July 12, 2008, Kolkata, India, (1000207, building the streets of Kolkata), Kolkata is a warm tropical place with heavy rains (Monsoons). We are in the monsoon season. You sweat here and sweat a lot. We have visited the extreme wealthy schools (private) that produce some of the best minds in the country (world) to the ghetto schools (private) that educate the students in the ghetto. We are talking the poorest of the poor. We visited a one-room school and had a discussion with the teachers. It was incredible what they do with so little money. Kids do not have to attend school in India. They have a right to, but it is not required. Many kids work for their parents. This town is much poorer that Delhi. It takes awhile to adjust to the extreme poverty. I am staying in five star hotels through out India, but as I sit here and write I can hear the constant honking of horns. A New York taxi cab driver would not make it here. Sometimes the rides are very scary. As I look outside I can also see a rare piece of lawn belong to a temple and thousands of people streaming by along with ox carts, rickshaws, bike rickshaws, herds of goats, bikes loaded with live chickens, trucks, motorcycles, beggars, dogs, vendors, autos, and taxis. Very few people drive. In America we do minivans. I think in Calcutta the motorcycle has become the minivan of India. The husband drives, the child in the middle and the woman sits sidesaddle. It is spectacular to see.
We visited (first Americans) a vegetation waste facility. It is the biggest mountain of garbage I have ever seen. It is a compost-recycling center. We had come to visit the rag picker community, the people that sort the garbage. Our professor made the arrangements and the facility did not like us being there so they booted us very quickly. We toured the muddy roads of a rural community in an air-conditioned bus and sometimes the bus went four wheeling. The composted waste gets dumped out onto these fields were farmers grow crops. The interesting thing is there is no check for environmental pollution and there is tons of plastic in the waste stream. The farmer pulls the small pieces of plastic out like a farmer would pull the rocks out from were I live. The farmer takes the rocks and makes fences; the farmers have piles of plastic along the edge of the fields. One would not believe anything would grow in the soil by its physical appearance. The farmers live in lean-to houses and small shacks. The families are very poor and the children work the fields. The vegetables provide food for the many millions that live in the city. We were told 6 million people commute everyday into Kolkata.
I visited many Hindu temples, Catholic churches, and Quean Victoria’s Memorial took a couple river tours to view temples and got out to visit the home of Mother Theresa. I have a great Hindu temple story but it is too long to tell. Americans can be separated from their money very quickly if you are not careful.
My final story is about the people on the streets selling every item you can think of to the tourist. They press you really hard, follow you for a ways and let you know that they have a family to feed. At Queen Victoria’s memorial the usual people where there, the guys selling cheap plastic bangles, the post card guy and the guy with monkeys looking for tourist to pay to take pictures of them. The police clear them out very quickly as monkeys are illegal. My ticket cover for the memorial had a picture that looked like a post card. As we exited the gate waiting for the bus, the normal street vendors start hitting us up. They just don’t take no for an answer. I decided to try to sell my post card to the post card guy. So I approach him and started yelling, (50 rupees, 50 rupees). The look on his face was shock. He didn’t know what to do. I crept into his personal space and he backed off. Yes, I had him know I thought and I kept at him. He was back peddling trying to get me to go away. Then he realized I had pushed him out of the prime selling area. Then he got mad. I just turned and started on the Bangle kid. He Bangle kid had watched the whole event and was a little amused. I kept at him and kept at him trying to sell him my post card. He finally stopped, smiled and traded me one Bangle for my post card. Now I am on to something. I want to see what I can trade my Bangle for next. Maybe I can be like the guy the traded the paperclip for a house. It is a beautiful city; you just have to find the beauty.
We visited (first Americans) a vegetation waste facility. It is the biggest mountain of garbage I have ever seen. It is a compost-recycling center. We had come to visit the rag picker community, the people that sort the garbage. Our professor made the arrangements and the facility did not like us being there so they booted us very quickly. We toured the muddy roads of a rural community in an air-conditioned bus and sometimes the bus went four wheeling. The composted waste gets dumped out onto these fields were farmers grow crops. The interesting thing is there is no check for environmental pollution and there is tons of plastic in the waste stream. The farmer pulls the small pieces of plastic out like a farmer would pull the rocks out from were I live. The farmer takes the rocks and makes fences; the farmers have piles of plastic along the edge of the fields. One would not believe anything would grow in the soil by its physical appearance. The farmers live in lean-to houses and small shacks. The families are very poor and the children work the fields. The vegetables provide food for the many millions that live in the city. We were told 6 million people commute everyday into Kolkata.
I visited many Hindu temples, Catholic churches, and Quean Victoria’s Memorial took a couple river tours to view temples and got out to visit the home of Mother Theresa. I have a great Hindu temple story but it is too long to tell. Americans can be separated from their money very quickly if you are not careful.
My final story is about the people on the streets selling every item you can think of to the tourist. They press you really hard, follow you for a ways and let you know that they have a family to feed. At Queen Victoria’s memorial the usual people where there, the guys selling cheap plastic bangles, the post card guy and the guy with monkeys looking for tourist to pay to take pictures of them. The police clear them out very quickly as monkeys are illegal. My ticket cover for the memorial had a picture that looked like a post card. As we exited the gate waiting for the bus, the normal street vendors start hitting us up. They just don’t take no for an answer. I decided to try to sell my post card to the post card guy. So I approach him and started yelling, (50 rupees, 50 rupees). The look on his face was shock. He didn’t know what to do. I crept into his personal space and he backed off. Yes, I had him know I thought and I kept at him. He was back peddling trying to get me to go away. Then he realized I had pushed him out of the prime selling area. Then he got mad. I just turned and started on the Bangle kid. He Bangle kid had watched the whole event and was a little amused. I kept at him and kept at him trying to sell him my post card. He finally stopped, smiled and traded me one Bangle for my post card. Now I am on to something. I want to see what I can trade my Bangle for next. Maybe I can be like the guy the traded the paperclip for a house. It is a beautiful city; you just have to find the beauty.
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