Well, save for the weather, though today hasn't been nearly as bad as the past couple of days - mainly because it's raining. Claudia and I ducked into NetFreaks on Sudder Street, which has some pretty fast connections and a lot of terminals, to check email and see if we can wait out the storm, or if we'll need to choof it fast back to our nearby hotel.

Otherwise, Calcutta has been hot. My shirt is always glued to my back; I stink; if I tilt my head my sunglasses nearly fall off my nose. I'm always chugging bottled water, or sodas (15-20 rupees - or 25-50 cents; why not!), or lassis.

And you know what? It's fun.

After the debacles of our first day in Kolkata (the city's new name, after it changed it back from Calcutta a couple of years ago), I'm feeling pretty cool about the place now. Cities are cities; whichever one you're in, there's really only so much that changes. Accents, the speech you overhear, what the vendors sell (pretzels and hot dogs in New York, sugarcane juice and kebabs in Calcutta). Traffic always snarls and is subtly out to kill you. Buildings trap heat. Your boogers turn black.

Yesterday though, I started to get to know more of the city. Claudia was feeling a bit under snuff, so she chilled out in the room with the Discovery Channel. We also left our windowless, institutional-green cell, for another, larger, airier, windowed, room (that was even 50 rupees cheaper). It's helped both our spirits, plus we haven't had to kill any cucharachas. Yet.

Rain is pounding on roofs and cars outside; I just saw umbrellas for the first time. I think the monsoon just returned for an encore.

Anyway. With Claudia safetly ensconced with a big bottle of water, some food, and a remote control, I decided to hit the streets. First stop, the Asiatic Society. It was founded by a Brit, for the purpose of preserving Indian art and culture. They have a teeny museum; it smells like diesel, and has everything from excerpts of an 18th century Koran, to old printing plates, to letters from British officers to their COs. The most interesting piece is a huge hunk of rock, an edict from an emperor who converted to Buddhism.

The AS was also my first experience with the strange disordered structure of India. I signed about 3 or 4 guestbooks (I lost count). The people at the entrance then sent me to the next floor. The people up there - after having my sign their book - sent me to the top floor. I chatted with a guy, who sent me back down... and the people down there since me up again, to see someone whose name, I think, is Deelay. No kidding.

Mr. Deelay sat me down in his air-cooled office, looked at my passport, had me sign another guestbook. Then he sent me downstairs again. A man there kept asking me for something; he mimed what looked like filling out a form; I tried to explain that Mr. Deelay had given me no form. He took me back upstairs. Back in Mr. Deelay's office, I shrugged as if to say, "I don't know - he just marched me back up." Mr. Deelay caught on though, said something in Hindi or Bengali, and suddenly, bam, I was in the museum.

Afterwards, I just walked. A little like Varanasi, I just started up and down random streets. There are main thoroughfares like Park Street and Mirza Ghalib (near our own Sudder Street), and then there are tons of little alleyways - where the locals live. You see people hanging out and chatting, or, my favorite from yesterday, 2 kids playing badminton. I felt totally safe. Granted, I carry a pocketknife and, despite the dreamy, absent, wowed look on my face, I also actually have my wits about me, but I never felt anything but fine. Would I walk the same back streets at night? I don't know.

What's really surprised me is how little India-shock I've felt. Yes, there's tons of pollution and overcrowding. Animals walk the streets (and every dog gets a wary, watchful eye from me, since so many dogs in India are rabid). Beggars and touts are everywhere, vying for your attention and your money - well, really just vying for your money. None of it bothers me. Maybe it's a cumulative shock and frustration; I'm still pretty fresh, after all. We'll see how I feel in a few weeks. Maybe the little dreamworld I exist in helps all this chaos and noise and smell roll off me. I don't know, but so far, I'm digging it.

My last stop was the New Market, a massive indoor market with everything from sunglasses to jewelry to freshly chopped hooves and live chickens. Touts follow you everywhere; they carry baskets, and are apparently your "assistants" in the market. One tenacious chap kept following me, despite many no's and a couple of "Bas" (my new favorite word, it's Hindi for "stop!).

"What you want to buy?"

"Nothing."

"Silk?

"No."

"Crafts?"

"No."

"No? Please, say yes."

"No."

Claudia has told me to feel free to be harsh, loud, but I'm not. Yet. Often I just can't help but laugh; besides, the touts are just doing their job, which is to separate you from your money. That's very difficult to do with me. Finally we stopped.

"I'm not here to buy anything."

It took him a second; I don't think he's ever heard anyone say that before.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I'm just here to look."

"But don't you want--"

"No, I don't. Even if I did, I never buy on the first day. I always look around first." I tapped my head. "It helps me make good decisions."

"Oh."

"Thanks though. I know you're just doing your job. But I'm doing the rest alone."

I walked away; he didn't follow. A few minutes later I sat in the Curd Corner, at the corner (go figah) of Sudder Street and Chowringhee Lane, drinking a 14-rupee Sweet Lemon Lassi. These guys can have allllll of my money that they want, as long as I can drink my lassis and watch the day and people go by.