The dry season?

I woke up this morning with the fever back at full strength, and generally feeling pretty crappy, so I was determined to head to the clinic recommended by the Missionaries of Charity. I even showered and shaved, since I was actually going someplace today, and I didn't want the doctor to have too miserable a time examining me. Then I got a little surprise (taken half way down the stairwell of my hotel, looking out on Sudder Street):
This isn't supposed to happen here after September, but like everywhere else in the world, the weather's started breaking all the rules these last few years. I suddenly had even more respect for folks in New Orleans who had to swim through grungy floodwaters, but I really can't imagine a more vile liquid than Calcutta floodwaters. I mean, I knew exactly what was being deposited along the sides of the road. We're not talking a sewage treatment plant miles away overflowing slightly, this is a street that's a sewer on the best of days, and now it's knee deep!
Here you can see a couple of cargo bikes. Everyone wants to stay at the crest of the road, where it's maybe only 6" deep (instead of beyond knee deep along the sides, in the rare spots where you don't have potholes, or "road craters" as they aptly called the one that killed a local Everest climber here a couple days ago). It wasn't clear how far the taxis could go - they usually stay off the roads when it floods, leaving rickshaws and wading as the only options.

In general, I find the whole idea of rickshaws to be terribly dehumanizing. There's the argument that this is all the rickshaw-wallah knows how to do, and his only possible means of support is hauling people around on his back. However, that argument has been used to explain any number of injustices in the world, and I just don't buy it.

Then I thought about wading through raw sewage for a mile, and my holier-than-thou attitude get rationalized right out the window. I mean, he's more likely to be immune to what's in the water than I am, right? Who am I to deny him a job?
"Hello Mr. Rickshaw Driver. Please take me to Eastern Diagnostics."

He pulls over to the sidewalk, and I almost manage to get in without getting one Teva-clad foot in the muck. This leaves me in a slight state of shock, and I don't even think about taking more pictures as we weave our way through the chaos and road craters (though the images are sure burned into my brain). Then he goes right past the clinic and around the corner. I'm thinking, maybe he's being clever, and there's a back entrance that's less flooded, but no.

"Mother house?" he asks. Despite his seeming understanding of my previous request, this is the only place he knows to take people staying Sudder Street. So I get out, and he says the fare's the equivalent to 50 cents, which seems way too low for what he just went through, so I double it. Then I start the slow shuffle a block back to the clinic, taking care not to splash the knee-deep sewage any higher than absolutely necessary. And also not gag, as I feel slimy invisible things wrap around my ankles.

When I get to the clinic, it's all very professional and efficient, proceeding as though nothing is out of the ordinary (though the floor's a little damp). They have two bouncers, one each for the outer and inner doors. After I briefly describe my condition, they page the doctor, and say it'll be about 10 min (it turned out he had to drive from the hospital to meet with me). I have a nice conversation with a well-educated older Hindu gentleman, who drove into town to try to get his wife's heart surgery moved up. Like everyone here, he has endless stories about Mother Theresa, including seeing a halo over her head the first time he saw her walking down the street, before he even knew who she was. As he put it, she gave hope to everyone in one of the most desperate places on earth. Things are still rough, but vastly better than before she came. Even if you're not religious, the impact she's made on everyone here is astonishing.

Then the doctor enters, whisks me up to his office, and does a brisk, yet thorough exam. I'd kept a careful log of symptoms, temperature readings (converted in Celsius), times I'd taken medication to reduce the fever, its effect, etc. I know this seems rather paranoid (I've not done anything like this before), but after feeling a little dizzy and incoherent the first day, I wasn't sure I'd be able to remember the relevant details. He patiently listens, and takes lots of notes. He's also pleased to see I've had so many immunizations, as that certainly narrows the possibilities.

