Day 37-40: Kolkata — IndefinitelyOOO

*"A lot of things are institutions in Kolkata"*

We’re staying in a 215 year old institution, according to the guidebooks. The Fairlawn.

We arrive to find the walls groaning with shots of all the great and good of India who have stayed before us and a not insignificant number of photos of the British royal family. Curious we thought. Curiouser still when we’re shown through the door of our room to find an enormous portrait of Princess Margaret hanging by the bed!

It seems lots of things are called institutions in Kolkata - we were staying in one and we ate (twice) in one but it was our constitution which lets us down. Me emotionally, with a cloud of homesickness appearing overhead, much like Kolkata’s rain clouds which hung around for a few days, and Jack physically overcome as he was with his/our first bout of Delhi Belly...

Prior to then though we did enjoy some exceptional food at (the institution) Mocambo’s, where we originally went for their renowned Gimlet and ended up staying for lunch and then dinner the following evening. At which point we knew the manager quite well which came in handy when we arrived the second time to queues around the block.

Aside from some good eating (Jack’s gastric poisoning to one side...) Kolkata was unfortunately a bit of a wash out - no real fault of its own. The races were rained off, as was the outdoor Jazz festival and the remainder of our time was bedroom bound - although I actually thoroughly enjoyed a Sunday night in watching films - inspite of Jack’s delirium - and listening to the strains of Elvis at Christmas from the Mall across the street.

From what we saw, India’s litter problem to one side which does blight its beauty sometimes, Kolkata was a very cosmopolitan city - expensive and cultured and without much of a sense of its black hole past.

For something like 150 years, Calcutta was the capital of British India and and the traces of its colonial past are much in evidence, from the street names to the dining and drinking culture and very obviously in its architecture and large parks. Whole streets could have been plucked from Whitehall or Bath and, although a bit dingy, the place has a more familiar feel than many of the places we’ve been.

Or so I’m told. My time in the city was mostly spent wearing a groove between the bed and the bathroom, gripped in the throes of a particularly evil stomach complaint. We knew we’d get sick at some point - everyone does - but little could have prepared me for the sheer catastrophic, explosive violence of this. I’ll let your imagination fill in the most noxious details but in brief, I was startled in the night by events over which I had only the barest control and spent the next day running the full spectrum of bodily horrors, every muscle pressed into service as I contorted and spasmed for 24 sweaty hours. I’m not too proud to say that I was a pathetic and useless creature for that time, whimpering and shivering while my body wreaked cruel revenge for some unknown sin. As bad as it was for me, it was no picnic for Helen, either but she did a decent Florence Nightingale impression, ensuring I was hydrated and cared for and with no hint of disgust or amusement at my plight. It’s good to have a partner in travel. Being abandoned and alone would have been immeasurably worse. Good for me anyway, I’m sure she could have lived without it!

With a day lost to gastric gymnastics and a day spent in recovery, I didn’t see much of Kolkata but was left with an impression of a shabbiness. The biggest cheerleader for the town would struggle to describe it as beautiful (though the Victoria Memorial is a stunning marble palace to rival almost anything in the UK. Were it not for its unmistakable, unapologetic, unsubtle Britishness, it would likely feature in any list of must-see Indian monuments.) It’s almost certainly a side-effect of illness and our recent journeys through the less-spoiled rural states but I found it unlovely and dirty - and by this stage we’re pretty forgiving of India’s general muckiness. My general feeling was one of very faded grandeur, as summed up by our hotel, The Fairlawn. An institution among expats and travelling Brits in days gone by, its best is long behind it and is tatty and a little down-at-heel, for all that an oversized print of Princess Margaret glowers down at us from above the bed.

Even writing this, I recognise that I’ve hardly given the city its due. In its favour, it does certainly have an energetic, industrious vibe. For the first time, we’ve noticed people going out en masse; the restaurants and bars - pubs, even - are heaving from the moment the city knocks off work and there’s a definite sense of a culture of entertainment and leisure that’s been absent so far. The middle class are much in evidence and we embark on an evening pub crawl, chatting with enthusiastic locals queuing for entry to smart eateries and grubby dive bars. We’re not the only ones to have noticed this new category of disposable income - the taxes here are incredible; on food, on liquor, on imported goods, on drinking in a place with a band, even drinking in a place playing recorded music. Unthinkingly, I buy a couple of bottles of beer and am hit with a bill that would make a London publican blush. The music tax is explained to me and Helen has to arrest my black mood as I sit sulking at the bar and cursing the wretched cover band mangling Lynrd Skynrd in the corner. In spite of everything, we have a great night and I’m forced to revise my opinion of Kolkata. A little.

Utterly washed out and feeling very fragile, its time to move on. Our longest train journey yet, 26 hours to Chennai, formerly Madras. We’ve really enjoyed all the journeys we’ve taken so far but I’d be lying if I said I was looking forward to this one...