Mumbai Nights

So we tick of the Mumbai landmarks in one fell swoop, not too hard considering the Gateway of India and the Taj Palace are right next to each other. Like any major landmark you are commonly plagued with camera touts wanting to take your photo in various positions (although I've found many places will just super impose your face onto a background, humorous enough if you want to appear to be emerging from the ocean or be seen as a Mount Rushmore-esque figure). After a reasonably thorough security check we entered the Taj hotel and after being pointed in the direction of the closest bar we started wandering around the foyer, my friend, desperate to soak up some final rays, discovered the door that led out to the gorgeous pool, alas this was strictly for guests only and at $250 per night it was a little beyond us. After failing to find the bar we decided just to use the toilets and leave but not before checking out the tea menu in the foyer, at 5 quid for a cup of tea we decided not to linger should we be pressurized into buying anything from an overly helpful waiter.

We meander through the chaotic streets back to the hotel in preparation of our trip to Chowpatty beach, the only strip of 'golden' sand in Mumbai. We walked the 2 kilometers along marine drive which was labeled every 100 meters with the distance you had walked, at every checkpoint I announced we had walked another 100 meters a novelty which wore off on my friend after the first three hundred. We got to the beach were I treated my self to a well... deliciously different iced treat, I think it was mainly just a block of ice with different flavourings dispersed through it stored in a cup of rola cola, nonetheless I enjoyed it. So we stood tentatively on the beach fending off advances of touts wanting to rent us mats so that we didn't actually have to sit on the sand, neither of which appealed, believe me standing on it was bad enough! As we strolled the length of the beach we noticed that we had picked up a stalker, a middle aged Indian man who seemed harmless enough but after switching directions numerous times and having him mirror our moves we decided to leave, the sun wasn't down yet but the Mumbai smog had engulfed it sufficiently to justify our departure. We crossed over a road bridge were we seemed to attract the attention of a group of young men, a couple of which ran in front of us and down the stairwell we were about to descend, we hastily made our way down and practically jumped into the first taxi we saw, maybe just paranoia but you can never be too sure. It was at this point I realised how badly the tourists actually get ripped off by taxis and rickshaw drivers, we traveled back the 2Km plus the little extra to the hotel and as we were on the meter we paid the proper rate, a grand total of 33 rupees (around 38p), something we would have struggled to pay more than triple that by haggling a price.

After our eventful day we decided to eat close to home and both the guides we had listed a place that was just across the street, Gaylords. We were so taken away by the name we kind of underestimated the fact we were no longer in the holiday, and tax, haven of Goa and were taken aback by the prices. Having done a quick itinerary check on our wallets we decided we had enough for two mains and 2 breads but alcohol was strictly of the menu. The waiter, a little surprised out our minimal order quickly produced our dishes and we started to tuck in. I had ordered a medium heat dish but like with most places its a game of chance what you get, however Gaylords manager misses nothing. Noticing the beads of sweat appearing on my forehead and my rationing of water (although this was for monitory reasons also) he inquired if my dish was too hot, I assured him it was fine, and I was actually nearly finished, but this didn't stop him from rolocking our waiter and demanding that some yogurt be brought out to cool my dish. We finished up and decidsing we didn't have enough money to eat a dessert in we went to the in house bakery's and got ourselves a cake each wrapped up nicely in a gaylords box. We went back to the hotel and ordered room service, a pot of English tea, and got into bed with our couple of Gaylords, it was 9pm.

Mumbai

We arrive at Lokmanya Tilik station, around 10km from central Mumbai, having passed a large slum area on the way in and beginning to breath in that 'fresh' Mumbai air i was ready to get to our luxury hotel, a little treat for the last leg of my friends...experience. As usual as soon as we stepped of the train we were bombarded by taxi drivers (and also rickshaw drivers which is surprising as they are not allowed into the city centre, just incase your Bombay bound anytime soon). After succumbing to a drivers advances, much to my friends reluctance and rightly so, he assured us he would use the meter which he tapped a couple times then covered up with a cloth and we set off in search of Chateaux Windsor.

When we arrived, after a length and slightly frosty journey, the taxi man lifted the robbery cloth to reveal his prize. At 550rs it seemed a little on the steep side but it was his next action that was to confirm our doubts that he was dirty robbing bugger, as we were splitting the bill there was a lot of notes going back and forth, it was at this point i noticed him slipping a 100 note in his pocket. When we had handed over the right amount he did a quick tot up and hey presto we were 100 short, I quickly pointed out that he may find the remaining bill in his right pocket, he smiled nonchalantly like it was just part of the game, which i suppose it is, and got into his cab and left.