He's pretty sure I've just got the usual bacterial infection most tourists get, and prescribes the full set of treatments: a targeted antibiotic, rehydration salts (basically powdered gatorade), anti-nausia pills (if I need them), and prescription grade Tylenol for the fever. However, being Calcutta, he wants to be sure that I don't have any of the more serious illnesses that are common here currently, including Malaria (which you can still catch, even when taking the pills) and Dengue Fever (a less universally lethal hemoragic virus related to Ebola). See below:
The doctor's house call ended up only costing $5, and all the drugs another $2! The tests were quite a bit more ($72), but seem reasonable, as the early symptoms are quite similar. Plus, my World Nomads insurance should cover everything. In another half hour, I get to go find out the results. All in all, a great place to get sick!

Later in the day, I gave up on using the rickshaws, as I'd already had to wade through some of it, and the water level had dropped a bit. I just made sure to dash back to the hotel and thoroughly scrub my feet and sandals as often as possible.

Today's adventures have caused me to revise my plans a bit. I had been hoping to head south of here, into the mangroves for a couple days to try to see some tigers, and I wanted to have a couple of healthy days to finally explore Kolkata. With the monsoons apparently back with a fury, that doesn't appeal to me at all. Guess where the Hooghly river that all of Kolkata drains into goes? (hint: not uphill) There are many other places to see tigers up close in the wild here, including the park where Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book was based (believe it or not, it was loosely based on a true story).

So, assuming my medical tests come back clean, tomorrow will be spent trying to get train tickets to Darjeeling, which requires going to 2 or 3 parts of the city, and hopefully getting a reservation for the following day (I'm certainly not the only one fleeing town, so the pool of tickets they reserve for foreign tourists may be out). It's supposed to be rainy there too, but there are apparently lots of cool places to hole up in that small town, and the water at least has someplace to go!

At least I feel like I've had a fascinating time in Kolkata, which is really what I was after, though it almost got too interesting. But, I really don't want to spend any more of my vacation here.

On a lighter note, I thought I'd mention a few other travellers I've met over the last couple days. You really can't help but meet people here. The restaurant etiquette around here seems to be to sit down across from another traveller, even if every other table is empty. It surprised me a little, but since there are so many solo travellers here, it's nice never to eat alone (whether you like it or not).

• A somewhat jaded but fascinating journalist from San Francisco, doing a lengthy investigation about how pretty much all the deep wells put in by the Peace Corps over the last 30 years here and elsewhere (to try to save lives by providing clean drinking water) are actually killing far more people than the unclean surface water they replaced. I won't go into more details, for fear of stealing his story, but I'll link to it as soon as he's done. He was really bummed, as his trusty Leica camera had just jammed up. It turns out there's noplace in India that can repair them, and nowhere that can even sell similar cameras legitimately. Also, nobody will insure shipments of such stuff into India (not even DHL, who's known for getting things reliably through the most corrupt African countries), since way too many things disappear when going through Indian customs. Like me, nobody will read his stories unless he has pictures, so he was really frustrated.
• Two women from Ireland, volunteering at Kolkata Rescue, as they didn't think much of the overtly Catholic message of the Missionaries of Charity (which seems a little odd, coming from a Catholic country). They later saw me going by on my rickshaw today, and scowled fiercely at me for using one, as they staggered through the deep sewage. They claimed to have been here for a couple weeks without getting sick - we'll see how long that lasts now.
• 2 more Californians at breakfast today. One young woman from San Bernardino, who's taking a 2-week vacation from teaching English in Bangkok. She's trying to head to Darjeeling tomorrow too, followed by Sikkim, just as I am. The other woman was from San Diego, who's here with a group from her university. As I've said in past travels, is it just me, or are Californians the only Americans that really get out and travel? We're 4 for 4 of the Americans on this street.
• An older gentleman from Iowa (finally, a non-Californian), sitting next to me here at Netfreaks. He too is trying to head to Darjeeling tomorrow. He showed me the forecast, but assured me there were many cool things to do there, no matter the weather.
  

Anyway, I'm late for my test results, so I better run (which I can do, now that the streets are dry)! Hopefully one more, briefer update before I leave town, including a bit about Luxman, the elderly little Indian who's practically treated me like his grandson at the hotel (and maybe even a picture of him, if he'll let me).

Be sure to check out the photo gallery - several more flood pics, and a few final ones from Taipei, starting on page 5.