Australia, my new home

in Hong Kong, so I flew to Calcutta, arriving about an hour before midnight.

Mike had asked me to make some purchases for the Australian Trade Commissioner in Calcutta. He was to meet me at the airport to get the things through customs, but he didn't turn up. That delayed me at customs clearance and I missed the bus to the city. Then I heard that a general strike had been declared from midnight. By now it was after midnight and no bus nor taxi would leave the airport for the city. I was stuck there, the only foreigner in the big airport hall. As I was sitting there, feeling sorry for myself, very tired and longing to be in my comfortable hotel bed, I saw an Indian with a turban signalling to me: "Want a taxi, sahib?"

I went hesitatingly to the door and said: "Isn't there a strike on?" "Come with me, I know a way, I'll get you to the city. Where do you want to go to?"

"The OBEROI ORIENTAL HOTEL." "No problem, sahib", and he gently pushed me into his old rickety taxi, slamming the back door. I should have checked with someone official from the airport, but everything went so quickly, that I had no chance.

My turbaned driver went at enormous speed. The streets were all deserted at two in the morning. It was pitch black outside. I could only see what the dim headlights of the car revealed, the occasional straw hut, a deserted village with rather dingy homes. Suddenly it occurred to me, that I may have made a mistake. Who was this taxi driver anyway. What if he was an accomplice of a gang of robbers, leading me right into their arms to rob and perhaps kill me? By now truly concerned I looked again through the windows, and what I saw did not seem to re-assure me at all. The homes were looking even worse than at first. I felt quite sure that I was already in the trap. What should I do? Should I ask the driver to take me back to the airport? If he had evil intent, he wouldn't do it anyway, I reasoned. Should I jump out of the taxi? That was too dangerous, anyway, what then? Unable to make a decision I just sat there, still hoping to see some signs that the city was approaching. Suddenly I saw bright lights, the taxi stopped, and in bold neon lights I read: HOTEL ORIENTAL.

A big sigh of relief! I gladly paid the driver twice the price of a normal taxi fare from the airport. I was so glad to be in one piece and at the hotel I was booked in.

Mike had told me never to drink the tap water, not even use it for cleaning my teeth. So I had to order several bottles of soda water, a rather strange medium to clean ones teeth with, but I had a real fear of the local bugs. I had packed enough enterovioform pills, but prevention is better than a cure. When I arrived at the breakfast table next morning, I was told that I could do nothing that day in town. The general strike had stopped all means of transport, including taxis, and all factories and offices were closed. So I spent a lazy day in the nice hotel, recuperating from the flight

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