We bailed on our guest house and relocated to a sweet communal place with a room on the rooftop, and so much character. The bed I was in last night had bugs in that fucked my night up. I read a lot and changed beds twice. Good news is I left the bugs there. They did not come with me.
The first order of business today was to find a bank and get money, which proved to be harder than I imagined. Jon was out getting a henna tattoo so Justin n' I walked around and found some cheap street food. We've all made the decision to be vegetarians here in India, because you just can't trust the meat. We met Jon walking with two kind Indian ladies who had him by both hands ushering him to an NGO, so we went along. What followed was a long-ass walk-about through the city of Kolkata. The good Doctor at the NGO was out for a long lunch so we went to the train station to book tickets to Varinasi.
The night completely unloaded a dump-truck of culture shock on us. I'm still buzzing from it. For the first time since I started traveling, I really felt out of my comfort zone in a righteous way. Being tired from walking all day, we laid off the booze and went for chai and a huge plate of ginger and garlic noodles at the corner tea shop, where people meet and things happen. And something happened; we got invited to a marijuana party that was part of a religious festival that went until 4 in the morning. The good man's name was Acter and it didn't take very long to realize that he was a known name in the west side of Kolkata. There was a small group of us sitting around choppin' it up with him- a Nepali dude with a Spanish girlfriend, a Swedish couple and us. Acter told us proudly that smoking marijuana was part of the many slices of the religious pie in India. The festival that we were going to was very important and over 5,000 people were attending. What he didn't mention was that it was a predominantly Muslim crowd of dudes who were not used to foreigners, especially with woman at their special event. Getting in was no problem. At that point everything seemed exciting. We all sat down on big blanket and met Acter's "Students", 2 guys around our age dressed in very traditional Indian clothing. I asked Acter what he taught and he responded by saying "I am a teacher of Life." His students nodded as we shook hands with more of his friends who joined us in a circle around the blanket. I learned fast that it was fairly important to always keep the circle closed. Acter had a large crew. Every one of them brought their own grass and began to engage in a somewhat ceremonial method of breaking up the weed and then using a small cap-full of water to work it within their hands. It was like watching a dance, complete with clapping and twitchy finger movements. Then they packed it into a chillum and gave it to Acter who hit it like a fuckin' champ. The chillum went around in steady rotation and of course, we got stoned and I had to go take a deuce in the woods. Acter asked if I needed any help from one of his students and I declined. I feel I've mastered the art of shitting in the woods for quite some time now and I didn't need a guide to walk me there. I was confidently stoned. The chillum kept going around with only small breaks for water and tea drinking out of small hand-made cups of clay that are traditionally smashed and left on the ground after wards. You'll find them all over the streets of Kolkata. The whole group of us outsiders had the same question: "Why do you smash the cups? Why don't you wash them and use them again?" To which Acter replied: "Because we are rich. This keeps people working and making more cups." The night progressed and more n' more people came in and out of the circle to smoke while a crowd of hypnotized looking Indians would gather round and stare hard, unreadable stares until Acter would say something in Hindi and stare back and then they would scatter like mice. It was very strange and the general impression on me was that they were almost as uncomfortable as I was. Acter sensed it in all of us and explained that they were "entertained by our difference." He demonstrated his seniority of the people many times by short words and facial expressions. But as soon as one group was shooed away, another would collect and approach. There were friendly ones that shook our hands and said hello, but the majority just stared hard. It was a hell of a time to be really high, but I got the hang of it and only hesitated once when I was offered a cow's liver with naan bread. First and last time on that snack.
The only moment of heavy sweating was when three elders walked by dressed in white clothing with scarves that made them look important. Only one of them said something said something low under his breath and Acter didn't look up and stare back or say much at all. They passed by at an eerily slow pace while my brain sped up and began sorting through the files of every crazy thing I'd heard or read or been fed about Muslims. It became a battle between conscience and imagination. When the Swedish couple headed to the woods to pee together there was a mild roar of voices from every direction. Acter stood up instantly and scoured. Things calmed down and he directed one of his students to take them to a better place. When they finally returned after 40 minutes, they told us that the guy took them to his own house to use his clean toilet.
The crowd got bigger around us and the clock struck twelve. The 6 of us felt it was time to go so Acter made a call and had a car waiting for us outside. All we had to do was make it through the masses, walking like a tight line of kindergarten kids. The car was too small for 6 people. Including the 2 students we had 8. Five in the back, three in the front. We wedged in before we noticed that the car was stuck in between a fleet of motorbikes. It took 5 minutes to move them to make enough room to thread the car backwards. As soon as we got out onto the road the Nepali dude turned to me and said "This guy is the best driver" and then smiled an illegal smile. What followed was, as of now, the craziest drive of my life. Instead of taking the main street straight back to our guest house, he chose the narrowest, bumpiest, dog inhabited streets in the city. The first few streets were surprisingly alive with young kids playing cricket. There were so many people of all ages out there it was hard to believe that it was almost 1am. The driver (student #1) kept the peddle down pretty well and laid the horn on like a machine gun. Every other speed bump the car would bottom out and scrape it's belly on the ground. The Spanish girl was so overwhelmed, she kept saying "oops, oops!", every time we almost hit a dog or went head on into the the bright lights of another car. There were many close calls, but at that point, the whole experience of the night was sinking in and I was thankful and collected, already beginning to write the memories in my head.
