So I’m gone. I had only planned on one night in Bangkok on my way home, but staying here is not an option. I will go to Thailand and see if I can’t find a more pleasant way to spend my remaining few days here in Asia. There are places in Thailand that are a day’s journey away from Bangkok; Chang Mai, Phuket, to name only a couple that are certainly worth visiting. Perhaps I can arrange something once I get there. Who knows?

So all the plans I made to visit tea plantations are out the window. I’ve been to Bangkok once before, so I have some idea what to expect in Thailand, but I’m just going to have to wing this.

What the heck?

Besides, anything would be better than staying here in Calcutta.

I can’t get out of here fast enough.

Bangkok

I must say, it’s good to be back. This is still the developing world and all. But Thailand’s development outstrips India’s—at least the part of India I was in—by a millennium. About the only thing the two share in common is the heat and humidity.

But the weather isn’t a major bother at the moment, as I’m sitting by the pool at my luxury hotel and sipping a wonderful concoction they call a Fresh Breeze. It’s gin, triple sec, lemon juice and tonic. Very refreshing. Sort of like lemonade on steroids.

I think I’ll have another!

So where was I? Ah yes, in Calcutta. I did do more than just dodge beggars and find ways not to get to Darjeeling. After making up my mind to make a quick exit, I did take in as many sights as my time and state of mind allowed.

Not that there’s all that much to see in Calcutta. There are a few temples, museums, and monuments worth seeing. But by then I was kind of templed out, and from what I read in my guide book, the museums were in about the same condition as the rest of the city. So I settled on a monument, the Victoria monument, to be specific.

It’s a high-Raj style building—sort of cross between St. Paul’s in London and the Taj Mahal—with a huge statue of a grumpy-looking Queen Victoria glowering out front. Inside is an illuminating collection of paintings and historical artifacts, including the massive surveying instrument (whadyacallit, a theodolite? Help me out here, Steve) used by George Everest (yes, that Everest, the guy they named the mountain after) to do the first complete survey of India.

There’s also a whole gallery showing the history of the city, with emphasis on all the bad things the English did to the Indians, and what the Indians did to try to stop them. This gallery was also the only air-conditioned room in the monument, so naturally I am now pretty well versed in Calcutta’s sorry history.

Eventually I had seen about all I wanted to, and I reluctantly wandered back out into the steamy heat to trudge back to my hotel along the banks of the Hooghly River. A large swath of green called the Maidan borders the entire riverfront in this part of the city. It was originally cut out of the jungle so that nearby Fort William’s cannons had a clear line of fire, and is now Calcutta’s largest park. They call it the lungs of the city, but if so, it’s the lungs of a 98 year-old man who’s a two-pack a day smoker with a bad case emphysema.

Before I left Calcutta I wanted to do two things; take some pictures of the crush of rush-hour humanity crossing the Howrah bridge at sunset, and drop off the unused antibiotics my doctor had given me to the Missionaries of Charity at Mother Teresa’s hospital. He told me before I left that if I had no more need for them, they would be worth their weight in gold to the sisters there.

So after washing all the sweat and grime off of me at the hotel, I went back out to hire a taxi driver to take me to the bridge and then to the Mother House.

It was well before sunset when we drove away, but almost immediately we were bogged down in Calcutta’s traffic. The bridge was only about two miles away, but it soon became clear that we weren’t going anywhere. 45 minutes after setting off we had covered about a half mile. The sun was setting, and I just as I considered getting out and walking the remaining distance to the bridge, the afternoon monsoon rains let loose in a torrent. So much for that idea.

We inched along for a considerable amount of time in the pouring rain, but by then the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, and it seemed pointless to continue heading toward the bridge. It was dark.

Reluctantly I told the driver to forget the bridge, let’s go to the Mother House. But this was easier said than done, and it took the good part of another hour to get us there.

A high wall surrounds the hospital, and the only entrance is a big metal door, upon which I knocked and waited. And waited. And knocked again. And again. And then waited some more.

Finally, and old woman opened it and asked me what it was that I wanted. I explained that I had some medicine I no longer needed, and would like to give it to the hospital if they thought it could be of any use.

She eyed me briefly with suspicion—what, did she think I was there to rob the place? But then she ushered me into the courtyard and pointed to a bench against the wall. Wait for sister, she commanded.

Moments later one of the sisters came out and gratefully took my antibiotics and blessed my family and me.

So, with the sister’s blessing and a lighter medicine bag, I retired to my hotel to pack up for the next day’s flight to Bangkok.

The ride to the airport the next morning gave me another view of the city as we sped along. But even in the dawn of a new day, a day that would see me escape from Calcutta, the city was still a picture of unrelenting misery.

Don’t go. That’s my advice to anyone who’s interested.

We went through another very thorough security check at the airport before boarding. But three hours later I was in a taxi in Bangkok, driving in air-conditioned splendor toward my luxury hotel. I was a happy guy.

But I’ll be much happier soon, when the next flight wings me across the Pacific and back home. For now I’m just going to relax and do a little taking of the waters, as it were.

This traveling stuff. It gets old.

My stay in Bangkok was a short one. For a day I investigated options for remaining in Thailand, but none of them made much sense to me. Sure I could have gone up north to Chang Mai and see more Buddhist temples in the monsoon. But like I said, I was templed out. Or I could have gone south to one of the resorts on the Andaman Sea. But without Vilma? No, the only place I really wanted to be was home. So on my second day in Bangkok I rebooked my flights to return home four days early.

As it turned out, I re-entered the U.S. on September 1oth, one day before the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. It might have been interesting to be overseas during the aftermath. I hear people all over the world were coming up to Americans and being nice to them, and I would really like to experience that some day. But I was very happy to be home. And there were several people here who were very happy to see me, and they were very nice to me too. One especially.