Second Day in Calcutta

 

    For all the miles I walked in my short day and a half in Calcutta, I think I could have walked happily for another week. Jaisalmer and Delhi were full of structures and sights that were eye-opening and fascinating, but much of the landscapes in those older cities were somewhat alien to me and harder to decode.

    Calcutta (I keep using that name in the same way I say Cologne not Köln,  and Rome not Roma; no disrespect intended), at least the older heart of the huge metropolis that I saw, was a landscape that I could read and relate to: chalk it up to my western sensibilities. It is like a swath of late Victorian London slapped down in the Bengal tropics. The Old Bailey fringed with palm trees; Hyde Park dotted with baobabs. The familiar framework in the exotic setting was one appeal. But walking the streets of old Calcutta was also like time travel in two directions: on this street, imposing, ornate, oak-and-iron bank doors that had just closed for the end of some steamy day in 1892; on the next street, the neglected, moldering, vine-veined, masonry office block and a feeling that I'm in a post-apocalyptic near future.
    I left my hotel early on Sunday morning and headed in the general direction (well, north-northwest, in this case) of a flower market that I had read about, situated at the eastern foot of the towering Howrah Bridge. I zig-zagged my way through the old business center, veering down any street that caught my eye. I wish I had a bigger set of pictures to capture the feel of this part of the city that I've been trying to put into words, but some of these might do part of the job:

    After passing through a street market of mostly industrial goods:

    And waiting, near the river, for a train to pass a grade crossing:

    ...I made it to the beginning of the flower market:

    The market didn't have any exuberant, large-blossomed, showy bouquets. It really is more like the Howrah Garland Market. It was refreshing, in India, to be in a busy place of buying and selling and being totally ignored. It was easy to recognize that I was neither a buyer or seller in this wholesale market, so nobody was making a pitch to me. Here is a taste of it:

    

    Most of the purchases here left the market on someone's head or back or motor scooter, or in a bicycle cart.

    I headed south along the eastern bank of the Hooghly River, back towards the spot where I had taken yesterday's evening scull ride. 

    I liked the city buses, whose side doors were always open, whether the bus was in motion or in place. I saw many passenger pickups that were choreographed like this: a minor swerve, a slight hesitation, a running jump, and a roaring return to traffic. I have no idea how or whether fares are collected. And then of course, there were the unrelenting horns:

    I liked how the bricks seemed about 20% bigger than our bricks:

    Even the doors of this commuter train were open in motion. I'm not sure what everyone was doing in the water, but some of the women were floating plates with flowers? food? on the river for a purpose that clearly didn't require a lot of solemnity:

 

    I just missed the ferry over to Howrah:

    But I had a chance to walk around some idle ferry boats tied up nearby:

    Then through the ruins of a small amusement park along the river promenade:

    I stopped by my hotel to check out and freshen up, then it was back out for a long trek down the length of the gigantic Maidan (Park) to see the quintessential bit of old British India: the Victoria Memorial at the southern end of the park.

    Everywhere I went in India, there were almost no trash cans, and a pervasive practice of carefree littering. These pictures give some idea of it:

    Near the memorial, there were a dozen gilt, (underfed) horse-drawn carriages waiting paying passengers:

    And then the Memorial:

    

    It is nice, but kind of just yet another marble mausoleum. Even Victoria had been erased from the memorial, which at the moment houses a gallery of memorabilia of the fight for, and the early days of, India's independence. The central stature of Victoria is encased in box of outward-faced mirrored glass:

It was a long slog back to the north end of the park, my hotel, and my rendezvous with an airport-bound taxi. I leave you with one of the magnificent street trees of Calcutta: