Breakfast is included as part of the room rent, but it’s hardly worth bothering about – indifferent tea, 2 bits of bread + butter, an egg, a banana, so we polished that off quickly + went out again on the great box hunt. By chance, almost immediately we spotted a guy breaking up boxes out on the street, but none of them were really big enough. After some deliberation, we took 2, after paying what was undoubtedly an extortionate amount of money – 3 rupees per box. But we had already endured so much in looking for one of the blasted things, he could have named any price + we’d have forked it out, I’m sure. It was only when we walked back into the hotel courtyard bearing our tatty trophies that one of the men guarding the entrance pointed out a box sitting under the stairs that one of his colleagues had gotten for us. We had asked before for one, but there had been no sign that anything had been forthcoming. It meant jettisoning what we had, of course, but that could be done without a tear. We would also have to pay for the new box, but it was a mere 2 rupees more, + was both bigger + stronger. So we took it. A perfect fit, it was, for the lacquerware dinner set, the biggest item, with enough room to fit in everything else around the outside. We made some preliminary enquiries about selling our duty-free, but no-one even came close to offering what we wanted, so we left it. We don’t intend to carry it out of Calcutta, but otherwise we’re in no particular hurry.
Decided it was about time we did some sight-seeing, so walked down to the Victoria Memorial, a remarkable tribute to as well as final memento of, the Raj. Somebody in the Tony Wheeler book described it as “an unhappy attempt to build a British Taj Mahal”, or words to that effect, but that’s neither fair nor true – the similarities are superficial in the extreme. It was the exterior of the Memorial, the building itself, which impressed me more than the exhibits housed within, which were unimaginative. But then imagination was never really a quality to be looked for in the Victorian era. We wandered thro’ + took some photos of the outside, before wandering back across the Maidan, the huge open park which dominates the city. We tried to have a look at Fort William, but there really was little to see. The old fort for the benefit of whose guns the Maidan was created in the first place has now been incorporated into the modern + functioning army camp. What little one can see is unimpressive.
We ate a good lunch at the Blue Sky, a travellers’ café on Sudder St, then spent a couple of hours in the Indian Museum. It’s but a couple of hundred yards from the hotel, so the most convenient sight to see, + reasonably interesting, tho’ based on the old British model, so generally a little stuffy + hidebound for my taste. Also totally lacking in anything historical beyond caveman days – all is still too sensitive, I suppose.
Later in the afternoon, I cut Val’s hair up on the roof, after which we went out for a coffee. Val returned a little before me in order to listen to a play on the radio, + when I followed, 10 mins later, a group of local guys sitting in a tiny room opened onto the street called out to me as I passed to come in for a smoke. I quickly made 3 discoveries: 1. That the grass they had was stunningly powerful, 2 that my companions were the local buying + selling touts, 3 that they were interested solely in getting me stoned, so that I would either sell them my goods at ridiculously low prices or so that they could sell me theirs at ridiculously high. I pointed this out to them, in the nicest way. + one of them at least thought my perspicacity hilarious. But then he was several steps out of his brain at the time. I eventually broke clear, to be pursued all the way to the door of my hotel by this chap pressing hash upon me. At the hotel gate itself, it dropped to the floor + rolled away, but I think he was quick enough to grab it. Despite not bartering away all my worldly possessions, however, I was still a gibbering wreck – Val was not amused. But while she maintained stony silence + listened to her play, I dragged out the Walkman + listened to The Who – wonderful stuff.
We had already agreed that we would go for dinner tonight to Fairlawns, the frightfully British hotel just along the street. I was by no means sure that I would be able to cope with this, particularly as it meant running the gauntlet of the drug-crazed touts on the corner, but I had promised. And I certainly had an appetite. It was a remarkable experience. The surroundings were South Coast hotel, the service was British raj, the food was Olde England. Turbaned waiters glided around bearing food on silver platters, proffered for one to help oneself. And the food! Prawn cocktail. Onion soup. Roast beef, roast potatoes, Brussel sprouts, green beans, gravy. Trifle. Coffee. And remember, I was stoned. We decided it was the best meal out we had had, + tho’ in my case the judgment cannot be accepted as fair, Val was not similarly afflicted. In any event, it was a magical experience.
A much better day, with various encounters of note. Sadly, there is virtually nothing photographic to back it up, apart from those of the Vic memorial. So no record of the Fairlawn, or, of course, of my froends on the street.
