Tue - December 2, 2003
Blonde? What blonde...???
Our stay in Calcutta, somewhat unexpectedly, extends
itself....
You would think that the bond between hairdresser
and client would extend to honest discussions on the subject of roots. However,
until that fateful day of November 8th, 2003, I had heard nary a peep from Amber
as to what, quite obviously, exists below my scalp-line - i.e. blonde bits! Now
this fact would probably surprise most casual observers (including myself...as
I'm sure there are no blondes in at least a couple of generations of my family)
but there can be no other explanation for missing our outgoing flights by 24
hours. I can't even blame the traffic...I mean it's congested....but not that
congested!
We discovered this rather horrific state of affairs as we were packing on that Saturday afternoon and I thought I should check the exact time of the flights - not even thinking that I needed to check the date. It's pretty hard to describe the process of heavy blinking...looking away...looking back...more heavy blinking....and then the feeling of your stomach zipping past your knees and heading for your feet at something approximating Mach 1! And THEN....having to break the news to your travel partner....who, I might add, took it remarkably well! Since this was now Saturday evening, there was no hope of determining when we could get a flight out until the following Monday....the next 36 hours were just a wee bit stressful. It's quite amazing how a place, which moments before was a pleasure-filled environment, complete with golf caddies and pedicurists...can suddenly feel like a prison (albeit a pretty slack one).
Suffice to say that these two people should have been winging their way across the Pacific instead of sipping tea......
Since I am writing this bit significantly after these events occurred...and since most of you know that we made it home...I can dispense with the spine tingling suspense-building...and tell you all that, after we tracked down Singapore Airlines (wouldn't you know it - they'd moved) on the following Monday, they managed to fit us on the next flight out (Tuesday night) - and, amazingly to us, didn't charge us anything extra! Since we'd convinced ourselves that we were FOR SURE going to be charged a couple of thousand dollars, we suddenly felt that we'd received a windfall! Brilliant rationalizers that we are, we celebrated by doing a bit more shopping - after all we did have two extra days to kill.... (Editor's note: Amber took all the pics during these couple of days so I'll have to wait get some copies scanned before I can post them).
During our "scattered period", an old family friend (Michael Pook) was extremely helpful. Michael's an Englishman who has lived in Calcutta since the early 1960's and runs a company which does glorious things like building fountains in various parts of the planet. Now there's a cause designed to bring joy to humanity. On the night we were supposed to be flying out, we took Michael out for dinner at this swanky North Indian restaurant called Zaranj. Michael picked us up at the club with an air-conditioned car and driver...now that's the way to live (especially as the air conditioning allowed you to escape breathing in the foul soup outside). Michael has a great, dry sense of humour...though you'd never know from this pic....
Our final day in Calcutta was spent hanging around the club and packing - this time so far in advance that we could have been at the airport 5 hours before the flight! It did give me some time to wander around and take a couple of pics.... These are the caddies lounging around and waiting to offer their services to unsuspecting golfers. Behind them is a building dedicated to the provision of ice-cream to over-heated guests - now isn't that a good idea!
This little area was quite close to our room...reminds me of a Parisian cafe...wrought iron and all....and to complete the authenticity of it all...the waiters were almost as rude....only sometimes, though....and when you're head-wobbling....how rude can you possibly be???
Well...that was it! We piled ourselves into a cab....meandered our way through the diesel fumes (they were particularly bad that night) and...about an hour later, landed up at the airport. When the Singapore Airlines flight actually rose off the tarmac...given our past few days....we could hardly believe it....WHEW!
One more day in Singapore (no connecting flight this time) and we'd be on the homeward leg across the Pacific...
We discovered this rather horrific state of affairs as we were packing on that Saturday afternoon and I thought I should check the exact time of the flights - not even thinking that I needed to check the date. It's pretty hard to describe the process of heavy blinking...looking away...looking back...more heavy blinking....and then the feeling of your stomach zipping past your knees and heading for your feet at something approximating Mach 1! And THEN....having to break the news to your travel partner....who, I might add, took it remarkably well! Since this was now Saturday evening, there was no hope of determining when we could get a flight out until the following Monday....the next 36 hours were just a wee bit stressful. It's quite amazing how a place, which moments before was a pleasure-filled environment, complete with golf caddies and pedicurists...can suddenly feel like a prison (albeit a pretty slack one).