Read Day 3
The first order of business today was to find a bank and get money, which proved to be harder than I imagined. Jon was out getting a henna tattoo so Justin n' I walked around and found some cheap street food. We've all made the decision to be vegetarians here in India, because you just can't trust the meat. We met Jon walking with two kind Indian ladies who had him by both hands ushering him to an NGO, so we went along. What followed was a long-ass walk-about through the city of Kolkata. The good Doctor at the NGO was out for a long lunch so we went to the train station to book tickets to Varinasi.
The night completely unloaded a dump-truck of culture shock on us. I'm still buzzing from it. For the first time since I started traveling, I really felt out of my comfort zone in a righteous way. Being tired from walking all day, we laid off the booze and went for chai and a huge plate of ginger and garlic noodles at the corner tea shop, where people meet and things happen. And something happened; we got invited to a marijuana party that was part of a religious festival that went until 4 in the morning. The good man's name was Acter and it didn't take very long to realize that he was a known name in the west side of Kolkata. There was a small group of us sitting around choppin' it up with him- a Nepali dude with a Spanish girlfriend, a Swedish couple and us. Acter told us proudly that smoking marijuana was part of the many slices of the religious pie in India. The festival that we were going to was very important and over 5,000 people were attending. What he didn't mention was that it was a predominantly Muslim crowd of dudes who were not used to foreigners, especially with woman at their special event. Getting in was no problem. At that point everything seemed exciting. We all sat down on big blanket and met Acter's "Students", 2 guys around our age dressed in very traditional Indian clothing. I asked Acter what he taught and he responded by saying "I am a teacher of Life." His students nodded as we shook hands with more of his friends who joined us in a circle around the blanket. I learned fast that it was fairly important to always keep the circle closed. Acter had a large crew. Every one of them brought their own grass and began to engage in a somewhat ceremonial method of breaking up the weed and then using a small cap-full of water to work it within their hands. It was like watching a dance, complete with clapping and twitchy finger movements. Then they packed it into a chillum and gave it to Acter who hit it like a fuckin' champ. The chillum went around in steady rotation and of course, we got stoned and I had to go take a deuce in the woods. Acter asked if I needed any help from one of his students and I declined. I feel I've mastered the art of shitting in the woods for quite some time now and I didn't need a guide to walk me there. I was confidently stoned. The chillum kept going around with only small breaks for water and tea drinking out of small hand-made cups of clay that are traditionally smashed and left on the ground after wards. You'll find them all over the streets of Kolkata. The whole group of us outsiders had the same question: "Why do you smash the cups? Why don't you wash them and use them again?" To which Acter replied: "Because we are rich. This keeps people working and making more cups." The night progressed and more n' more people came in and out of the circle to smoke while a crowd of hypnotized looking Indians would gather round and stare hard, unreadable stares until Acter would say something in Hindi and stare back and then they would scatter like mice. It was very strange and the general impression on me was that they were almost as uncomfortable as I was. Acter sensed it in all of us and explained that they were "entertained by our difference." He demonstrated his seniority of the people many times by short words and facial expressions. But as soon as one group was shooed away, another would collect and approach. There were friendly ones that shook our hands and said hello, but the majority just stared hard. It was a hell of a time to be really high, but I got the hang of it and only hesitated once when I was offered a cow's liver with naan bread. First and last time on that snack.
The only moment of heavy sweating was when three elders walked by dressed in white clothing with scarves that made them look important. Only one of them said something said something low under his breath and Acter didn't look up and stare back or say much at all. They passed by at an eerily slow pace while my brain sped up and began sorting through the files of every crazy thing I'd heard or read or been fed about Muslims. It became a battle between conscience and imagination. When the Swedish couple headed to the woods to pee together there was a mild roar of voices from every direction. Acter stood up instantly and scoured. Things calmed down and he directed one of his students to take them to a better place. When they finally returned after 40 minutes, they told us that the guy took them to his own house to use his clean toilet.
The crowd got bigger around us and the clock struck twelve. The 6 of us felt it was time to go so Acter made a call and had a car waiting for us outside. All we had to do was make it through the masses, walking like a tight line of kindergarten kids. The car was too small for 6 people. Including the 2 students we had 8. Five in the back, three in the front. We wedged in before we noticed that the car was stuck in between a fleet of motorbikes. It took 5 minutes to move them to make enough room to thread the car backwards. As soon as we got out onto the road the Nepali dude turned to me and said "This guy is the best driver" and then smiled an illegal smile. What followed was, as of now, the craziest drive of my life. Instead of taking the main street straight back to our guest house, he chose the narrowest, bumpiest, dog inhabited streets in the city. The first few streets were surprisingly alive with young kids playing cricket. There were so many people of all ages out there it was hard to believe that it was almost 1am. The driver (student #1) kept the peddle down pretty well and laid the horn on like a machine gun. Every other speed bump the car would bottom out and scrape it's belly on the ground. The Spanish girl was so overwhelmed, she kept saying "oops, oops!", every time we almost hit a dog or went head on into the the bright lights of another car. There were many close calls, but at that point, the whole experience of the night was sinking in and I was thankful and collected, already beginning to write the memories in my head.
Read Day 3
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