(The official population is around 20 million, however with the slums it has been specualted mumbai is the largest city in the world, It certainly is the fastest growing one anyway)
Day 10
We wake early at 3 am to take a taxi to the airport; I am grumpy and irritable as have only had one hour sleep. The flight and check in goes smoothly particularly given that unlike the English the Indians are reluctant to queue and we are the first in. A strange Israeli gent takes the seat next to me – showing his motorcycle injury from Goa and moaning how expensive India is – he is ok but he smells bad of B.O and when he goes on about trance parties I’m reminded why I am avoiding them – middle aged wannabe hippies having a mid life crisis aren’t my usual friend group.
We arrive in Mumbai without problems, and upon arrival we check out the taxi situation, 370 prepay and too far for rickshaw, although some prick tries to tell us its 800 but we’re too tired to be polite and tell him to piss off. I haven’t booked a hotel as it’s difficult to find anywhere decent in the massive metropolis that isn’t extortionate so I opt to head to the district where I know some hotels probably are and take my chances. We get dropped at the hotel oasis fort region to discover it is fully booked – bollocks.
Subsequently we proceed to wander the street carrying our oversized baggage in search for somewhere to stay but the places we check are either madly expensive or fully booked. I am told 1320 for one room that isn’t clean and am reluctant to agree – so we keep on looking. Three more places we check are fully booked or madly expensive (2000+ ) so I start to get stressed, Kath goes and uses the internet for a while and stows the bags away while I set off on foot to find somewhere.
It is hot and humid in Mumbai and I soon work up a massive sweat, walking purposefully from street to street in search of accommodation. Everywhere is booked up, and some places that look rat infested and dirty turn me away quoting ridiculously inflated rates of 1000 per night. After 45 minutes the only place I can find is a Tokyo style box room with no air con or fan and a shared bathroom at 1250! In desperation I head back to the place at 1320 only to find now this is full also! Double shit!
I run along stinking chaotic streets in search of a hotel getting more and more agitated until I finally give up and start heading back to Kath in order to book somewhere online resigned to the fact I will have to pay the high rates they are demanding. I pass a hotel I already tried on the way past that was full and decide to try my luck but again he says it is still full. Desperate and sweating I plead with the manager “ is there any chance of a room tomorrow?” when suddenly he has a change of tune and says somewhere has come up at 750. After a viewing I rush back and snap it up as it is spacious and clean and has a fan. Wow! How lucky have I been – 750 and clean and spacious when everyone wanted 1500 for a dirty hovel – I tell Kath it was a miracle and I’m pretty pleased with myself – top blagging serves me well again.
Mumbai is sssooo different to where we have been so far; it is apparent as soon as you leave the airport. There is similar smog and dust and you can see millions of shanty homes from the plane, but still it is clearly more developed and advanced than the North. The only indication of the slum’s among you is a heavy smell in the air of manure and sewerage and the occasional road side tent or makeshift lodge. The buildings vary from the usual low-rise and haphazard to New York style futuristic sky scrapers and Georgian behemoths reminiscent of Westminster. The old and the new are in symbiosis; a Subway sandwich bar for example sits opposite from a rickety looking “pure veg” curry hut where old men attend massive steel pots. It seems one couldn’t exist without the other and no area is uber-modern and none really old; a fact reinforced as you explore the chaotic markets which lay behind the elaborate European style boulevards of the fort area’s banking district.
We enjoy seeing brands we recognise like Sony and Nokia and HSBC but it also feels like a more watered down version of India and we miss a little of the madness that Delhi, Agra and Jaipur gave us. Here people don’t honk their horns feverously when driving and they stick to the correct lane -even going so far as to occasionally obey red lights and indicating when they turn. You can also ask for directions and change when buying things without being stared at with a blank confused expression. It is convenient here though; we enjoy beers and coffee and can find an ATM that doesn’t threaten to steal your money and eat your card, which is always pleasant and reassuring – but somehow it doesn’t seem right – we have grown fond of being blagged and misdirected and everything being tough, it doesn’t feel like we’re really travelling anymore.
We grab a nap then spend the day chilling around the local streets, eating drinking and bargaining. I get a watch for 100 some shades for 75 and a knife for 40, all at least a third off the original asking prices, which gives me a feeling of satisfaction. I also get a cut throat shave that is so close it is unreal for the meagre sum of 20 rupees – the man is skilled and gentle, with an immense attention to detail and he spends over 20 minutes removing my rough facial foliage. Maybe I am the first ginger he’s ever had in his salon (no innuendo please) I think to myself – maybe even the first ever westerner; either way, it’s an excellent shave and a pleasant experience, my beard hasn’t been this short since I was 10 years old, and not a scratch on me.