Suffice to say that these two people should have been winging their way across the Pacific instead of sipping tea......
Since I am writing this bit significantly after these events occurred...and since most of you know that we made it home...I can dispense with the spine tingling suspense-building...and tell you all that, after we tracked down Singapore Airlines (wouldn't you know it - they'd moved) on the following Monday, they managed to fit us on the next flight out (Tuesday night) - and, amazingly to us, didn't charge us anything extra! Since we'd convinced ourselves that we were FOR SURE going to be charged a couple of thousand dollars, we suddenly felt that we'd received a windfall! Brilliant rationalizers that we are, we celebrated by doing a bit more shopping - after all we did have two extra days to kill.... (Editor's note: Amber took all the pics during these couple of days so I'll have to wait get some copies scanned before I can post them).
During our "scattered period", an old family friend (Michael Pook) was extremely helpful. Michael's an Englishman who has lived in Calcutta since the early 1960's and runs a company which does glorious things like building fountains in various parts of the planet. Now there's a cause designed to bring joy to humanity. On the night we were supposed to be flying out, we took Michael out for dinner at this swanky North Indian restaurant called Zaranj. Michael picked us up at the club with an air-conditioned car and driver...now that's the way to live (especially as the air conditioning allowed you to escape breathing in the foul soup outside). Michael has a great, dry sense of humour...though you'd never know from this pic....
Our final day in Calcutta was spent hanging around the club and packing - this time so far in advance that we could have been at the airport 5 hours before the flight! It did give me some time to wander around and take a couple of pics.... These are the caddies lounging around and waiting to offer their services to unsuspecting golfers. Behind them is a building dedicated to the provision of ice-cream to over-heated guests - now isn't that a good idea!
This little area was quite close to our room...reminds me of a Parisian cafe...wrought iron and all....and to complete the authenticity of it all...the waiters were almost as rude....only sometimes, though....and when you're head-wobbling....how rude can you possibly be???
Well...that was it! We piled ourselves into a cab....meandered our way through the diesel fumes (they were particularly bad that night) and...about an hour later, landed up at the airport. When the Singapore Airlines flight actually rose off the tarmac...given our past few days....we could hardly believe it....WHEW!
One more day in Singapore (no connecting flight this time) and we'd be on the homeward leg across the Pacific...
Posted at 04:42 PM Read More
Fri - November 21, 2003
A Cruise Around the City of Joy
also known as the City of Infernal, Diesel-spewing
Lorries, 3-wheelers, Buses and every other known method of transport -
contrasting with its other reputation as the City of Poetry, Beautiful
Architecture and very nice people....
We awoke to the cawing of various "Murders" of crows
as well as a bunch of head-scarved painters who were slapping whitewash on every
spare bit of concrete they could find. The speed they worked at (the painters,
not the crows) was really quite amazing - although they did manage to paint the
odd plant which had careened into their
path.
Amber fortified herself with breakfast and went off to colour the hair of one the women in the Club's hair salon. Of course, she then ended up attending to any number of others who wanted to experience the foreign scissors! As I was due for a chop of my own, they were good enough to offer up the facilities for Amber to perform her magic on me (in full view of local hecklers).
All this preening had psyched us up to go out and explore the city - and also to find a cooperative bank machine. So...not so securely situated (no seatbelts) in the back seat of a standard-issue Calcutta taxi, we zipped out for a tour of the city. The main roads are pretty congested but the smaller side roads are really very interesting. We both thought they reminded us of photos we'd seen of Havana - similar style of architecture - and, surprisingly, clean and well kept.
Certainly the MVP's of the Calcutta road system have to be the pith-helmet clad coppers who spend their entire time trying to keep tabs on the variety of uncooperative vehicles (and cows, dogs, and, quite possibly, parrots) who all have their own particular agendas with respect to the ideal method of crossing intersections. There, these valiant sentries stand - in the blazing sun, in 95% humidity, for hours on end - with their main goal being to avoid their toes being run over. This fellow looks quite relieved he's in the shade...
