International Withdrawals

Sept. 27ish, 2012

My first few days in Kolkata, as exhausting as they were, were remarkably exhilarating. I spent a lot of time trying to get my bearings and revisit old favorite spots. I finally got my dish of raj kachori, and it tasted every bit as incredible as I remembered it. The smooth curd, soft potato and crunchy kachori played off each other well, while the sweet and spicy chutneys performed a powerful dance all over my tongue. Like my last time in India, though, my appetite was seriously curbed by whatever forces there were. I was more adventurous in my eating than ever, but for some reason I was unable to put away more than two small meals a day, and even those were a challenge.

After closer inspection, a lot had changed in the immediate vicinity of Kolkata. A large portion of the crusty old New Market had been renovated, apparently after being ravaged by fire. Instead of grimy stalls in the front, there were glass windows selling name brand sports equipment and luggage. More surprisingly, though, the touts were neither overly desperate or as numerous as I remembered. Before, there was a small army of men in white shalwar suits carrying baskets that would try to direct you to various shops to get commission. While I could never stand them before, I missed the fun challenge of trying to get rid of them while navigating the market. They were still there, but much less likely to ruin your market experience. The market itself was no longer as crowded as it used to be either, and what was once an exhilarating experience, was now relatively dull. The meat market within, though, was still as smelly as ever.

I had changed my Thai Baht into Rupees at the airport, but when that ran out, I went to an ATM, my preferred method of money management when abroad. To my disappointment, none of the machines seemed to be working. It was not the biggest shock, but on the second day of attempting to withdraw, I suspected something worse when it failed repeatedly. I made a phone call to mother and asked her to call the bank. It could have been worse, but basically the bank had shut off my card when they saw that I was trying to withdraw from INDIA. Of course, a lot of this is because I still bank with my small Idaho bank that is not used to withdrawals being made from such obscure places. At the same time, though, I only keep this bank because they are not used to dealing with international withdrawals, and therefore don’t seem to bother with putting steep fees on these transactions. It was only recently that they started charging anything, and even now it is only $1.50 per withdrawal, which is a pittance compared to what most banks charge. Still, it was strange how I could travel through Europe, or Southeast Asia without problem, but as soon as I got to India, they had cause for suspicion. They had done the same thing to me in Mauritania, but that time they had completely cancelled my card, certain that my security had been “compromised”. Anyway, it would take a couple days for the bank to get my card back on. In the meantime I would have to exchange the last of my emergency dollars. In Africa I had carried nearly a thousand dollars, half of it in Euros, but never needed it. Then I spent most of it in France and Cambodia (where they take dollars and have extremely high ATM fees) and had just a few 20’s left.

While some of the dingy old guest houses with $3 beds were still intact, there were a lot more hotels reaching for tourists and travelers with a little more money and desire for comfort. After inspection, though, many of these hotels, that charged four times more than their budget counterparts had only invested in the façade and image. While they had fancy signs and a modern air-conditioned reception area, the rooms were tiny, stuffy and sometimes damp. My room, on the other hand, was nothing to look at, but had high ceilings, a powerful fan, big windows facing a quiet street, two beds and plenty of space. More importantly, though, it had several common areas where you could hang out with your fellow travelers in the evening. Kolkata is one of the rare places where I prefer to spend my evenings with some fellow travelers sipping beers rather than seeking out a local spot to have a drink. Unlike in places like the Philippines or Ghana, the local drinking spots are terribly depressing and even I don’t find them worth going to. There are upscale bars and clubs as well, but they charge covers, have strict dress codes and the drinks cost as much as two days in my hotel. Also, I find the traveler community in Kolkata more inspiring than most. People are there for all different reasons. Most of all though, the nature of Kolkata tends to keep the wild revelers looking for spring break atmosphere relegated to the tiny state of Goa. After Cambodia, specifically Sihanoukville, I needed some change. I had been having a great time, partying and what not, but Kolkata rocked me back into a sober world, which I needed for a bit of focus. It was a serious cold turkey as well, since I arrived during state elections, and the sale of alcohol was forbidden for my first few days. It was a more dramatic change in day to day life than I expected, but was embracing it. I was trading one combo of chaos and calm (dance floors and beach) for another (the city and the sobriety). I finally had some time all by myself. After Lise left Cambodia and I didn’t want to be alone, I had found myself avoiding loneliness by spending so much time with other travelers. Now I could spend more time on my room, walking the city, reading in my room or having a quiet meal alone. It was a special few days for me.