There are loads of bars around the Fort area, some more expensive ones geared up for westerners with clean painted walls and glass tables, but others are more authentic and frequented by locals with cheap spirits and slightly grimy interiors. The local men drink a lot in Mumbai it seems, ordering a spirit, usually whisky, by the half bottle and sharing it. The spirits come in 30, 60, 180 or 350 ml servings and start at 20rs for a 30ml measure. Beer however is expensive at 100rs a bottle. We eat in a place full of locals called Lalit and for dinner we have some more meat which is welcome. Kath as often is the case is the only girl in the man orientated bar and she gets many stares, but for 500rs we enjoy 3 mains, loads of bread and 2 big spirits and mixers. A pretty wicked feast to top off a lucky and enjoyable day; we are really settling in now and love India, the stress of our first days in Delhi seem a million miles away!
Day 11
Mumbai is very hot and humid and I think I’m going to have to crack out the shorts as trousers are too much. We wake in the night parched and hot as a power-cut renders our ceiling fan redundant, Kath’s throat is dry and she complains she’s going to die – maybe a little over exaggeration but were both feeling the heat, however luckily a hotel attended is kind enough to trek through the dark streets to find us ice cold water. Eventually the fans come back on and we manage some decent sleep and in the morning I blast out some prodigy and have a shower, which I’m sure the locals appreciate.
There isn’t so much to do in terms of monuments and sights here, but just walking the streets is cool. The blend of old and new is very unique, no city I have ever been to resembles it – you can see that Mumbai is on the cusp of being a fully fledged developed city, an appropriate symbol for India perhaps – a perfect visual metaphor for India’s polarised society as shinning sky scrapers emerge from sprawling slums.
First thing we do is head for the local MacDonald’s, I’m not a big fan but it’s the best place to take a nice clean shit in the westernised toilet, and it’s about the only place you can grab a filter coffee that doesn’t break the bank, also they have to give you change so I pay with a 1000 note every time. Maccys has become an oasis in the desert of chaos where western rules apply, no haggling, the correct change and a clean toilet – understandably tourists flock there in their droves – flamingos in the forest – they stand out miles being twice the size of the locals and wearing their bright shorts and vest tops. I laugh at them, then realise I’m just the same and it is a little sobering. Still a sausage McMuffin goes down pretty well and I get over it.
We walk to the coast through wide tree lined boulevards; the view from the coast is more Miami than Mumbai, although as we get closer you can see the buildings aren’t quite so spectacular, lacking a certain cleanness and polish. We walk for a long while, grabbing samosa and munchies, down to the gateway to India, this is a typical relic of the empire, a colossal arch in a classic Victorian style marking the port area out from the surroundings. It is good to be in a place where you can actually follow a map, the streets actually going in lines and even occasionally having sign posts.
We catch a ferry to Elephenta island, the boat is rickety and small and full of locals. In the middle sits a ponderous old engine that seems to expel more in the way of noise than it gives to the propellers. Passengers tussle for the best positions, switching from side to side grabbing pictures, but until we reach the island there isn’t much to look at; the whole of Mumbai including the islands have been overrun by the industrial sprawl, cranes and bleak looking buildings rest on every outcrop and the water is crawling with big ugly fishing vessels and container ships.
Elephant Island itself though is a stark contrast; completely covered with thick forest. From the dark green trees juts an pier – maybe 250 metres in length – and around it many boats of varying size and colour cluster – allowing eager tourists to arrive and depart. The walk to the top of the hill is typical punctuated by hawkers and market sellers who cut a line through the trees, obviously this spoils the tranquillity of an otherwise untouched island. I grab a freshly toasted sweet corn cob for 10 rupees which is amazingly tasty, I don’t get to enjoy it for long though; a hungry ox comes straight for me horns first, I shit myself and start running with the ox giving chase, eventually throwing my corn to the side and making an embarrassing escape.
The top of the complex reveals a series of truly ancient caverns (approx 500AD) carved out directly from the rock face. Like other ancient monument it is remarkable to think how it was possible to create such a thing in such seclusion and without technology on a remote island just a few square miles in size. Even more impressive are the gods carved out from the rock, skilfully crafted and detailed, they show many deities on a grand scale – unfortunately we learn that many have been wantonly destroyed by the Portuguese. Still it is well worth a visit, and we enjoy a cold beer and thali with a majestic view from the hill top resteraunt.
In the evening we explore the Colaba district which I have read is a cool place to hang out, popular with travellers. We wander for ages looking for the action ending up mile out of town and completely lost. Eventually we realise that the main attractions are centred just a few streets away from the gateway itself, we have ended up walking some series miles this day. We head back and find the infamous Leopold’s bar but it is overcrowded and expensive (4 times the usual price) so we don’t bother. We grab a bite to eat at a westernised cafe and it’s probably the worst meal we have had in India! I’m not impressed with Colaba; we realise that unlike many travellers we like the to be in among the real culture of the country; why travel half way round the world to sit with people from back home listening to the same music. Leopold’s is pretty cool don’t get me wrong, a lot like font bar in Manchester; but why come to India for this. We enjoy being out of our comfort zone, fascinated by the sounds sights and smells of a real India; or at least a watered down version of it. I realise that nearly everywhere we have eaten or drunk so far we have been the only white people present, often drawing a lot of attention from the staff who greet us with big smiles and handshakes the next day.
We head back and sleep well, and I feel a bit better than I did when I was sat in Maccies having a McMuffin – we definitely aren’t your usual tourists.
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