We ended up driving around a good part of the city and seeing amazing signs - like the one for St. Thomas's School (where my Uncle went) which said something like "...since 1785". I suspect they hadn't scrubbed the surrounding cement wall since then! We also had the hilarious experience of following a minivan which was spewing the usual diesel cocktail - and had the audacity to display that it was one of the stellar representatives of the "Calcutta Anti-Pollution Patrol". Sadly, I couldn't record a single "in-focus" shot of this Python--esque experience as we were rocketing around a clover-leaf at the time. By now, the sun was starting to set and, believe me, you will never see as orange a sunset unless you're surrounded by an equivalent level of smoky pollutants. At about 4:30pm, you could look directly at the sun...no problem at all....
We made a quick stop at the Victoria Memorial (often referred to as the Brit version of the Taj Mahal). It was built at the beginning of the 20th Century - in honour of...wait for it...Queen Victoria. It's quite a spectacular marble edifice - currently undergoing a bit of a long-overdue clean-up (hence the scaffolding).
All this sightseeing was, of course, taking up valuable time which could, otherwise, have been used to shop. If you want to shop in Calcutta - and experience a microcosm of the entire city at the same time - you go to the Sir Stuart Hogg Market (colloquially known as the "New Market"). I gather the original place went up in smoke sometime around 1900 (I could be totally off here) so the replacement building has been called "New" ever since. The whole setup is like a bazaar - albeit with a roof over the top.
Even getting within 100 metres of the place results in being surrounded by "touts". These are guys whose livelihood depends upon ushering buyers to shops where they can earn commissions. Needless to say, each one is extremely persistent and trails you all over the place - in spite of any amount of indirect and direct indications from you that the last thing you'd do in the next half an hour would be to spend one single cent (or paisa) anywhere within the radius of 10 km of his epicentre. Of course, the fact you're heading directly into the busiest bazaar in the city may have some reflection on your credibility. Regardless of our protestations, we seemed to have grown an appendage which was dressed in a dhoti (a sarong like thing...which has the disturbing habit of getting tucked in at the back like some kind of overgrown thong). For those of you closely following this saga, I should note that his dental work closely resembled that of the afore-mentioned residents of Darjeeling (so you can imagine his toothpick selection). This fellow took great pains to point out that the was "board certified" by pointing out to us the badge proudly displayed on his chest. He certainly thought he'd got onto a good thing with us because he was right beside us wherever we walked and lurked outside every store we went into. In the meantime, Amber decided that Vancouver's Little India was not up to the task of supplying every possible Bollywood soundtrack....so in she went to negotiate a mass purchase (while our tout salivated outside, hopeful of a cut of the spending pie).
After picking up some silver jewelry for gifts at a neighbouring store, we escaped into the teeming streets where, for reasons which completely escape me, Amber decided to buy up most of the Indian supply of tikkas. Now, when I say tikkas, I'm not referring to the ever-popular Chicken Tikka. No...these are things that Indian women like to stick on their foreheads....and, much to my amazement, come in every variety of shapes and sizes (restricted by forehead size, of course). While I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for the tikka selection, I discovered a nearby shop which caused all sorts of corneal burns as a result of the loudest combination of colours I can ever remember seeing in a window display. The photo doesn't really do it justice...
Around the corner from this colour fiesta is the venerable Fairlawn Hotel (located in backpacker central on Sudder St.). Finally, someone offered to sell us hash in India - we were beginning to feel quite rejected! We were, frankly, much more interested in beer so we ignored our dealer and cruised into the Fairlawn's outdoor bar. This place has been run since the 1930's by the same couple - Ed & Vi Smith. This was where the Patrick Swayze character in the movie "City of Joy" stayed and, in which, Vi Smith's white poodle played a small, but crucial, role. Personally, I think Vi's purple hair would have been far more interesting than the poodle! They have an interesting room connected to the outdoor bar which appears to have a slightly creepy outlook. All over the walls, rather like hunting trophies, are pinned hats - makes one wonder what happened to the people once connected to them....
Unbelievably...post beer...more tikkas were purchased. This, of course, worked up our appetites so we decided to head over to Park Street and go to a restaurant called Trincas...with supposedly, "American-style" food. There were a row of rickshaws lined up looking for customers so we thought we'd give one a try.