One of my earliest missions in Kolkata was to seek out solid information about getting a visa to Pakistan. Yes, a big goal of mine was to make it there during this trip to India. I knew that getting the visa would be a big challenge as I had been reading about it on online travel forums. The most current information I could get was about a year old, and it said that it was still possible for an American to get a visa to Pakistan in Delhi. It is a notoriously unstable situation, though, that mostly has to do with India and Pakistan’s rickety relations. Additionally, though, recent killing of Osama bin Laden and Pakistan’s increasingly unstable relation with America wouldn’t help my case either. I went to an STD (phone) booth and called the Pakistan embassy in Delhi to get an answer. After a few tries, I finally got through, and explained my situation. Before I could even finish, though, I was cut off, being told, “No, it is not possible”. “What if I…” “No! Not possible!” Click. Well, that was that. I mean, I could have explored other means of getting to Pakistan, but my time was restricted with other obligations and didn’t have time to hang out in Delhi for weeks trying various ways to get a visa. I figured I could check again in a month, but my hopes were severely diminished.

I was enjoying Kolkata, but I had some ambition boiling. Although I was alone in Cambodia, I had business to take care of that dictated what I was doing from day to day. Now I had a few days where I could do whatever I wanted. So after a few days in Kolkata, I decided to go north. Over the past year of travel, I had had all sorts of landscapes in front of me. Jungle, desert, beach, city, countryside, etc. The only thing I was yearning for was mountains. Most places I had been in were either flat or coastal, and I was feeling like I hadn’t had any thin mountain air in far too long. So I was heading to Sikkim, the semi-autonomous mountainous kingdom wedged between West Bengal, Nepal, China and Bhutan.

The day before leaving, I went to the train ticket office. Since I had last been in India, they had created a new system for reservations for foreigners. This one of the rare instances of feeling that India was actually creating a convenience for me. The other options were to buy a ticket at a travel agency close to where I stayed and pay extra in commission or go to the regular ticket office and wait in line for hours, quite possibly to find that the tickets had been sold out long ago. Instead I could go to the foreigner ticket office and purchase one of the allotted number of tickets for foreigners. I was impressed with this system and felt almost guilty for the convenience. While at the office I met a group of Sri Lankan Muslims in white robes and big beards. They were friendly men, just coming from Bangladesh where they said they were meeting with some brothers. It was interesting that even though they were from the same region, we could still have a chat about traveling since they were also foreigners to Kolkata.

The next evening I made my way to the train station. I took a bus to Babu Ghat, directly across the river from Howrah Station. I got on a passenger ferry and crossed the Hooghly River. It was my first time taking this route to the station and it was an enjoyable new experience to traverse this large, holy tributary of the Ganges and see a wonderful view of the city and the Howrah Bridge in the hazy dusk. Upon reaching the station, I was stifled by the crowds and chaos. It was the same as it was the first time I had been there, but don’t remember being this overwhelmed. Thousands of people were forcing their way through the other thousands of people to get to and from their trains. In the midst of this, there were masses of homeless people that made the open floors of the train station their home. The stories of the people that ended up in the train station with nowhere else to go were as varied and diverse as India itself. The station was not just a transportation hub, but a living, breathing hub of humanity. While most people were on their way to and from a destination, there was a huge contingent engaged in various forms of commerce, hustling and basic survival. It was a fascinating setting, but I didn’t have much time to kill. I needed to fill some water bottles, buy some samosas for the journey and get to my train platform.

I had scored a top bunk on the 2^nd class sleeper train. It’s not the lowest class, but for it is the rare instance where I will pay the extra dollar for comfort. The extra dollar guarantees that you are not standing or sitting on the floor as well as having a bed to sleep in. However there are a few classes above that guarantee you things like air conditioning, no cockroaches, blankets and meals. Frills to me. Let’s go!

I had finally pared down my pack by leaving most of my stuff in Kolkata. I now had a small backpack and my little orange bag from the Philippines. It felt liberating to travel with the bare essentials. I got into my upper berth and stretched out on the vinyl-covered blue shelf of a bed. The family below tried not to acknowledge my presence but I caught them glancing up at me regularly as they ate their meal out of a collection of thick foil packaging. Although my spot was cozy in a unique way, I didn’t sleep well through the night. I didn’t care though. I felt this was going to be a good adventure, and for that you don’t need sleep.