The India Journals, Ch. 11, Lunch and Launch

Ch. 11, Lunch and Launch

A good holiday is one that is spent among people whose notions of time are vaguer than yours.—J.B. Priestley

We’re late, of course.   Kolkata traffic assured that.  My imagined Hindu deity in charge of schedules and itineraries and timetables must still be belly-laughing when we reach the RV Ganges Voyager.

The dining room serves lunch from noon to 1 P.M.   By the time all of us are on board and have exchanged our laminated boarding passes for our room keys, have enjoyed a glass of fruit juice, have made use of the cool, wet cloths offered on a tray, have left the used cloths on another tray, have deposited the empty juice glasses on another tray, have removed our street shoes for cleaning so we don’t track mud and whatever throughout the boat, and gone to our rooms for a moment, it’s close to 1:30.

Seafood soup, watermelon and cherries, pumpkin penne pasta, fruit chutney, bean sprout and banana flower salad, chicken biryani, and sauteed carrots.   I can't plead a salad plate this time.   I wanted to at least try everything, but there were far too many dishes available.

Bhadami Tikka --Indian Almond cake

 

Because we’re the only customers, the dining room has held lunch for us.  The problem is, we’re behind sailing schedule and that means we will not reach our first port of call in time to visit before it’s dark.   Management is extremely apologetic when it cancels that stop, but I take it in stride. 

That gives me an afternoon to unpack, download my photos onto my Surface Pro tablet and label them.   It also gives me time for a much-needed nap.   I’m free until five o’clock and then there will be a Vantage briefing, a welcoming cocktail party, and a port talk about tomorrow’s itinerary, all before dinner.

Unpacking doesn’t take long, nor does downloading the photos.   The boat is moving upriver now and I open the sliding glass doors to watch India go by.

These guys are harvesting sand from the river bottom with baskets attached to long poles.    The sand bags are stacked in the center of the boat.

The sand will be mixed with cement for mortar.

Passing a village.

I think this boat is loaded with rocks.   Good thing the river is calm because there's not much freeboard there.

 

Woman doing her laundry while kids wave at us.

 Occasionally people are surprised that I travel as a solo traveler.   While I love to travel with my friends, I tend to stick with those friends rather than seek out others in the group.  So traveling solo is good for me and makes me come out of my shy shell.   Also, other singles might make the effort to join me.   This is what happened at the first dinner on the RV Ganges Voyager.

I'm sitting by myself and Dinesh "Nish" Patel, born and raised in Kolkata but now living in Chicago and operating Mayflower Tours, asks to join me.     What a stroke of luck.   Now I have someone to tell me what I am eating.   

We are joined by Brian and Sandy from Colorado.  During the discussion about Indian food, Nish says he tends to eat vegetarian and says he feels better physically.   That reminds Brian of a joke in which a patient makes the same claim to his doctor and the doctor responds, "What I see is your sallow complexion, a big belly, and lots of flatulence."

Dinner is not a buffet but a fixed menu with several choices, and white table cloths with waiters in uniform.   This is a learning experience for them as well as for us.  I think tomorrow night will go much easier for some of the young waiters.

This is golgappe, a favorite appetizer and street food.   The shell is made from flour and is crispy and hollow, then filled with a potato/chickpea mixture, then quickly dipped in sweet tamarind water and eaten in one bite.   Again, the fluorescent lighting messes with the color and the dim light results in a blurry photo.

At the reception, Dinesh says, “India is a feeling.   You will need a holiday when you get back.”  The canapés served with cocktails look and taste like tater tots to me, served with a bowl of catsup.  Apparently catsup is a popular condiment in India.   All our Air India meals included a packet of catsup.

I swear these are tater tots served with catsup.

 

I have a hunch he’s right, but right now my feeling is that’s it early to bed because there’s a 6:30 wake-up call for tomorrow’s adventure.

The India Journals, Ch. 10, Later in the Kolkata Morning

Ch. 10, Later in the Kolkata Morning

You get educated by traveling. – Solange Knowles

One of the things I love about traveling is running smack dab into history, even if—as is the case with India—my knowledge of that history is woefully inadequate.   

Whether is be Aryans (Indo/Iranian or Indo/European), Persians, Greeks, Chinese nomads, Arabs, Turks, Mongols (Mughals(, Portuguese, British, or other assorted raiders, India has been attacked, invaded, occupied, and/or conquered for most of its history.    Even the Dutch and French came to India to plunder its riches.

Shortly after the Missionaries of Charities Mother House, our bus drops us off at an Anglican church called St. Johns.