It seems rather odd (with North American sensibilities) to be pulled along by another human being in this fashion. This guy certainly saw us coming....as it would have been cheaper to take a taxi for the 4 or 5 blocks we travelled (no doubt, guilt mitigated against our ruthless bargaining prowess).
Trincas had changed since the last time I'd seen it. Instead of a jazz bar...it had morphed into a combination of sports bar and lounge. The food was certainly good - although we were hard-pressed to figure out just what the American influence was. Our favourite part of the entire Trincas experience was the live band from hell! You couldn't have strayed further from jazz than what this lame bunch put out. I'm not sure how better I can communicate the smirk value than to say that they played the theme from Titanic not once but twice: the first time was some attempt at the original arrangement; the second was an incredibly bizarre "stars-on-45 style" version. They may not have been very good - but it was hard to beat for sheer entertainment! We could retire for the evening with smiles on our faces secure in the knowledge that Calcutta would never let such talent escape to the outside world!
Amber fortified herself with breakfast and went off to colour the hair of one the women in the Club's hair salon. Of course, she then ended up attending to any number of others who wanted to experience the foreign scissors! As I was due for a chop of my own, they were good enough to offer up the facilities for Amber to perform her magic on me (in full view of local hecklers).
All this preening had psyched us up to go out and explore the city - and also to find a cooperative bank machine. So...not so securely situated (no seatbelts) in the back seat of a standard-issue Calcutta taxi, we zipped out for a tour of the city. The main roads are pretty congested but the smaller side roads are really very interesting. We both thought they reminded us of photos we'd seen of Havana - similar style of architecture - and, surprisingly, clean and well kept.
Certainly the MVP's of the Calcutta road system have to be the pith-helmet clad coppers who spend their entire time trying to keep tabs on the variety of uncooperative vehicles (and cows, dogs, and, quite possibly, parrots) who all have their own particular agendas with respect to the ideal method of crossing intersections. There, these valiant sentries stand - in the blazing sun, in 95% humidity, for hours on end - with their main goal being to avoid their toes being run over. This fellow looks quite relieved he's in the shade...
We ended up driving around a good part of the city and seeing amazing signs - like the one for St. Thomas's School (where my Uncle went) which said something like "...since 1785". I suspect they hadn't scrubbed the surrounding cement wall since then! We also had the hilarious experience of following a minivan which was spewing the usual diesel cocktail - and had the audacity to display that it was one of the stellar representatives of the "Calcutta Anti-Pollution Patrol". Sadly, I couldn't record a single "in-focus" shot of this Python--esque experience as we were rocketing around a clover-leaf at the time. By now, the sun was starting to set and, believe me, you will never see as orange a sunset unless you're surrounded by an equivalent level of smoky pollutants. At about 4:30pm, you could look directly at the sun...no problem at all....
We made a quick stop at the Victoria Memorial (often referred to as the Brit version of the Taj Mahal). It was built at the beginning of the 20th Century - in honour of...wait for it...Queen Victoria. It's quite a spectacular marble edifice - currently undergoing a bit of a long-overdue clean-up (hence the scaffolding).
All this sightseeing was, of course, taking up valuable time which could, otherwise, have been used to shop. If you want to shop in Calcutta - and experience a microcosm of the entire city at the same time - you go to the Sir Stuart Hogg Market (colloquially known as the "New Market"). I gather the original place went up in smoke sometime around 1900 (I could be totally off here) so the replacement building has been called "New" ever since. The whole setup is like a bazaar - albeit with a roof over the top.
Even getting within 100 metres of the place results in being surrounded by "touts". These are guys whose livelihood depends upon ushering buyers to shops where they can earn commissions. Needless to say, each one is extremely persistent and trails you all over the place - in spite of any amount of indirect and direct indications from you that the last thing you'd do in the next half an hour would be to spend one single cent (or paisa) anywhere within the radius of 10 km of his epicentre. Of course, the fact you're heading directly into the busiest bazaar in the city may have some reflection on your credibility. Regardless of our protestations, we seemed to have grown an appendage which was dressed in a dhoti (a sarong like thing...which has the disturbing habit of getting tucked in at the back like some kind of overgrown thong). For those of you closely following this saga, I should note that his dental work closely resembled that of the afore-mentioned residents of Darjeeling (so you can imagine his toothpick selection). This fellow took great pains to point out that the was "board certified" by pointing out to us the badge proudly displayed on his chest. He certainly thought he'd got onto a good thing with us because he was right beside us wherever we walked and lurked outside every store we went into. In the meantime, Amber decided that Vancouver's Little India was not up to the task of supplying every possible Bollywood soundtrack....so in she went to negotiate a mass purchase (while our tout salivated outside, hopeful of a cut of the spending pie).