From one contrast to another, on arrival to the hotel we couldn't have been treated more courteously, we were shown a selection of rooms to choose from and told we could choose from more if we waited till after 11. We picked a room, cranked the a/c to as low as it would go and and my friend got straight onto the cable tv in search of her much missed soaps (unfortunately for Mumbai they don't get the visual and mental feast for the eyes and mind that is Hollyoaks).

After a quick bite of breakfast we headed out into Mumbai to see what we could see. Being so close to the train station I decided to quickly book my onward travel, now i should have known better that when in India anything involving counters, queues and little slips of paper cant be done quickly (Argos could revolutionise India!). After 2 hours of piss farting around, waiting for tellers and then the said tellers to finish chai breaks, a dash back to retrieve my passport and a final bit of queueing I was booked on a train to Ahmedabad.

So just after midday we finally got on the move, well as quickly as you can move in a city of over 16 million. One of first sights we were met by was the great institution that is the tiffin delivery. A tiffin is a set of cylindrical steel flasks with each compartment containing a different edible treat, usually chapati or rice and a curry or two. The amazing thing is these are prepared at home by the wives after the men have left for work, then they begin their journey to Mumbai via bicycle, train and foot, whats more amazing is they have over 99.9% success rate and when you think the tiffin-wallahs deliver millions of these a day it is quite the achievement in India's, seemingly, unorganised chaos.

We made a bee line for the quintessential of colonial buildings the Victoria Station, walking our way up the wide streets adorned with a familiar Gothic architecture you would be forgiven in thinking you had stumbled into a little Britain, although this little Britain is packed full of Indian commuter's and the red busses have bars on the windows and more people hanging off them than in them. Being the busiest train station in the world I was excepting more mayhem and whilst large and imposing on the outside, inside the station it was reasonably calm with wide well numbered platforms and departure sign's all displayed in English, a bit disappointing really but not that surprising if I've learned one thing its that India takes great pride in it railway network.

Om to Mumbai via Patnem

Om beach was a very sedate affair, the beaches were empty apart from the occasional cow and bead seller. However, there is one feature of any tourist clad beach that is never absent, the aptly named gawkers. Whilst they were fewer in number than their Goan counterparts they still managed to cause disdain amongst the few tourists culminating in a relatively unprovoked (most likely an accumulation of events coming to head) outburst. Now my view was from a hundred yards or so but the booming assault from the American and more importantly his actions were more than clear. A young group of, male, Indians had to decided to set up shop next to him and his middle aged wife under the shade of a tree (also in view were two russian girls adorned in very little), their bags hadn't touched the sand when the american made it quite clear they were not welcome, the wind took away the audio but as he started imitating what i can only describe as a gorilla having a wash then the actions of photography i can only imagine he was saying that we don't take photos of them whilst having a wash in the river. Anyway, whether he realised that he had went a bit far or had just let off enough steam he seemed to retract a little and after a more civilised conversation the group of lads moved on, to be replaced moments later by a fresh group. There appeared very little you could do about the men, nothing really being a deterrent, not even the presence of a man would cause a moments hesitation to take a photo of a bikini clad woman, just a slight adjustment of the zoom would fix that problem.

All in all Om proved a nice break after Hampi, and the greatest cause of concern was the open roof between our bathroom and that of next doors, and even that gave some comfort in that my friend wasn't alone in the world of the infamous Delhi Belly.

We decided to 'treat' ourselves to a taxi ride from Gokarna to Patnem in Goa, the ride taking around 3 hours. We were picked up by a young guy who immediately asked/informed us that his friend would be coming along for the ride. It wasn't until he slipped on a pair of white trousers over his jeans that our minds, especially my female companion started going into overdrive. Now both having Masters in forensic science we are well aware of blood splatters and at seeing this additional pair of overalls it induced an awkward glance across the back seats.

Having been subjected to 3 hours of blaring Bollywood soundtracks and an uncomfortable weaving in and out of traffic we arrived at Patnem alive and unraped, bot both thinking we should have got the train. After much confusion and a change of vehicles we arrived at our new home for the next week, the aptly named Minty Carlo's.

