A hectic city and long white sandy beaches
Calcutta and the Andaman Islands
Calcutta has a reputation; at least it did in our minds. Guidebooks describe it as a place densely populated and polluted, with extreme poverty and a desperate feel to the city. Others have told us stories of the homeless children, the overcrowded orphanages that except voluntary workers just to be able to cope.
It must have improved dramatically by the time we arrived, because we found a vibrant city, clean and friendly. The streets are packed with people, at lunch time during the week a huge variety of temporary food stalls set up catering for all tastes of food from your standard plate of dal, curry and rice to shish kebabs, and they become very busy with white collar workers mixing with blue collars standing around blocking the pavements eating with one hand off metal plates held by the other.
Another common sight is people of all ages having a daily full body wash at the hand pumps found on street corners. Men and women bathe wearing basic clothing, which allows them to do it in public, a lot of people don’t have running water available at home (if they are lucky enough to have a home), so they fetch and carry water from the pumps for cooking and drinking, but for bathing they bring the soap to the pump. Actually this bathing ritual is seen all over India, but seeing it in the city was a bit odd.
There are a wide variety of places and things to see, markets that overflowed with produce and colour, parks and churches, and up market clothes shops where you can buy “proper” clothes, (not the standard hippie/traveller regalia that lifers on the road tend to wear) ones that last longer than a month and don’t fall apart with a vigorous beating by a washer woman. Traveller style clothes are all well and good, however you would not be seen dead in them back at home, the batik shirts that drifted around in fashion back in the 60’s when peace and white doves were all the rage, baggy brightly coloured or patterned trousers with no form or style that you might lounge around in at home on a lazy day when you were sure you wouldn’t see any of your friends who might laugh out loud at the sight of you. Yes, we have purchased these clothes and worn them with pride, waving the “I’m a traveller” badge, but when the fad passes and the clothes wear thin, we look forward to finding something normal to wear again.
Sudder Street is the traveller’s hot spot for cheap accommodation, and most of it is full most of the time. Calcutta in my opinion is the best of major Indian cities, and obviously we are not alone with that thought, the gateway to India from the east, and a major departure point for the rest of S.E. Asia, a city with much to do and see, people to meet up with and trade stories. No wonder the hotels are full.
We took the opinion that to spend a little more and to get a comfortable place was a good idea, and we found the Hotel Emirate just down a back street from the main drag of Sudder Street. We bartered the room down from 800Rs to 550Rs (hooray for low season), and were happy with a bright wood paneled room overlooking the street. Unfortunately, after a quick scan of a Calcutta guide and a few questions fed to the appropriate people, western style eateries we found in Delhi and Mumbai like TGI Fridays and Pizza Hut don’t exist in Calcutta. You may feel this is a little barbaric of us to want these kind of foods in a country that serves such tasty food, but believe you me, after four months of curry, noodles, rice and more curry, deep fried this and that, you get to desire a pizza, or a great thick juicy fillet steak with mustard and reduced balsamic sauce. Drool, drool.
One little trick that we discovered was that wherever we went to look at a hotel, we were followed by someone. He would just lurk in the background, and if it would seem we were getting a room he would come forward and start speaking in Hindi to the reception. Being interrupted is bad enough, but when we found out that he was assuming the guise of someone who had recommended the hotel so that he would get commission, I nearly booted his butt down the stairs. Commission is what some people survive on, it’s quick and easy money for a lazy person to earn at the expense of the traveller. The more commission they get the less discount you will receive.
The New Market is an area that caters to all your shopping needs, rows and rows of fruit and veg stores, a meat market, hardware, groceries and imported foods. The choice is such that it keeps prices competitive, although prices are never shown. Touts outside will see you heading for the market and will come to help you find your way about. If you take their help and are led to the “best” fruit stall, or the “best” provisions seller, prices will rise to accommodate the commission for your guide for leading you to their shop. The more you by, the more they get. Textile shops are the old favourites, along with handicrafts meticulously fashioned by supposed locals but are probably imported from Thailand. It takes time to learn the scams, and after four months we feel we are fairly street wise, but you can always fall down when you get too confident.
Beggars are commonplace, and Calcutta is famous for the career or organised beggar, beggars that work in groups probably for a Fagin figure. Calcutta has devised a way of dealing with this problem. If, at the end of your meal, you have some left over that you just can’t fit in, ask for a doggy bag. It’s a common practice here and sorts the real beggars out from the rest. A truly poor and hungry person will gladly take your left over food and be grateful for it – for the most time we eat food considered to be better than their normal diet. Each day we made a practice of trying to make a difference, however little, to one person’s life. Our favourite one was to buy a month’s supply of Formula 1, dried milk that supplied a baby with enough nourishment that an underfed mother may not be able to. We never gave anybody any money, especially not to children.
The Observatory is next to a large impressive cathedral, and is meant to be the second largest in the world (so it boasts) only to the Planetarium in London. There are shows in English so we went to see the stars. English I doubt was the commentator’s fourth or fifth language, and we didn’t understand a word apart from the odd planet name, made worse by the PA system cutting in and out. Luckily there is a sign outside admonishing any liability for equipment failure and so wasn’t grounds for complaint or refund. I’m sure it was an isolated incident, and we were just unlucky with our show. Yeah, right.