After picking up some silver jewelry for gifts at a neighbouring store, we escaped into the teeming streets where, for reasons which completely escape me, Amber decided to buy up most of the Indian supply of tikkas. Now, when I say tikkas, I'm not referring to the ever-popular Chicken Tikka. No...these are things that Indian women like to stick on their foreheads....and, much to my amazement, come in every variety of shapes and sizes (restricted by forehead size, of course). While I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for the tikka selection, I discovered a nearby shop which caused all sorts of corneal burns as a result of the loudest combination of colours I can ever remember seeing in a window display. The photo doesn't really do it justice...
Around the corner from this colour fiesta is the venerable Fairlawn Hotel (located in backpacker central on Sudder St.). Finally, someone offered to sell us hash in India - we were beginning to feel quite rejected! We were, frankly, much more interested in beer so we ignored our dealer and cruised into the Fairlawn's outdoor bar. This place has been run since the 1930's by the same couple - Ed & Vi Smith. This was where the Patrick Swayze character in the movie "City of Joy" stayed and, in which, Vi Smith's white poodle played a small, but crucial, role. Personally, I think Vi's purple hair would have been far more interesting than the poodle! They have an interesting room connected to the outdoor bar which appears to have a slightly creepy outlook. All over the walls, rather like hunting trophies, are pinned hats - makes one wonder what happened to the people once connected to them....
Unbelievably...post beer...more tikkas were purchased. This, of course, worked up our appetites so we decided to head over to Park Street and go to a restaurant called Trincas...with supposedly, "American-style" food. There were a row of rickshaws lined up looking for customers so we thought we'd give one a try.
It seems rather odd (with North American sensibilities) to be pulled along by another human being in this fashion. This guy certainly saw us coming....as it would have been cheaper to take a taxi for the 4 or 5 blocks we travelled (no doubt, guilt mitigated against our ruthless bargaining prowess).
Trincas had changed since the last time I'd seen it. Instead of a jazz bar...it had morphed into a combination of sports bar and lounge. The food was certainly good - although we were hard-pressed to figure out just what the American influence was. Our favourite part of the entire Trincas experience was the live band from hell! You couldn't have strayed further from jazz than what this lame bunch put out. I'm not sure how better I can communicate the smirk value than to say that they played the theme from Titanic not once but twice: the first time was some attempt at the original arrangement; the second was an incredibly bizarre "stars-on-45 style" version. They may not have been very good - but it was hard to beat for sheer entertainment! We could retire for the evening with smiles on our faces secure in the knowledge that Calcutta would never let such talent escape to the outside world!
Posted at 04:47 PM Read More
Wed - October 22, 2003
Oh Calcutta!
We LOV E our Oasis!
It's quite amazing how a four hour flight can
transfer you from the most efficient and clean place on the planet to the
complete reverse! The first hint that we were no longer in "OZ" was the
hour-long wait for our baggage to move the 100 or so metres between the plane
and the 1950's era luggage belt. I might add that we were the only flight to
have arrived and bags did manage to dribble out starting about 20 minutes after
arrival. Why some bags took 20 minutes and others over an hour (there were still
a large number of people still waiting when we left) is one of those questions
only answered with the patented Indian head wobble (more on this later). This
procedure certainly produced all sorts of comments from the locals around me
such as "thees place is rrreally going to the dogs" and "vat is wrong vith this
country"? We left the mutterings behind and ventured out into the main section
of the airport where I changed Cdn$20 - and a miraculous amount of money was
handed to me. One prepaid taxi receipt later and out we headed into the great
unknown.