Patem and Palolem beaches lie side by side and have a pretty similar feel about them although, in my opinion, Patnem had the edge, being a little smaller and feeling a little more chilled out. Again the beach shacks lined the white sands offering everything from Goan seafood to decidedly average Mexican fare but admittedly after the dry reservedness of Hampi and the seclusion, and therefor limited choices, of Gokarna it was a welcome sight. Our accommodation, Minty's, was one of the nicest, on.appearance anyway, we had stayed in. There was a small kitchen round the back for those brave enough to give it a go and a big smelly dog, Wuffy, who was neither friendly or offensive, well apart from the smell, who liked to lounge around on our landing. We had been pre-warned not to leave edibles lying around the kitchen as it would attract unwelcome guests, now these unwelcome guests species were not specified alas we were soon to find out that there were numerous guests frequenting Minty's!

The days rolled by at Patnem, lazing on the beach and when feeling brave enough venturing into the sea (the waves at patnem and palolem seemed to possess a ferocity unlike any other of the goan beaches easily capable of sweeping even the most proficient of sea goers into the surf and leaving legs flailing and swim suits, well not doing their job). Local activities were again limited to the yogi's and reflexologists however the open air cinema, on the site of the weekly silent disco proved popular.

The requirement for clean clothes always proves a bit of a predicament and it was no different at Patnem. I had been informed that there was a couple of places on the beach road, so bundles of dirty laundry in hand we set off for in search of a 'lawndry service' sign. We soon happened across, probably the smallest, happiest woman in Goa, she took our bundles and in broken English told us to come back tomorrow. On our return from the beach my laundry was on clear show to the world, visible over the top over the happy woman's modest dwelling, giving us a large smile and reconfirming it would be ready tomorrow we continued walking. On our return the next day we were seated in her 'porch' and she started to display our clothes before us, assuring her it really wasn't necessary we paid her slightly over the norm price, took our bundles and left. Now a lot of places have a machine washer however, not surprisingly, i believe this lot had been done the old fashioned way. This was not given away by the odd button missing but more by the smell, whilst its unusual for things to come back smelling fresh it IS unusual for things to come back smelling of cow dung.

So with my cow dung pyjamas on i climbed into bed hoping for another decent nights sleep, however it appeared that we were to be paid a visit by the first of our unwanted visitors.

I awake to a fully lighten room with my friend sitting bolt upright with torch poised at one of the rafters of our open ceiling with a look of pure terror,a look which i had become more than familiar with over the last few weeks. It transpired that a little furry thing with a long tail had manifested itself in the ceiling above us, this backed with the occasional large dropping scattered around the room proved to be fatal for the nights ahead. For the next few nights i awoke to a spotlight aimed at the rafters and the paranoia only spread from there, spending hours looking at the roof little was I to know that it was not the night I should fear but dawn, when the next of our visitors was to arrive.

Now me and my friend go back years but I must admit to being a little surprised when I felt her tickling my face, presuming it was an attempt to make me get up early for yet another day of beach bumming i feigned deeper sleep but was now becoming a little concerned that the tickling was so persistent. I know expressed my concern in a sleepy state, making not much sense, i raised my hand to my face and was surprised to meet not my friends hand but something smaller and fairly solid, with a quick flick and a yelp i sat bolt upright in the bed. This prompted my friend to follow suit and adorn her 'what the fuck India?' face, i quickly scanned the bed and my fears were realised, a massive cockroach crawled up over my pillow. The creature was 'dealt' with and we resumed our slumber albeit now with two eyes open!

Our time on the beaches of Goa was up and we now only had one stop left as a duo, Mumbai. We again had the usual pa lava trying to get booked onto a train, eventually paying double the face value of the tickets going through a travel tout. At 7.30, after being let down by our 'pre'-booked rickshaw, we arrived a little flustered at the train station just in time for a half hour wait. After being directed around a kilometer down the platform it was clear that our extra roops didn't get us a better class once again in sleeper class. We were soon chugging out the station, flicking the cockroaches off our 'beds' and trying to protect our legs from the hungry mossies, to no avail. Soon we retired to our respective bunks and after a little tom foolery reminiscent of that when you were kids in a bunk bed for the first time we attempted to go to sleep. There is an art to sleeping on the trains, and it is one i am far from mastering, from this journey I learned the following rules:

1. Bring something to sleep on top of as well as a blanket for you (the faux leather seats prove for a very clammy sleeping experience, and it can get surprisingly cold, my friend realising that short shorts and only a sarong was a chilly mistake)

2. Bring earplugs (the locals have no qualms about making noise, be it orally or anally, at any time of the night)

3. Try to avoid the corridor berths (with what seemed like increasing frequency the requirement to get up and walk around, nudging and knocking those trying to sleep proved incredibly annoying)

This list will increase as my journey continues but for now, here endeth the lesson.