It was a pretty smooth train ride. Apparently some of our neighbouring passengers were a little noisy but I didn't hear a thing! From the train station we took taxis to the hotel. Soon, everyone will have to do this, as the tuk-tuk will be illegal as of the start of the 2009. Despite its size and importance as a commercial city, Kolkata's streets are surprisingly quiet. Well, relatively quiet that is. And it is Christmas day, after all, in this the most Christian city in India.

Raj's orientation was mercifully short and we had plenty of time to go and experience the city in the afternoon. And by 'eck did we experience it. We started off by going to the Kalighat, after which the city gets its name. The temple itself is crowded, presumably owing to its important status among the faithful, and is one of the few sites at which live animal sacrifices are still performed on a daily basis in the mornings (goats, mainly, and obviously no cows). The interesting bit came shortly thereafter, when our temple guide took us to a secluded little area to do a little prayer. He indicated that each person should take it in turns to come with him to the edge of the water. Raj suggested he accompany them, at which the priest was annoyed but he acquiesced to the suggestion. During his little ritual he deigned fit to ask for a little donation. Shana, naturally, was not surprised by this (indeed Raj had told us this would be the time to make any donations we wished to this otherwise free-to-enter temple) and placed what she deemed to be a fitting donation in the indication position. Clearly disappointed with the quantity, the priest then proceeded to attempt to persuade her to 'reconsider' how much she wished to give. Needless to say , this resulted in a pretty flat refusal, some not-quite-heated discussion and a hasty exit. I think Raj gave them something to shut them up, I just hope it wasn't much. The irony is, he probably would have gotten more if he'd just let each of us give what we wanted.

Next up we rekindled the Christmas cheer with a visit to Nirmal Hridaya, Mother Theresa's house/workplace. Not exactly cheery, mainly because it is a place to which you normally only go in order to be cared for until you die (hence, the Home for the Dying and Destitute).

After a brief pause back at the hotel (during which time I found that the idiots at HSBC had completely failed to activate my card for use abroad, despite several conversations outlining the necessity of this action) we headed out for Christmas dinner, combining Indian and Chinese (it is Christmas after all) with much beer to boot. Lamentably, Paul's normally impeccable taste-radar went awry and gave him a dish that was really just too rich (I can confirm this, having sampled it myself when invited). More out of jest than anything we convinced Hannah (who by this time had predictably decided the rice she had ordered wasn't precisely to her liking) to try it. Wouldn't you know, she though it was great. Well ain't that just ruddy typical! Still, we said we'd find Indian food she liked and we did just that, right on our last day together.

We started the next morning bidding a fond farewell to Shaz, Pippa, Hannah and Raj. For the rest of us the first port of call was to go and acquire some Bollywood magic - DVDs, that is. Dirt' cheap too. After much (much) time spent doing this we took a stroll around the backstreets and street markets. Although we were definitely back in 'big-city-India', there still wasn't that same rush as in Delhi. Maybe you just get used to it, which would explain why another guy we had met said that Kolkata was hectic and Delhi fairly relaxed (relaxed? Delhi?).

It had been far too busy yesterday to bother waiting to get in to the Victoria Memorial, and it was again today. Foiled once again by the number of people living in this country, I crossed the road to the Maidan and Eden Garden Area. This is basically a massive area of parkland, liberally coated with games of cricket. Fitting really, since the Eden Garden cricket ground is located at once end of the park.We had our last group (well, half-group) meal in the hotel restaurant, at which we discovered that some people apparently like their lime soda with salt in it. I do not. It took a surprisingly long time to explain this to the waiter. Following all of this we made our final goodbyes and I retired to my room to pack for tomorrow…

On my final day, the first task was to work out exactly how much money I had available - not being able to withdraw cash is a real b***** when you're a few thousand miles away from home in a foreign country. I worked out that I had enough to get another Bollywood movie on DVD, so I did (they are just too good!).

After that it was time to take the inexpensive option - and go back to the Victoria Memorial. This time there was nothing for it, I simply had to bide my time and wait in line with the rest of the subcontinent and, annoyingly, a cantankerous old American who didn't seem to understand why there was a separate women's line. Managed to ditch him at the entrance to the park - I know it sounds harsh but today I just wanted a quiet day to enjoy the warm weather and the surroundings - and found a nice spot in the memorial park to just sit watching the world go by. Late in the afternoon I took a walk around the memorial itself - from the outside only - which was pleasant. A few locals decided this was the best time to get their photo taken with the tourist and I was in an obliging mood (after all, not as if I was coming back tomorrow!). Indeed, everyone seemed friendly this afternoon as another guy stopped to talk to me on one of the benches. Worse than Delhi? Hardly.

Heading back to the hotel gave rise to the final issue - what on earth does one do in a hotel with six hours to kill and only enough money for a meal and a few bottles of coke? The answer is, he sits in the restaurant writing up parts of his diary letting those bottles of coke last forever. Actually, it's amazingly hard to slow one's consumption rate so as to make things last all that time. And since this was to be my last meal in India, I had to make it a special one- Dal Makhanee, four-or-five chapati, of course.

At around 11:30 pm I got a taxi to the airport, the driver of which was a little like the guy who drove me to the hotel in Delhi - competent, but carefree enough to put the heebie-jeebies in you. It was the 'looking-out-the-window-not-seeing-the-barrier-til-the-last-minute' escapade that will stick with me. And my last act in India? Sitting in an airport waiting for a flight.