We had a good chuckle at our first taxi interaction. Our luggage was loaded into this rather creaky and bent Ambassador (picture a 1952 Morris Oxford - still being made now) and, who we thought was the driver, hopped into the cab and started driving off. We got about 30 feet and then he stopped....which naturally resulted in a "Hey...what's up?" from me. "Oh no sir....your driver is just coming" came the reply. Before Luggage Loader/Warmer Upper of the cab hopped out, he'd made sure he let us know that he was a poor man just trying to eke out a living loading luggage and warming up taxis. Sheesh....ahh well...he got a tip for his troubles. Our real driver finally arrived and we meandered off (I mean that literally) winding our way along the divided highway between sleeping dogs and peeing cows. A 1/2 hour drive (through a rather incredibly smoky atmosphere) and we turned into the oasis - the Tollygunge Club. Check-in was the usual entertainment with the older clerk and his younger assistant doing a credible imitation of a Saturday Night Live skit. Young clerk: "Sir, you are being a member here?" Old Clerk: "No, no...this sahib is having a reservation". Young clerk: "Very sorry sahib....please be filling in the registration book"....and so on and so on. Once the registration festivities had been completed, the usual army of helpers arrived to carry our luggage to the cottage. Rolling the bags was, apparently, far too modern a concept for this rather traditional establishment - so the bags were hoisted onto a variety of heads (not ours). The rooms were quite nice (entry area with a sofa and chair overlooking the golf course, huge air-conditioned bedroom with an attached bathroom). The door key was quite hilarious (picture Victorian-era). The room number was written on a long rectangular piece of metal - which you had to put into a slot inside the room to have the lights come on. Of course, nothing is that easy in India....every now and then the lights would mysteriously go out and we had to jiggle the key fob...and back on they came.
Maybe it's the tropics... but 5:30am...and there I was wide awake! Definitely never happens at home! So out of the room I sneaked and watched the early morning golfers go by in the morning mist.
Amber finally rolled out of bed at the slovenly hour of 6:30, peeked her nose out of the air-conditioning...and said "Oh....I forgot! (referring to the early morning 28 degrees outside). We meandered over to the "Shamiana" which is an outside restaurant overlooking the 18th hole where we prepared to while away a couple of hours sipping tea and reading the paper. I have to admit, we were very successful!
We had decided we were going to take it easy for the day and a half we would be in Calcutta before heading off to Darjeeling and, so much to the decadent delight of all concerned, we discovered that the Club had spa facilities! Well...there went the afternoon! We arrived to much tittering from the staff and soon Amber had them wrapped around her finger. Before you could say the words "hot oil treatment", Amber was signed up for one of those & shampoo and blow dry.
I found myself being pedicured by a guy who was in the midst of putting colour into his own hair and manicured by one very shy girl.
We certainly provided the entertainment for the afternoon....especially after they discovered Amber was a hair pro. Next thing you know there were deep and profound conversations going on about the intricacies of hair colouring, perusal of their surprisingly up-to-date L'Oreal colour lines and comparisons of customer preferences 12 time zones away. My little excesses had been completed while Amber still had to get her eyebrows threaded (it's a mystery to me!). So...off I went to explore parts of the club. Since I completely forgot to bring along the camera, we'll post descriptions and pics when we come back after the Darjeeling jaunt.
I had hoped to go and meet up with the Secretary of the Lake Club (which was the rowing club my Grandfather had belonged to - and where I have some very fond childhood memories). Of course, actually connecting with a telephone number over a Calcutta landline is a task best seen in the light of buying lottery tickets. So...after numerous attempts resulting in a variety of beeping noises, wrong numbers and cryptic telephone company messages ("Thees number does noot exeest"), I gave up and decided to simply show up. So out we ventured from the Oasis into the teeming streets....