Ho, hum, I think as I pass the Doric columns of the stately portico and stop to read and photograph the informational plaques so I know where I am and where I took the photos.   Inside, a church is a church, even if this one is centuries old.   There are interior columns and I think these are Corinthian.   I'm showing off to myself, smug that I still remember from high school history classes the types of classical Greek columns, when it is actually a measure of how much trivia fills my brain.

On this particular day I can't remember the third type of column,  Ionic, so it's good the church doesn't have any.

Corinthian columns.  

The seats in the nave, some with their original woven backs, get my attention, as does the sanctuary—briefly.  I tend to dislike ornate and expansive religious buildings, thinking the money expended could have been put to better use for the people.    Whatever deity the congregation prays to can hear just as well in a humble church.

Old caning on the back, new plastic on the bottom.

So, I cross the transept, looking for a painting that is the church’s pride.   Painted by Johann Zoffany, it is a representation of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, but with an India twist.

For information on this painting, see:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._John%27s_Church,_Kolkata

As long as I’m on that side of the nave, I wander down the aisle towards the exit, passing several plaques on the wall before I bother to read one. And that’s when I run into history and images flood my mind.  I read another plaque, and another, and more.   I imagine the native sepoy soldiers in red and blue and khaki with camels and horses and lances and curved swords, and British soldiers in white with pith helmets. 

These are memorials to British soldiers and civil servants who died in service to the country during Britain’s long colonization of India.  ...killed by lightning…, ...died in 1857 during the Indian mutiny siege of Lucknow,   ...died in battle in the assault on the fortified heights of Malow and died leading the charge after killing the chief of the enemy.   

I am moved by these plaques, thinking of the unknown people who mourned these fallen soldiers, and the men who fought them on the other side. These battles were monumental in British and Indian history and I walk away from the church with a new appreciation for India’s history and a need to learn more, especially about the siege of Lucknow.  (See the above link to read about a memorial to James Pattle.)

And, as long as we’re talking about the history of the British in India, our next stop is the Victoria Museum, originally built as a monument to Britain’s colony and to Queen Victoria.   This is from the Cultural India site:

The Victoria Memorial blends the best of the British and Mughal architecture. The Victoria Memorial hall was built with white Makrana marble. The Prince of Wales laid the foundation stone of Victoria Memorial in 1906 and it was inaugurated in 1921 in memory of Queen Victoria. The Victoria Memorial is 338 by 228 feet and a height of 184 feet.

After World War II, a 16 foot tall bronze statue of victory was added to the top of the central dome.

 

The "fog" appears to be a constant in Kolkata.

A Hobbit House on the grounds?

The other end of the Hobbit House.

As I walk back through the immaculate grounds of the Victoria Museum,  I notice some restoration work occurring  on one side of the edifice.  A network of scaffolding is erected for the safety of the workers.

As I get closer, I notice that India has put its own stamp on worker safety.   Yes, the men are wearing safety belts attached to ropes, but....

Do I see bare feet?

Are those toes hanging over the edge of the 2x10" plank?

Note the worker at right sitting on that narrow ledge.

The Hindustan Ambassador taxi cab, modeled after the United Kingdom's Morris Oxford, is manufactured in Kolkata.  It has a five speed manual transmission, which must be a tiring car to drive in that traffic.    Apparently there are rules for cabs at the Victoria Museum as only one cab was allowed to park in front of the entrance gate at a time.   There are no discernible rules for cabs on the on the streets of Kolkata that I could detect.

Then, the bus begins to beep and battle its way back to the Hooghli River through the mid-day traffic of Kolkata, back to the Ganges Voyager for lunch and the start of our cruise up the holy Ganga River.    

Kolkata traffic.

And this is when the Hindu god of schedules and itineraries and timetables, assuming, of course, there is such a deity and it has a sense of humor, who heretofore had hidden its smile discreetly and smothered its giggles politely, has a great belly laugh at our expense.

A street-side cafe.

Sidewalk barber shop.

India, pure India!

Carriages for hire.

Rickshaw

With the most uncomfortable seat ever.

Here comes another Muslin parade.

Cow in alley.

This cow is looking through trash for something to eat.

And, finally, a herd of goats, further snarling traffic.

Another cow.

This whole busload of women started waving at us!

Another cow in the trash.

Men bathing in the Ganga (Ganges).

Our country boat coming to get us.

Mary manuvering on the bamboo ramp.   That's Joanne from Vantage to the right of Mary.