a guy with whom I was talking), parrots (who are mostly dumb), and dragon flies (which dodge and dart above the fountains). In addition, this tomb is not in isolation, but has museums within the gates and is surrounded by the old city.
In the evening I wandered throughout the town. The tourist area teemed with internet cafes, restaurants, and gift shops with wares from the whole of India. The local part of town had walkways scarely wide enough for me to pass another along with an open sewer drain. I tried to buy curd, but the dairy seller wanted to sell it for a price 10x what I had seen elsewhere in town. When I rejected his price and walked away, a few teenagers started walking with me. They escorted a bit through town, but were as incredulous as the auto drivers when I didn't know the name of my hotel.
My wanderings took me another hour through town in order to find my hotel home. I did find some excellent milk: one ladle of cream plus three of milk, all hot, mixed with sugar into a small terra cotta pot. Just like "Guys and Dolls", this is an excellent way to get kids to drink their milk.
At the Taj I decided to live it up backpacker style and grabbed a cheap room next to the Western gate; I still don't know the name of the hotel. This provided for a great view from the rooftop cafe of the Taj. The next morning I had breakfast with one Eric Levi, a Portlander from my neighborhood of Sellwood traveling through India. The red star on his chest reminded of one person and his demeaner of another, Joe Stalin and Eric Joseph Stofferahn [Stalin] respectively. Eric Levi's birght red star suggested his following of communism, although I believe him socialist from our conversation. In addition, he recognized that the Safeway on SE Powell and 39th in Portland has a nice big picture of Joseph Stalin in the window. Eric Levi's relaxed personality, and his detailed recollection of animal fueled insanity in Varanasi reminded me of the animal shelter Stofferahn's mother ran.
I enjoyed Agra, in addition to all of this, I was back in the land of 24 hour internet.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Bodh Gaya & Delhi - India 22
Bodh Gaya is a little village surviving entirely on tourist trade.
Delhi is a giant city currently under terrorist alert from the American government.
Despite their differences, they can share a post.
The river alongside Bodh Gaya is a beautiful sandy river. I expect an adventure travel group to offer return trips back to the Gaya railway station based on canoeing/kayaking/floating down river.
Delhi is dirty, and when it rains, Delhi is muddy. In Delhi the streets are paved, but several of the bazaars and neighborhoods cover the roads with a nice thick layer of dirt.
Bodh Gaya has a UNESCO World Heritage site a giant buddhist temple, many stupas, and a descendent of the original bodhi tree, under which Buddha gained enlightenment. The only search at the gate is where they ask you to remove your shoes and pay camera fees.
Delhi has a fresh clean metro railway where you are scanned, frisked, and your bags are thoroughly searched. This is even standard when there isn't a terrorist alert.
There are probably 8 or 10 Buddhist temples in Bodh Gaya, each with a different flavor of decoration. The Japanese Temple was as Spartan as their traditional homes and had little more than a statue of a Buddha. The Red China and White China temples both followed the same tradition: overwhelm in numbers. The Red China temple had dragon after dragon along with 3 buddhas and beautiful murals. The White China temple had 100's of 4-inch high buddhas lining the walls (add one for just 100Rs!) along with the 3 buddhas. Incidentally, the Japanese also donated an 80ft tall statue, which appears to be falling on the viewer.
I have yet to find a way to contrast Delhi. Suggestions are welcome.
Delhi did have an amazing number of kites for sale. As I walked through Chondni Chowk there must have been 100 stalls selling various kites. With all the power lines, one would have to be at a park or in a river to fly them.
I head to Agra, in observance of possible terror.
Delhi is a giant city currently under terrorist alert from the American government.
Despite their differences, they can share a post.
The river alongside Bodh Gaya is a beautiful sandy river. I expect an adventure travel group to offer return trips back to the Gaya railway station based on canoeing/kayaking/floating down river.
Delhi is dirty, and when it rains, Delhi is muddy. In Delhi the streets are paved, but several of the bazaars and neighborhoods cover the roads with a nice thick layer of dirt.
Bodh Gaya has a UNESCO World Heritage site a giant buddhist temple, many stupas, and a descendent of the original bodhi tree, under which Buddha gained enlightenment. The only search at the gate is where they ask you to remove your shoes and pay camera fees.
Delhi has a fresh clean metro railway where you are scanned, frisked, and your bags are thoroughly searched. This is even standard when there isn't a terrorist alert.
There are probably 8 or 10 Buddhist temples in Bodh Gaya, each with a different flavor of decoration. The Japanese Temple was as Spartan as their traditional homes and had little more than a statue of a Buddha. The Red China and White China temples both followed the same tradition: overwhelm in numbers. The Red China temple had dragon after dragon along with 3 buddhas and beautiful murals. The White China temple had 100's of 4-inch high buddhas lining the walls (add one for just 100Rs!) along with the 3 buddhas. Incidentally, the Japanese also donated an 80ft tall statue, which appears to be falling on the viewer.
I have yet to find a way to contrast Delhi. Suggestions are welcome.
Delhi did have an amazing number of kites for sale. As I walked through Chondni Chowk there must have been 100 stalls selling various kites. With all the power lines, one would have to be at a park or in a river to fly them.
I head to Agra, in observance of possible terror.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Calcutta, West Bengal - India 21
I am proud of myself today. I feel really good at my canny traveler abilities and my fraternity boy abilities. I spent the afternoon saving $36 dollars on shipping, and the evening getting a 16 year old Christian boy drunk- Quite entertaining. Not only that, following a large meal, I pulled my rickshaw-wallah to the train station.
Shipping fiasco: in a foreign country, always start with the largest post office in the city. I happened to be walking and arrived at a large post office. This may have neen a regional post office for the city, and it was used by businessmen. Notably, the PO was not the central post office in the international business district.
English was a problem. Two people in the office spoke English: the central overseer and one young guy, not involved with shipping. They didn't get the concept of book post, which India has, but they were willing to help me ship the books rather than send them air-mail. Even with filling out customs forms in triplicate, this seemed good enough for me.
I got the books wrapped in white cloth by a tailor across the street, and came back to post the item. Unfortunately, they also weren't able to help me ship something as a traveler, lacking an address in India. At this point, I realized I was talking to the wrong people.
One trip to the central post office later, I found that my 10kg of books had to be split into two 5kg packages, which then qualified for "Foreign Registered Book Post". For the address on my books, they suggested to use the post office's information and then list my hotel. There were no forms, and there was no hassle.
----
While I was waiting for the books to be repackaged, this boy, Tom, came calling. We talked about what there was to see in the city, and he suggested a few places. I asked him if he were free to show me around, and he created an elaborate itinerary. Unfortunately, we only had time for 2 places:
A conglomerate park he had never been in was the first place. For 10Rs, I bought us both admission and he got to marvel at the kids of dates, and the families maybe even kissing! We also went on bumper cars, which he had never seen or tried before. The three connected parks had a good view of the riverfront, and Tom's reaction, fix my appearance so that we could pickup women, amused me, especially because the 16year-old wasn't interested in girls. As we left the park he suggested a whorehouse for our itinerary.
The second place was a bar, which Tom said was cheap and didn't charge the government required taxes. Tom had been there once before for a friend's birthday. The bar served boiled chickpeas and julienned ginger to go with the malt liquor (no beer available). I shared a 600ml bottle with Tom, and ordered a second on his intimation. After the 2nd bottle came, he said he wouldn't have any more and shortly thereafter he started to act drunk. When I was halfway finished with the second bottle and was ready to leave, he finished the bottle, just to make sure we weren't wasting good "beer".
As soon as we left the bar, he started going on about how his father would beat him and how he needed to start smoking. Score - Western Capitalist Corruption:1 Indian Puritanism:0
----
I ate dinner at a recommended restaurant, in which 26/30 patrons were Westerners. Nonetheless, the food was good, seemingly clean (they offered salad!), and not too expensive. After a college dining-hall buffet sized dinner, I grabbed my bags and left for the rail station.
Within seconds a rickshaw driver accosted me and told me to name my price. I told him 40Rs, nearly twice what the price should be, but then added the proviso: I pull. He laughed and said no. Half a block later, I was pulling the rickshaw, my luggage and Modul, the rickshaw-wallah. For the first 200m, at every obstacle he suggested that he pull.