That's not what I call a "Streetcar Named Desire"!....that pith helmet, on the other hand...??? That taxi (an Ambassador) is also pretty indicative of the average. It had rained for a bit that afternoon and by the time we were venturing out, it was steamy in the extreme. It took about 15 minutes to get to the Lake Club and, of course, my quarry wasn't there. So, after some heavy negotiating with the local bureaucracy, I left a note for him suggesting we meet up on our second Calcutta leg. Then, brave and ignorant souls that we are, we thought we'd go into town (the Clubs are both in the southern end of the city) for dinner. After having a look at some descriptions of Calcutta restaurants, we decided on Mocambo, which was quite a famous jazz club in the 1960's. A journey that should have taken a 1/2 hour ended up being about an hour and a half - due to the insane traffic caused by last minute shoppers looking for Diwali (festival of light) presents. Combined with the fact that the rain had pushed the humidity levels up to, in sporting terms, a 110%, it was definitely an experience! It doesn't surprise me that the creator of Bikram's Yoga comes from Calcutta - because, one can only understand the context from which he decided to heat his yoga rooms up to 110 degrees Farhenheit when you sit in a Calcutta cab, post rain-storm, surrounded by diesel-spewing lorries, praying that the traffic will move so a mere breath of air will waft over your body. We were both tempted to assume the Lotus position in the back seat in the hope that some kind of Zen state would help us survive to the next green traffic light. At least after a Bikram's class you can have a shower!
Mocambo was the perfect example of the time-warp parts of Calcutta indulge in. Everything about it was retro '60's...from the seats to the lighting...to the menu (which I'm sure hadn't changed in either content or form since 1965). We both had fish dishes...and didn't finish either. I guess neither of us is used to eating food smothered in cream accompanied by vegetables that bore a striking similarity to things you'd find at Madame Toussaud's. Oh well...but the dessert (Baked - and flaming - Alaska) was fab! We wandered off down Park Street to this Starbucks style cafe (Oh Mel...we thought of you) called Barista. There, we sipped decaf coffee frappe (they whip in vanilla ice cream). The weird part was that they charged extra (half again as much) for decaf! They also had a guitar hanging on the wall and encouraged anyone to strum away. The crowd was quite a mix of locals and visitors (Swedes for the most part). By this point, we were looking forward to getting back to Tolly - but needed to find a bank machine. Much to my horror, neither of the two we found would give me any cash. Amber, special as she is, was happily dispensed funds. I was then pondering the rather attractive possibility of being a kept man for the rest of the trip.....(Amber shrieks...finally I'm wealthy!).
Back to the Oasis....and zzzzzz......
We had a good chuckle at our first taxi interaction. Our luggage was loaded into this rather creaky and bent Ambassador (picture a 1952 Morris Oxford - still being made now) and, who we thought was the driver, hopped into the cab and started driving off. We got about 30 feet and then he stopped....which naturally resulted in a "Hey...what's up?" from me. "Oh no sir....your driver is just coming" came the reply. Before Luggage Loader/Warmer Upper of the cab hopped out, he'd made sure he let us know that he was a poor man just trying to eke out a living loading luggage and warming up taxis. Sheesh....ahh well...he got a tip for his troubles. Our real driver finally arrived and we meandered off (I mean that literally) winding our way along the divided highway between sleeping dogs and peeing cows. A 1/2 hour drive (through a rather incredibly smoky atmosphere) and we turned into the oasis - the Tollygunge Club. Check-in was the usual entertainment with the older clerk and his younger assistant doing a credible imitation of a Saturday Night Live skit. Young clerk: "Sir, you are being a member here?" Old Clerk: "No, no...this sahib is having a reservation". Young clerk: "Very sorry sahib....please be filling in the registration book"....and so on and so on. Once the registration festivities had been completed, the usual army of helpers arrived to carry our luggage to the cottage. Rolling the bags was, apparently, far too modern a concept for this rather traditional establishment - so the bags were hoisted onto a variety of heads (not ours). The rooms were quite nice (entry area with a sofa and chair overlooking the golf course, huge air-conditioned bedroom with an attached bathroom). The door key was quite hilarious (picture Victorian-era). The room number was written on a long rectangular piece of metal - which you had to put into a slot inside the room to have the lights come on. Of course, nothing is that easy in India....every now and then the lights would mysteriously go out and we had to jiggle the key fob...and back on they came.
Maybe it's the tropics... but 5:30am...and there I was wide awake! Definitely never happens at home! So out of the room I sneaked and watched the early morning golfers go by in the morning mist.
Amber finally rolled out of bed at the slovenly hour of 6:30, peeked her nose out of the air-conditioning...and said "Oh....I forgot! (referring to the early morning 28 degrees outside). We meandered over to the "Shamiana" which is an outside restaurant overlooking the 18th hole where we prepared to while away a couple of hours sipping tea and reading the paper. I have to admit, we were very successful!
