I love my Mum... bai!

What an amazing week I have had! I’m now in New Delhi, capital of India, lying on an extremely hard, lumpy mattress, in a hot pink hotel called The Ivory Palace – a rather rundown and stale smelling building, definitely made complete with leopard print settees (my new favourite word), and hand paintings of Cupid on the ceiling… classy! However, after a few big days, some unforgettable journeys, and with two lungs filled with Mumbai pollution, this is just what I was looking for!

Flying out of Kuala Lumpur early Monday morning, I was bound for the biggest adventure of my life so far… Mumbai! With an estimated current population of 20.5 million people, I knew I was in for a big city – but I had no idea what I had really managed to get myself into! Mumbai’s international airport is called Chhatrapati Shivaji, and although I speak no Hindi whatsoever, I worked out rather quickly that this loosely translates to ‘Calm Before the Storm’. The airport is very clean, ordered, calm and peaceful. Mumbai on the other hand, is not. I have never, ever, ever in my life been so completely terrified of a city!

With 31kg of luggage (I’m still carrying the bloody Haighs chocolates!), I wisely decided to avoid the bus, train, and never-so-stable tuktuk, and instead jumped in a taxi ($3), bound for the accommodation I had booked online the night before. Through a repetitive process which involved both the English and Hindi language, sign language, charade-style skits from myself, and then giving up and pulling out the MacBook and Google translate, the driver and I finally managed to work out where I was staying, and left the calm and order of the airport, heading into the chaos that is Mumbai. Weaving through traffic and pedestrians with no regard for road rules, speed restrictions, public safety, or my fragile self, the driver wasted no time introducing me to the Indian style of driving, and the art of over-using the horn. I think in my whole driving life, I may have used the horn 3 times on the road – I reckon the driver used the horn 300 on just our short journey! 25 minutes later, and after stopping four times along the way to ask for directions, we finally pulled up outside a small dusty alleyway, filled with street vendors, stray dogs, and children playing cricket in the street – and I hesitantly stepped inside the dilapidated building I thought I was about to call home.

Bandra, Mumbai

Of course, things while traveling are never as easy as they should be, and after a 15 minute wait inside the ghastly yellow sponged interior of the hostel, I was told I was in fact in the wrong place! It turns out the hostel I was staying at has more than one site, and I had been given the directions to the wrong place… however, the hostel manager wasted no time telling me he had a driver who would ‘love to drive an Aussie’ to the other site, and within minutes I found myself squashed in the back of a small, dusty panel van, once again bounding along the streets of Mumbai, feeling every bump and pothole along the way. With this driver also speaking very limited English, conversation was a struggle, however I did manage to learn the other site was less than 2 kilometres away, and he would get me there in ‘very quick time’. 15 minutes later, and MUCH further than 2km away, I began to get a little worried. The driver sped through traffic, past cops, through red lights (there seem to be optional in India), and took corners at extreme speed, while I sat seat-belt-less in the back of the bumping, weaving van. The roads became much busier, the footpaths much dirtier, and as we drove further and further away from the airport, the buildings became more and more derelict, unwelcoming and sinister. Where was this man taking me?

With a sense of panic beginning to make itself present in my mind, the driver pulled off the main road, and into a small, dark, creepy alleyway, careering forward, seemingly unaware of other road users, and hurtling toward a group of young school students just finished school for the day. At the end of the dim, narrow and winding alleyway, where I was sure I was about to be killed and turned into the latest batch of Aloo Tikki Bird, I very reluctantly stepped out of the taxi, and began walking toward the building the driver indicated as ‘the hostel’, yet to my mind looked more like the set of a Chuckie-style horror flick. Approaching the plain, un-signed building, I was led to a low, dark staircase, and was eagerly ushered up-stairs, no doubt toward a large aluminum kadai, already simmering and waiting for my dismembered body to be added as a final, quality, ingredient. With a glint in his eye that said, “prepare the freezer, fresh meat is here!” the driver opened the thick, sound/scream proof, wooden door, and inside I found… the most unexpected hostel ever! Welcomed with big, beaming smiles, and immediately shown to a chair and a cold drink, I was shocked! My almost certain fate seemed so much less certain!

Shocked at my sudden change of fortune, terrified at the idea of ever leaving my new-found paradise to see the sights of Mumbai, and now thinking about the possibility of still perhaps offering up some thigh/breast meat (which I could clearly do without!), I sat down and started filling out the necessary forms. Still slightly wary of my surroundings, and expecting to wake up from my dream at any moment, my next surprise came along… my Mumbai Guardian Angel – Chris! Born in the US, living in Korea, and holidaying in India, Chris stepped into my life at exactly the right moment, casually offering me his left-over lunch, and after some general conversation, was even brave enough to suggest leaving the safety and protection of Anjali Inn, and braving the world of Mumbai together for the afternoon! What a hero!!!

