Halleluiah!!! Glorious day! I slept through the night. Yesterday’s crazy taxi ride and the dinner ensured that I did not take a nap—for the first time since we’ve been here, and Lena gave me two Tylenol P.M. (It seems that I am the only one who travelled without any sleep aids. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.)

I put a notice on facebook to see if anyone wants to go to the Botanical Garden.

The students at my school said that I really need to see the Great Banyan Tree (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Banyan).

Audra is the only one who wants to go—everyone else is burnt out, mostly on shopping. Some want to or need to work, some want to stay at the hotel and take advantage of the beautiful pool and courtyard. It is a well-deserved and much needed break for them, but I’m finally rested and want to see at least one site, particularly since it is Sunday and the crowds and the traffic are lighter than any other day. We are learning that between the heat and the crowds, its best to return to our hotel/home base between excursions.

We have to take a taxi to the Botanical Gardens as it is on the other side of the river. Our first offer is for $700 rupees (about $12.50) to take us both ways and wait for us. We turn him down and go with a scrappy-looking little man with the whitest teeth I’ve seen in India. He bobs and weaves through traffic, centering the car over the line the entire way. He is as expert as any of the drivers at careening around cars, horses, cows, chickens, bicycles, and people on foot.

Audra and I get concerned at the possibility that it might be hard to find a taxi after we tour the gardens and we agree to pay him 500 rupees to wait and take us back. He agrees to return in an hour and leaves. We have given him no money.

We find the Great Banyan tree shortly after we enter. At first I am disappointed. I wanted to see the enormous center trunk of the tree, but it was removed in 1925. Audra points out that I’m only about 100 years too late. But the never-ending branches with legs dropping to the ground, forming arches and hideaways—any child’s dream—are beautiful and as we go further in they take on a mystical quality. We cannot stop taking photos, trying to capture the ethereal beauty.

We have used half of our hour, and try a path that promises a view of the river Hooghly, a tributary of the Ganges. We do get a glimpse of the river, pass the padlocked cactus house, and then make our way to the main gate.

The taxi driver told us that the gardens were big, and now we believe him. We’re running late—but have confidence that he will be waiting—after all we promised to pay him 500 rupees and we’ve paid him nothing yet. We get to the main gate—and discover that we did not come in the main gate. Who knew? Audra shows a man a photo of the gate arrived at. He points us in another direction—and tells us that it is a 40 minute walk! We are sweating now (it rained a bit and the humidity was rising) and already late. We wondered how long he’d wait for 500 rupees. When would he give up on us? We power-walk to the other gate—quite a sight to the local people at the gardens—hoping our American pace causes a dramatic revision of the 40-minute prediction. We make it in 20 minutes, retrieve our desperately needed water bottles, and head out of the gate. We are barely through when a man waves to us and points to OUR TAXI DRIVER, his white teeth flashing. Hello old friend.