And the prize for the least amount of food eaten today goes to me! This was the food from the company canteen where I am working. All vegetables and all in a burn your mouth sauce. Served delightfully on prison trays.
The place is immaculately clean but unfortunately for me mild sauces here are our version of hot in the UK.
I can feel my waistline shrinking. I have started daydreaming of chocolate, crisps and pizza already.
While my colleagues all munched through the sauce I am ashamed to say I merely munched on dry rice and pancake bread.
However I can say that the little ball for desert is wonderfully sweet. They would only let me have one though. Rations are strictly dished out by a troop of servers.
You cannot even make a drink in the office, a young man pops up to do it for you.
I am witnessing so much poverty here just from the taxi as we weave by. Shocking, and yet the overall feel is of a very upbeat and vibrant city, lots of people on the go all the time and all smiling.
Starving, we are off for a specially organised meal tonight. I am hoping it is mild…this evening will be rude to not eat with our hosts.
Milk ordered.
[Posted from Mrs Foggs super cool iphone]
It is early evening here and I am sat by the pool resting and feeding the midges. This is the view of the hotel from the pool and of my room (open curtains half way up).
Ah the luxury of air con. Our expert driver promptly loaded us into the surprisingly posh car for the hotel and set off on the 45 minute journey to the hotel. Mr Italy found it hilarious that I buckled up instantly telling me that Italians are of course aggressive drivers so this should be Childs play. Wow. There are no lanes to drive in. You look in the direction of travel and aim for it. Buses crammed with people, little put put taxis, cyclists galore, cows, pedestrians, old cars, new cars, old men and men in tatters with battered and shredded pedal taxis, all aiming somewhere. The trick, according to our driver is to be clear where you are going and inform everyone else by using your horn. All you can hear are horns blaring. Vehicles weave toward each other, cows pick the odd blade of grass in the middle of the main road, sellers peddle their wares at the edge of the roads- a makeshift outdoor restaurant, mobile phone shops made from tarpaulin and two bits of string. The poverty and squallor here us visible just from the car.
Greetings from Kolkata. I arrived this morning at 7.30 to the grubbiest airport I have ever seen. Arriving was a simple affair and my colleague
Ah Mrs Fogg, how much of India will you actually see, can’t eat onions, pepper or mayonnaise, hate curry or anything spicey. Wow are you in twubble then.
Having spent the best part of the night standing on us, pawing us and generally being a right royal pain, it would appear that Mr Spike is now tired and making most of the sunshine streaming in.
So in approx 48hrs I’ll be in Kolkata (that’s Calcutta to you and I) working. I’m nearly packed and have all the vitals in hand:
Ah back to London with a bump, after a 1 hour delay setting off from Changi (waiting for passengers and luggage from another flight), which is pristinely clean, no dirt, perfect airport.
What a fantastic week, we are sat here for one last drink in the Shangri-La lobby before the trip to the airport and then megaflight home, well to Heathrow initially, then it’s the Yotel for a few hours before the motorway slog.