India I feel has made me slightly cynical, and so we changed our plans for a trip up to Darjeeling (apparently it had been raining solidly up there for the last month anyway) for a trip to paradise that is the Andaman Islands for a welcome break and a bit of beach rest. We chose to save money and travel by boat rather than fly, after all a 60 hour trip by boat in a deluxe cabin would be rather enjoyable, wouldn’t it?
It took a couple of days and six passport photos taken by a local photographer who wouldn’t make it big time if he improved a hundred fold, to arrange the boat tickets. A quick trip to an out of the way building in a dank part of town found the Government Tourist Office for the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, where we were given a glossy brochure that promised the delights of good weather, coral reefs, plenty of fresh fish and glorious beaches. We confirmed the weather was good, and specifically confirmed the availability of PADI diving courses that we were going to do while we were there. All was set for a break from hectic India, away from the hassles and commission finding touts. We couldn’t wait…
We were required at the jetty Kidderpur Dock, Gate 3 at 1400. We had to check out of our hotel by 1200, so we got there a bit early, about 1330. We were waved through the security check without having to open our bags, while every single Indian ticket holder had a thorough rifling, karma…We had a quick health check, so quick it just involved stamping the ticket, “Examined”, and at about 1600 we started to board the MV Harshavardhana, an old and clearly un-maintained vessel with more rust than rivets.
Our Deluxe cabin had a separate bedroom and sitting area, with a toilet and shower without the showerhead or the toilet seat attached. The room housed a large inner city project of cockroaches that scampered in and out of the gaping holes and cracks in the wall. It would become a form of entertainment exterminating these creatures throughout the trip, an in-exhaustive job as it turned out. We were not alone, other deluxe passengers who had presumed something a little more deluxe than what was on offer.
A quick tour of the ship showed no amenities, apart from a dining hall which looked pretty dubious. Food was to be ordered in advance for the whole trip. Pardon? Four days of food to be paid for in advance? This would include morning tea at 0630, breakfast at 0830, lunch at 1300, afternoon tea at 1530 and dinner at 1930, veg or non veg, take it or leave it. The cost of which was 820Rs for two, which actually was not a bad price I suppose, but I was not about to pay upfront for meals I may not want or eat. Luckily we had brought on board provisions of our own, including cans of tuna, cheese, salad and fruit and three bottles of vodka. The catering officer was a bit put out that we weren’t signing up for the meal marathon, and said if we wanted to eat anything on board we would have to go to the canteen where the bunk class ate. We scrounged a few chapatti to fill out our supplies and spent the trip drinking vodka and reading books.
Every time we went on deck we were surrounded by Indians who predictably wanted to know our names, what country we were from and how long in India, etc, etc. So we found ourselves in our cabin for the most part amusing ourselves with ingenious ways to catch and kill a cockroach. 66 hours of journey stretched into 84 hours, and a couple of arguments and complaints to the captain, chief bursar and anybody who would listen relieved the boredom and was an additional amusement to eradicating the roaches.
We managed to perfect the “I’m a Journalist” routine, which basically involved me working on behalf of a well known British newspaper in conjunction with the Indian government tourist board to increase European visitors to the Indian Subcontinent via articles and press coverage. The ruse seems to work in most places where the government is involved and higher end restaurants and hotels for getting your own way, as it certainly did on board this boat. In one trip to the Andaman Islands we managed to break the long time tradition of paying for meals in advance, arguing that tourists wouldn’t be tied down to such an arrangement, and so we should be able to buy as we went. The catering manager was chastised for not moving with the times, and promises of a change of policy would be seriously considered. “Anything possible in India” is the most common resounding phrase that a traveller will hear.
So we arrive in Port Blair on the South Andaman Island, the sky is blue and the sun is out. It’s 8:30 in the morning and we have plenty of time to check out the hotels we had in mind – somewhere accessible to a dive school, and near the water. However it soon became apparent after visiting three hotels that arranged PADI diving that all the dive instructors had left for the mainland because it was off-season. So much for reliable tourist information from the Government Tourist Office for the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
Boo to low season, so we settled in at Hotel Abhishekh where the manger was friendly and they gave us a room with a balcony, A/C and a view of the sea for a low season price of 500Rs. Hooray for low season.
Port Blair, as with all the islands, is very organised and proud of its cleanliness. It’s a lush town full of greenery, parks and activities, mostly closed for the low season, not that the aquarium or the Naval Museum really interested us. We came for the beaches and the swimming in clear blue water. The South Andaman Island didn’t have good examples of either of these and after a few days trying to fill time we left for Neil Island, two hours from Port Blair by rust bucket ferry for 14Rs each.
Neil Island looked more promising as we approached it, long white sandy beaches and crystal clear water, this looked like what we were looking for. Neil Island at first look is beautiful, a laid back island with a laid back feel. Only five kilometres at its widest, it’s very small but busy with the work of agriculture, rice paddies as far as you could see, which wasn’t far because the island is so small. Banana trees, papaya, coconuts, all the vegetables were grown locally, and the sea is plentiful with fish, fewer men were landing bigger fish and lots of them than in Goa, this was a land of plenty where life is simple but the rewards great.