Me and my hero...

With only the afternoon left for sightseeing, we headed to Bandrah, a suburb about halfway to South Mumbai from Anjali, where we nervously stepped off the local train, and into absolute bedlam! Mumbai is crazy – so many people, noises, smells, colours and excitement! The streets are packed with cars, buses, trucks and taxis, the footpaths clogged with stalls, vendors, low-hanging power-lines and runaway mopeds, and the gutters overflow with litter, stray dogs, and broken down tuktuk’s. Giving up on the idea of working out directions, we decided to start walking in the hope of stumbling upon something worth seeing. Of course, we first chose the wrong direction, however we certainly did manage to immerse ourselves in the Indian suburbs! We finally did make it to an American style coffee shop, and got directions from our waitress to Bandstand – an area home to Castella de Aguada, a Portuguese fort built in 1640, now home to stray goats, Indian teenagers desperate to photograph Chris and his blonde hair, and a garden project run by the bandstand conservation group – which turned out to be the Windy Point of Mumbai – hook up central!

The view from Castella de Aguada

Day 2 of sightseeing took us (we sounded like a joke – an Australian, an American, a Canadian, an Englishman, and a Dane) to the laundry, Dhobi Ghat – Mumbai’s version of Edna Turnblad. It is an area backing onto a main trainline, where everyday, a group of men go about getting the washing from Mumbai’s many hotels and hospitals done. The clothes, sheets and hospital gowns (eek!) are washed in open wash-pens, filled with filthy, reused water, and each pen has a large flogging stone, onto which the clothes are flogged, then laid out. The water is brown, the flogging stones are old and discoloured… yet miraculously the washing comes out perfect! The whites are dazzling, the coloured garments look brilliant, and the tourists look on with a sense of disbelief, and no doubt many questions to send in the direction of the OmoCare line. 

Dhobi Ghat - Laundry

From Dhobi Ghat, we walked to Haji Ali Mosque, which is built on a small island off the coast of the city. The mosque is built in honour of Sayyed Peer Haji Ali Shah Bukhar, a pilgrim to Mecca, who supposedly died on his pilgrimage, with his body floating back to the small group of rocks where the Mosque is now found. The walk out to the island is on a low causeway, under water at high tide, bustling with vendors selling everything from flowers to calculators, and offering services such as shoe polishing, and a small child offering to weigh tourists for a fee. Tempting, but no thanks. From the mosque, we headed south, for our first look (what you could see through the smog!) at downtown Mumbai, lunch at the famed Leopold’s restaurant, some casual shopping/bartering, and a stroll around the Gateway to India, built to celebrate the arrival of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911.

Gateway to India

On my third day in Mumbai, it was time to do the ultra touristy thing, and I opened the Lonely Planet to do a walk of the city. Joined by Chris, Ciara (who had flown in the night before from the US), and Helen (The ‘Crazy’ Dane), we got moving early in an attempt to avoid the crowds on the public transport system. We may as well have slept in! The train was ridiculously overcrowded with people on their way to work, so full in fact some commuters had their bags hanging from hooks on the outside of the train, an idea a man later told me was ‘Indian technology’. Chris and I crowded into one carriage (we actually managed to get inside the train this time, unlike the day before when we were hanging from the outside of the train, coming dangerously close to signs/bridges/poles), while the girls found a women-only carriage, to avoid creating a scene like we had the day before when we all chose to sit together – much to the disgust of the local men! Arriving at Churchgate, we spent the next couple of hours walking around the colonial Colaba district, a great contrast to the district we were staying in (the one suburb has a population of over 4 million!) where we admired the colonial architecture, beautiful parks, galleries, the museum, a cruise off the coast, and the Taj Mahal Palace – the hotel that was the center of the 2008 terrorist attacks.