I insisted that I pull and ran weaving through the market pulling the rickshaw driver. People pointed, laughed, shouted encouragement, and most importantly got out of my way. Stationary carts didn't do as well and I got stuck and had to back up 3times. Nonetheless, winding my way through the city, running and pulling a cart wasn't too hard work, but I think a bike-rickshaw would have been easier.
After I covered 2/3rds of the distance, I had dinner again, at which point I allowed the driver to pull me. This was good because we entered into some rather jammed truck/bus/animal traffic I don't think I would have navigated without jamming the wheels against something. At the station I gave my driver 100Rs (obviously making his day), got his name and told him he made my day. If I go back to Calcutta, I will have to take up rickshaw-wallah pulling for exercise.
Shipping fiasco: in a foreign country, always start with the largest post office in the city. I happened to be walking and arrived at a large post office. This may have neen a regional post office for the city, and it was used by businessmen. Notably, the PO was not the central post office in the international business district.
English was a problem. Two people in the office spoke English: the central overseer and one young guy, not involved with shipping. They didn't get the concept of book post, which India has, but they were willing to help me ship the books rather than send them air-mail. Even with filling out customs forms in triplicate, this seemed good enough for me.
I got the books wrapped in white cloth by a tailor across the street, and came back to post the item. Unfortunately, they also weren't able to help me ship something as a traveler, lacking an address in India. At this point, I realized I was talking to the wrong people.
One trip to the central post office later, I found that my 10kg of books had to be split into two 5kg packages, which then qualified for "Foreign Registered Book Post". For the address on my books, they suggested to use the post office's information and then list my hotel. There were no forms, and there was no hassle.
----
While I was waiting for the books to be repackaged, this boy, Tom, came calling. We talked about what there was to see in the city, and he suggested a few places. I asked him if he were free to show me around, and he created an elaborate itinerary. Unfortunately, we only had time for 2 places:
A conglomerate park he had never been in was the first place. For 10Rs, I bought us both admission and he got to marvel at the kids of dates, and the families maybe even kissing! We also went on bumper cars, which he had never seen or tried before. The three connected parks had a good view of the riverfront, and Tom's reaction, fix my appearance so that we could pickup women, amused me, especially because the 16year-old wasn't interested in girls. As we left the park he suggested a whorehouse for our itinerary.
The second place was a bar, which Tom said was cheap and didn't charge the government required taxes. Tom had been there once before for a friend's birthday. The bar served boiled chickpeas and julienned ginger to go with the malt liquor (no beer available). I shared a 600ml bottle with Tom, and ordered a second on his intimation. After the 2nd bottle came, he said he wouldn't have any more and shortly thereafter he started to act drunk. When I was halfway finished with the second bottle and was ready to leave, he finished the bottle, just to make sure we weren't wasting good "beer".
As soon as we left the bar, he started going on about how his father would beat him and how he needed to start smoking. Score - Western Capitalist Corruption:1 Indian Puritanism:0
----
I ate dinner at a recommended restaurant, in which 26/30 patrons were Westerners. Nonetheless, the food was good, seemingly clean (they offered salad!), and not too expensive. After a college dining-hall buffet sized dinner, I grabbed my bags and left for the rail station.
Within seconds a rickshaw driver accosted me and told me to name my price. I told him 40Rs, nearly twice what the price should be, but then added the proviso: I pull. He laughed and said no. Half a block later, I was pulling the rickshaw, my luggage and Modul, the rickshaw-wallah. For the first 200m, at every obstacle he suggested that he pull.
I insisted that I pull and ran weaving through the market pulling the rickshaw driver. People pointed, laughed, shouted encouragement, and most importantly got out of my way. Stationary carts didn't do as well and I got stuck and had to back up 3times. Nonetheless, winding my way through the city, running and pulling a cart wasn't too hard work, but I think a bike-rickshaw would have been easier.
After I covered 2/3rds of the distance, I had dinner again, at which point I allowed the driver to pull me. This was good because we entered into some rather jammed truck/bus/animal traffic I don't think I would have navigated without jamming the wheels against something. At the station I gave my driver 100Rs (obviously making his day), got his name and told him he made my day. If I go back to Calcutta, I will have to take up rickshaw-wallah pulling for exercise.
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