Eco-huts, as they are called, are all the rage in the islands. It’s a cheap form of accommodation that is cheap to build and cheap to rent, but you get what you pay for, which isn’t a lot. They are huts on stilts about 7 feet square (for all you metric types, tough, I still work with imperial measures, just multiply by 0.3 and you’ll get the size so I’m told by my guide book), with three walls and an open end covered with a curtain. That’s it, no more no less, however they are normally set in banana groves or eco-gardens, so the setting is quite idyllic.
We found the only place that had a few bamboo cottages with a bathroom set in quiet green surroundings called the Pearl Park Hotel, beat the manager up on the price as we are getting so good at it now, and settled in for a quiet time in paradise. The sun was out and the day was hot, so we trotted off to the beach some 100 yards through some trees. Lovely jubbly, beautiful sands stretched right and left and clear turquoise water lay before us.
One hour on the beach and Eddie had collected 127 sand fly bites that she turned out to be allergic to, I suffered some 60 or 70 and our beach days were over. However, don’t let it put you off, it’s beautiful place to stay and see, the seafood is great and you can go to the market to chose your fish with the guy that does the shopping each day.
Two days later we left on the same rust bucket ferry to Havelock Island, truly the place to head for if you come to the Andamans.
Dolphin Yatri Niwas is a government run hotel, which normally means good clean surroundings and reasonable prices. This was just that, giant rooms on stilts in a kept garden next to the beach, it seemed to be the favourite place with travellers. Early morning sunrise swims and swims at night and in the rain, a long white crunchy sand beach home to a million scuttling hermit crabs slides away to the left of the hotel and at low tide the corrosion shaped dead corals become apparent leaving a myriad of rock pools to paddle and watch the caught fish zip from rock to crevice as you approach. Crabs of all sizes scurry sideward to the safety of a hole in the sand or the overhang of a rock. It took me back to summer holidays in South Wales with mum and dad. So easy the child in us can rise, and so many times we try to hide it. I loved splashing around the rock pools, investigating shells to see if there was a hermit inside, and watching it cautiously appear from within its mobile home. With so many crabs the sand at low tide turns into intense pattern of hermit crab trails, lots of little pits in a long line with no apparent direction, it reminded me of the patterns in style of Aboriginal art.
We hired a scooter, a local Bajaj similar to a Vesper with the gears on the left steering grip from a guy called Rishi who seemed to have his finger in many a pie. His shop front advertised a little of everything from hiring of video recorders and tapes to snorkels and masks. All kinds of transport could be acquired, and if you wanted something to eat his wife would oblige, however anywhere to sit was not immediately obvious in his yard in front of the shop as it was full of junk and bits of scooter and bicycle. But hey! This is India, EVERYTHING is possible.
The gears on the bike took a little getting used to but soon we were raring around the bumpy roads of the island, some of the beaches were uninhabitable for sand flies, and since Eddie was still nursing her wounds and applying ointment and having to take three different pills a day to alleviate the reaction, we didn’t go near them once they had been identified. We spent a morning biking around the villages of the island hooting as we went to attract children who would come running. We had bought a huge bag of mango flavoured boiled sweets and had the idea of giving them out to every kid who wanted one. The kids loved it, the ever-watchful mothers smiled, and we thought it was a great laugh. So many kids, appearing from everywhere, out of huts and fields, from river creeks where they had been washing, all with big beaming smiles and bright eyes, a sea of little brown happy faces. These are the sights that stick in your memory forever, the sight of happy children enabled by nothing more than a simple boiled sweet that cost less than an English penny. The feel good factor from doing that was immense.
Our days were filled with cold beer, snorkelling and boat trips to coral reefs where the colours of the corals mix easily with the hues of the fish, we found a great place to sit and eat, another eco-hut settlement in a coconut grove beside a beach that you could watch the sunset from. Red snapper, lobster, crabs and prawns, freshly caught that day and cooked to your taste.
But time is getting on, we have to be in Nepal by September 28th, the monsoon is ending up there and we have grown tired of India. 4½ months is enough to endure. Last time I was in India I broke it up with a trip to Nepal in the middle. India was a place that I particularly wanted to return to, unfortunately I don’t feel I ever want to again. Nepal beckons and now we have sat out the monsoon, we are ready to move on. Mountains to climb, national parks to visit and safaris to go on. White water rafting and camping under the stars all are on the horizon and we can’t wait.
The daunting thought of another 4-5 days on a ship with no facilities was too much so we hooked up with a flight from Port Blair to Calcutta the morning after we arrived back from Havelock. Even with domestic airfares the Indians feel that foreigners should have to fork out more for the privilege. We paid about 35% more than the guy in front of us did. Not only that, there doesn’t seem to be any late booking discounts either, for domestic or international flights. Maybe if I was an Indian national there might be…
Tomorrow we fly out of Calcutta for Kathmandu and leave behind India forever.