Taj Mahal Palace, Mumbai

Once again thinking we could outsmart the Mumbai public transport system, we decided to leave Colaba early, to beat the crowds on the way home from the city, and once again we failed! Our train ride home from Mumbai that afternoon is something I will never, ever forget, and one of the most amazing, eye-opening experiences of my life. Chris and I ran to get on the train first, to grab a seat for the 40 minute or so journey north, which we now realize was probably not the best idea!!! Taking a seat at the end of the train, we found ourselves made incredibly welcome by a group of local men, who took great interest in my height, weight, age, where we were both from, and of course, my knowledge of cricket! I knew we were in for an adventure when the men found out which station we were headed for, and started warning us we should probably take the slow train, for it would have less people on it, however with a desire to get back to the hostel in as little time as possible, we thanked them for their advice, but decided to stay on the fast train – now filled to the point where most of the men had someone sitting on their lap, and I had two college students standing over one of my legs each! By the time we left the Churchgate station, I thought it was impossible for even one more person to get onboard, yet the next three stations proved me wrong, as even more people crammed onto the train, or took their place hanging from the roof, with their bodies hanging completely outside of the train, only centimeters from poles, lights, bridges and other trains as they passed. Completely overwhelmed by the number of people onboard, particularly the number of people between us and the exit, Chris began to realize our predicament, and why the men suggested not to take that train – we weren’t going to be able to get off!!! Of course, I wasn’t yet ready to admit we had made a mistake, and continued to reassure Chris we would be fine, and the train would probably empty out at the stop before ours, and we would have an easy passage to the door, and freedom beyond! Once again, I was wrong.

My view hanging on outside a train

The journey on the train, while crowded, was absolutely amazing. As we took off from the Churchgate station, the whole train came alive with a shout from one of the Indian men, followed by a loud chant and cheer from all those onboard. A few minutes later, from the other end of the carriage came the rhythmic sound of someone tapping on the side of the train, followed by a man with some sort of clickers, hitting them against the luggage racks above the seats. With the beat set, and the train overcrowded beyond what I believed physically possible, a group broke into song, filling the carriage with the most amazing sound, as they sang a song about former Indian leader, Mahatma Gandhi. As the singing continued, more and more people joined in, until almost the entire carriage was singing along to the beat of the train and the luggage rack musician. It was an absolutely amazing, surreal, and a once-in-a-lifetime privilege to be onboard, surrounded by a group of people who in Australia would protest and complain about the conditions of the public transport, and would NEVER allow another man to sit on his lap, but instead make the most of what they have – an amazing, caring, and unbeatable sense of community. One short journey, on a dirty, old and rundown train, through one of the most crowded cities on earth, reminded me of what really is important in life, and that I hope to never forget.

Four stops before our own station, the local men told us it was time to start pushing toward the door (about a 5m distance), if we wanted any chance of getting off the train. Now, pushing is a lot easier said than done when you have an Indian man on each of your legs, and there is in fact no space in which to push people! It took me a minute just to stand up, raising my bag (containing all my valuables) above my head, and turn to face the direction I was hoping to go. Gripping on to the railing well above the reach of the average Indian man, I started the slow process of pulling my way forward, every centimeter I moved affecting all those within the few meters around me. With Chris (who is a fair bit smaller than me!) hanging on/squashed up against me, his heart beating ridiculously fast, I slowly pulled us forward around half the distance to the door, when we hit the point where there was nowhere further to go. Getting closer to the door was just pushing the people hanging on the outside of the train (some with nowhere to even put their feet for support!) further out the door, yet where we were standing, my chest and body were getting crushed to the point where I could no longer breathe properly. While I could still feel him hanging on for dear life, and he was directly next to me, Chris was buried under hundreds of arms, bags and people, completely obscured from my view. We stood, crushed amongst countless people for a few minutes, struggling to breathe, until the platform came within view, and by no choice of our own, we started to get carried along in the pack of people heading toward the door of the still fast moving train. As the train was still pulling up toward the platform, people started to jump, creating space in front, and we found ourselves pushed forward toward the doors, while the platform continued to race past in front of us. With little choice or chance to object, I jumped from the moving train, much to the fear of the crowds of locals (much shorter and smaller than me, and probably not used to someone like me jumping toward them!), and once landed, turned around to find a rather ill-looking Chris further along the platform where he just managed to get off the train. No words were needed – our shocked looks said it all!

After our big day, and the train ride home, I opted for a quiet night. Cards with a group of biomedical scientists from the UK, a good chat with 2 guys on their way to working visas in Australia, and a bottle of water at midnight to celebrate Australia Day, and my time in Mumbai was almost over! Up early the next day for my flight to Delhi, I was glad to be moving on, yet feel there was so much more to be seen and done in Mumbai… but I do need to leave some stuff for my next trip!

At least we had air-conditioning...

Haji Ali Mosque

An Aussie, an American, a Canadian, a Dane
and an Engishman walk into a bar...

A botanic round-a-bout in the Colaba district