It isn't just about the food.

With five days in Kolkata and no real desire to go "sight-seeing", we "planned" long walks in search of the city's est dhabas (street-side eateries) and restaurants. I would go back - for no other reason - just for the food. If only I could have been hungry all the time. Kati rolls, fried naan with vegetables, paneer and egg, probably best at Nizam's (founded in 1932); puri, deep fried chapatis with either a chola (chickpeas) or subjee (vegetables) from carts along the road; momos at 'Momo Corner' made by Tibetean refugees; bhel puri, a crazy snack of puffed rice, chili, lemon, coconut, nuts, fresh onion, and countless other things, mixed and shaken and poured into a a rolled piece of newspaper to snack on while you walk; rosgulla, rose-water cheese balls apparently invented at KS Das Sweets; fresh coconut and fruits I'll never remember the names of; simple but impossibly incredible Bengali food in hole-in -the-wall restaurants down back alleys; and, of course, endless chai served in tiny terracotta cups smashed on the street when finished.

Our walks took us through Sunday markets in colonies around the university, packed with everything and anything you could possibly need or want. They went through streets lined with welders, mechanics, and bicycle repair shops. They, of course, took us to where many people live on the sidewalks, where women smiled proudly as they held up their naked babies being washed near a pipe gushing with water. Where kids often asked for money or chocolate or pens, but would sometimes start dancing with me in the streets in the end.They took us on wrong turns that lead to mosques down back lanes, where men ran just after the call to prayer, yelling at Jon to hurry up, he's late (it's the beard).

So, really, it isn't just about the food.