We had decided we were going to take it easy for the day and a half we would be in Calcutta before heading off to Darjeeling and, so much to the decadent delight of all concerned, we discovered that the Club had spa facilities! Well...there went the afternoon! We arrived to much tittering from the staff and soon Amber had them wrapped around her finger. Before you could say the words "hot oil treatment", Amber was signed up for one of those & shampoo and blow dry.
I found myself being pedicured by a guy who was in the midst of putting colour into his own hair and manicured by one very shy girl.
We certainly provided the entertainment for the afternoon....especially after they discovered Amber was a hair pro. Next thing you know there were deep and profound conversations going on about the intricacies of hair colouring, perusal of their surprisingly up-to-date L'Oreal colour lines and comparisons of customer preferences 12 time zones away. My little excesses had been completed while Amber still had to get her eyebrows threaded (it's a mystery to me!). So...off I went to explore parts of the club. Since I completely forgot to bring along the camera, we'll post descriptions and pics when we come back after the Darjeeling jaunt.
I had hoped to go and meet up with the Secretary of the Lake Club (which was the rowing club my Grandfather had belonged to - and where I have some very fond childhood memories). Of course, actually connecting with a telephone number over a Calcutta landline is a task best seen in the light of buying lottery tickets. So...after numerous attempts resulting in a variety of beeping noises, wrong numbers and cryptic telephone company messages ("Thees number does noot exeest"), I gave up and decided to simply show up. So out we ventured from the Oasis into the teeming streets....
That's not what I call a "Streetcar Named Desire"!....that pith helmet, on the other hand...??? That taxi (an Ambassador) is also pretty indicative of the average. It had rained for a bit that afternoon and by the time we were venturing out, it was steamy in the extreme. It took about 15 minutes to get to the Lake Club and, of course, my quarry wasn't there. So, after some heavy negotiating with the local bureaucracy, I left a note for him suggesting we meet up on our second Calcutta leg. Then, brave and ignorant souls that we are, we thought we'd go into town (the Clubs are both in the southern end of the city) for dinner. After having a look at some descriptions of Calcutta restaurants, we decided on Mocambo, which was quite a famous jazz club in the 1960's. A journey that should have taken a 1/2 hour ended up being about an hour and a half - due to the insane traffic caused by last minute shoppers looking for Diwali (festival of light) presents. Combined with the fact that the rain had pushed the humidity levels up to, in sporting terms, a 110%, it was definitely an experience! It doesn't surprise me that the creator of Bikram's Yoga comes from Calcutta - because, one can only understand the context from which he decided to heat his yoga rooms up to 110 degrees Farhenheit when you sit in a Calcutta cab, post rain-storm, surrounded by diesel-spewing lorries, praying that the traffic will move so a mere breath of air will waft over your body. We were both tempted to assume the Lotus position in the back seat in the hope that some kind of Zen state would help us survive to the next green traffic light. At least after a Bikram's class you can have a shower!
Mocambo was the perfect example of the time-warp parts of Calcutta indulge in. Everything about it was retro '60's...from the seats to the lighting...to the menu (which I'm sure hadn't changed in either content or form since 1965). We both had fish dishes...and didn't finish either. I guess neither of us is used to eating food smothered in cream accompanied by vegetables that bore a striking similarity to things you'd find at Madame Toussaud's. Oh well...but the dessert (Baked - and flaming - Alaska) was fab! We wandered off down Park Street to this Starbucks style cafe (Oh Mel...we thought of you) called Barista. There, we sipped decaf coffee frappe (they whip in vanilla ice cream). The weird part was that they charged extra (half again as much) for decaf! They also had a guitar hanging on the wall and encouraged anyone to strum away. The crowd was quite a mix of locals and visitors (Swedes for the most part). By this point, we were looking forward to getting back to Tolly - but needed to find a bank machine. Much to my horror, neither of the two we found would give me any cash. Amber, special as she is, was happily dispensed funds. I was then pondering the rather attractive possibility of being a kept man for the rest of the trip.....(Amber shrieks...finally I'm wealthy!).
Back to the Oasis....and zzzzzz......
Posted at 06:30 AM Read More
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Published On: Dec 05, 2003 10:02 AM
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Published On: Dec 05, 2003 10:02 AM