Oh, home to Calcutta; where they'll steal the shirt off your back and then sell it you for 100 rupees. And then hit you with their car so they can take your shirt again.

It was kind of endearing the hoard of taxi drivers waiting outside the train station trying to rip us off: Ohhh, we're home. And I love it.

Goodbye Darjeeling.

Esther and I stood on a hillside road our last night and watched (I'm not good at estimation, but I'm very good at exaggeration) I'm guessing close to two-thousand people march in line; silent, and holding candles. A night vigil. Perhaps for peace, perhaps for the boy who died, perhaps for their dear Gorkhaland.

Then we caught a jeep, packed full, including a very drunk man who for thirty minutes enthusiastically (and unrelentlessly) tried to convince me to marry his son, "I have decided that I would very much like you to be my daughter-in-law." When he tumbled out of the jeep, the rest of the people groaned and apologized for him. No problem, I smiled (though it was a slight problem, because to listen to him I had to turn my head to the side, which always, always, makes me car sick if done for an extended - say, thirty minutes- amount of time).

The train ride was wonderful. I fell asleep almost the moment I sat down, and when I awoke, it was Calcutta.

And the weather is wonderful. Warm, but not too hot. And it's nice to be back. I'm sharing a room with Esther for the last week, and I was unpacking and I heard Katerina and Felicity call out, "Come down Kate, we want to see your face."

It's nice to be back.