Our first target was the Post Office. We decided to walk; it was, we were told, about a mile. When we arrived we encountered an unexpected problem: they had no stamps, they said, tho’ the person who had them would be arriving in, perhaps, 2 or 3 hrs. So we continued our walk, hoping to visit the Tribal Research Institute, another mile further on in the same direction. Along the way we were assailed by a local man, anxious to chat with us. His English was so stilted + repetitious, his manner, in translation at least, so condescending, that, tho’ I tried to maintain civility, I fear my boredom + distaste showed only too well. I do not suffer fools gladly, + tho’ in his own language he may not be so, in English he was most certainly a fool. He was able to tell us that the Institute was shut up + empty over the holiday, but we succeeded in terminating the interview + carried on walking that way. To return immediately would have entailed tacit acceptance of his invitation to tea. He succeeded in causing an argument between Val + me however, or at least was used as a weapon in it. Val was upset at the closure of the Institute – Rangamati had little enough to offer as it was – + tho’ we ummed + erred, going on + then turning back, then returning to check the situation with some soldiers (they spoke no English), eventually we gave up + plodded back. Val then decided to berate me for my treatment of the man on the road. I felt it to be most unfair, could not at first believe that she was serious, since she had seemed to share my opinions, + had only decided to attack me now, half an hour later. Fortunately, the wind of discord blew over quickly, + we were talking again by the time we reached the Post Office.
Now, it seemed, they were in a position to help us, tho’ we were distressed to discover it was a franking machine they had in mind – was it this they had been missing earlier? Fortunately, we were eventually able to persuade them to use those dreadfully old-fashioned things, stamps, but it was a treat to be able to watch the young woman putting other people’s mail thro’ the machine. She was obviously scared to death of the thing, holding each letter by the very edge with the tips of her fingers, + whisking her whole hand away violently as each letter was inserted, for fear of having her hand dragged thro’ + franked. (Would she have to pay the postage out of her own pocket?) Then, as the letter was shot thro’ the contraption + bulleted out the other side, she would bring her right hand down with a loud slap on the counter to trap it + prevent it slithering away. There was a rack provided for the purposes of catching the letters, but she disdained to use such a thing, + had removed it. The only good thing I can think of about using franking machines for ordinary mail was pointed out to me later by someone more used to the world’s corrupt ways – it stops PO employees stealing the stamps + destroying the mail.
In the afternoon, we took a taxi up to the Parjatan Motel, + hired a couple of canoes. It wasn’t, however, a successful outing. First, we weren’t dressed for the very wet sport. Secondly, we neither felt particularly secure nor had proper control of the vessel, even on the glassy water of the lake – for me, it was my first experience in a kayak. Thirdly, the weather was not good enough – it even began to rain. And finally, we were bored. I discovered for the activity the same feelings as I have for swimming, OK as a means of locomotion, tho’ hard work, but not much fun except in a large group, + combined with other things. So we weren’t sorry to keep the outing short.
We then sat on the swing for a little while, then, despite what I just said, I went for a swim, to cool off, + give my trousers more time to dry before we went to the hotel for a meal. We are tired of the standard Bengali food we have eaten, just curry, rice, chapattis, + various small snacks, so a large part of the attraction of the hotel was the more varied menu. Not that it turned out to be very special – we both had soup, followed by fish and chips. (Val’s was glorified by the name of fish meunier, but was barely different.) The service was good, tho’ idiosyncratic – bread + butter plates, but no bread + butter, empty dinner plates being put in front of us, followed by our dinner brought out on identical plates, + placed with serving spoons in the middle of the table. One could either do as I did, + transfer the food piece by piece from one plate to the other; or adopt the pragmatic approach, as Val did, + simply exchange the plates. We opted for dessert back at the small café near our own hotel, where it was cheaper. And, probably, better.
Not the greatest of days fior various reasons; sooner or later I am going to have to accept that I don’t much enjoy boats and all that goes with them
