Bombay Merry Hai!

By request: Anouska's mother asked for more pictures of Anouska and less of gourmet dog. So here it is. A nice big one of Anouska wearing some of her new clothes. (Mumbai)

To begin with, I would just like to make a few comments regarding this blog. Firstly, the reason that there are no photographs for the first few paragraphs is because our camera had an unfortunate encounter with some water in Hoi An and no longer works. So we bought a new camera that we hope we survive the rest of our journey. Secondly, Anouska and I purchased fake wedding bands and pretend we are a married so we don't get hassled in conservative countries, like India. Now to the blog...

After three weeks in Vietnam, it was time to depart and continue with our journey. There are some things I will sorely miss in Vietnam. For instance, Bia Hoi (Draught Beer) places, where you can get a tall, cool, home-made beer for anything between 30 cents and 2 dollars. Oh, and who could forget Vietnamese coffee. Filtered through a French style drip, this coffee is added with condensed milk and it is absolutely lovely. Anouska tells me she will have separation anxieties over the absence of mango juices, but then I remind her that Indian’s a very fond of a fruit lassi as well. Not only the drinks, obviously, but the fantastic food and the atmosphere of the place has made it a great first destination. With our bags noticeably heavier after our splurge in Hoi An, we headed off to the airport, not knowing when we will see this country again.

Sometimes in life, you avoid your fears. Other times, your fears avoid you. I think the latter can be said to my approach to flying. I have flown several times before this trip, all without any trepidation whatsoever. But now, for reasons unbeknownst to myself, I have a great anxiety that every flight I take will simulate a disaster movie I have seen. But it’s illogical isn’t it? Flying is very safe. You’re more likely to have a car accident or fall over and crack your head open walking down the street. So, why are my palms sweaty and my heart racing every time the plane lifts into the air? I cannot answer that. Maybe I’ve seen Flying High too many times. At least I know not to order the fish.

We touched down in Mumbai (Bombay) late Friday evening and we were immediately hit with the hot, sticky weather that is common-place in India. Actually, this is the most ideal time of year to come, because it’s in between the monsoon and very hot season, but after a few hours walking the streets, I can feel the energy sapped from my body. Walking out of the International Airport was an experience in itself, as we were met with thousands of people outside all waiting for people to arrive. We located our driver in a sea a brown faces and swam through the crowd to find the car. The trip to the hotel was a little frightful, even after Hanoi, when the driver proceeded to speed through a busy intersection, wheels squealing, with only a lengthy toot of his horn (Indians are more fond of the horn then the Vietnamese). But we arrived safely, if a little shell shocked.

The hotel we are staying at is called “The Hotel New Bengal” and it’s situated roughly a kilometre from the Fort and Colaba regions in Mumbai. One of the hotel managers is an Indian version of Basil Fawlty. He seemed to get frustrated by everything and he even looks like him. I wish I could get a photograph. On our first night we stayed in the Deluxe Room, which was $60, but then we opted for the cheaper, $20 room. Let me tell you something – big mistake. Not only was the room the size of a toilet cubicle, but with the heat (the other room had A/C) and the noise of car horns make it almost impossible to sleep. On top of that a shared, squatting toilet makes a Westerner constipated just looking at it. So after our sleepless night we went back to the deluxe room, paid the extra Rupees and looked forward to visiting the Western-style toilet, equipped with flush.

Contemplative man in Crawford Markets, near where we were staying.

Getting around Mumbai is fairly easy. If you are situated around the city centre, it’s pretty easy to walk to most locations, though I wouldn’t necessary recommend it. As Anouska and I found when we decided to walk a few kilometres to a restaurant on the beach, being white and away from the tourist centre is a bad dichotomy. We unexpectedly found ourselves near a market where about a hundred thousand Indians decided to go that Saturday night. If we didn’t know Mumbai was the most densely populated place on the face of the planet, we soon discovered it. We were approached by hundreds of people selling everything from neon-spin-wheels to hash. People stared at us like we were from another planet, groped us and asked for money. Like Dorothy discovered, we weren’t in our native home anymore, we were in a bizarre and colourful world - we were in the heart of Mumbai. Learning from that lesson, we have been taking taxis ever since. The black and yellow cabs are one of the most iconic things about the city – they are everywhere. The look like something out of the 1950’s and handle like a bouncing, metal drum. But I have to give credit to the drivers. How they can manage to drive so quickly without hitting each other and pedestrians crossing the street is a testament to their profession. And the fares range from anything from 80 cents to a few dollars, so it makes it an affordable way to get around, plus to get to see a lot of the city while you’re at it.

We thought we were spoiled with food in Vietnam, but the cuisine in India is nothing short of mouth-watering. People here sure know how to eat and judging from numerous obese people walking the street, it’s evident they like their food as well. We stopped consulting the Lonely Planet Guide for places to eat on the first day. The places they recommended were okay, but the best meals we have eaten were ones we found off the street. I think people treasure the Guide too much. I mean, it’s not the bible; it’s not going to give you all the answers. Travelling is much more enjoyable without that literary leash. I think Anouska and I can both agree that the best food is Muslim food. We have been to several Muslim eateries and we have not been disappointed. However, eating at a Muslim place does have its drawbacks. Firstly, Anouska got some strange looks, owing to their beliefs about women. Secondly, and this is true of most Indian places, they tend to forgo the use of utensils and eat with their hands. This was problematic for myself, as I am left-handed and not using my dominant limb was a difficult task. I would have to concentrate very hard not to use it and then occasionally my concentration would lapse and I would find myself eating with my dirty hand. They must have thought I was a savage. We have found that when you go to places were actual Indians eat themselves, you find that the food is not only more authentic, but tastier. Too tasty in fact, as I discovered when I could not resist the different types of bread, despite being a celiac. As a consequence, I gave a great performance of ‘Whitey vomits onto Indian street’. I think now I will curb my intake of fantastic Indian breads.

I appear happy enough eating my wheat-based dinner, but little did I know that I would be soon imitating John Hurt in "Alien".

Of course, the one thing you must do while in India is see a Bollywood film. There was just as much entertainment before the film started as we sat in our seats when an announcement appeared saying (and I am paraphrasing) “If there is an explosion, please offer help to the victims”. A little disconcerting, yes, but not so much as being asked to rise for the Indian National Anthem when you’re the only non-Indians in the cinema. After all that, the lights dimmed and the film started. Although we didn’t understand every word of “Hello”, as it was mostly in Hindi, with some English, it was a pretty basic plot. A group of people working in a call centre (Yes, those people who call you when you are eating dinner) all experience loss and love and sing about it as well. It was a very well made film. The songs were entertaining and it was quite humorous in parts. Also, they made fun of Americans a lot, which appealed to us as well as the Indian audience. This was a particularly funny excerpt (paraphrasing again):

Teacher: 35 = 10. This is a very important equation. It means that the average 35 year old American has the mind of a 10 year old Indian.

On a side note, being an extra in a Bollywood film seems to be easy. Anouska and I were approached three times by people to be Bollywood film. I couldn’t say if all the requests were authentic, just like a strange Indian fellow who wanted to have a cup of tea or dinner with us.

Mumbai is a very complex place and even if I were to live here for the next ten years, I doubt I would be much closer to understanding it. The architecture is a hybrid of Indo-Saracen, with some very noticeable English influences. The city, if not the entire country is a huge melting pot of different religions including; Islamic, Hinduism, Buddhism and Christianity. And the polarisation between rich and poor is very evident. You can literally walk a few hundred metres and you’ve left a rich area, where people are well dressed and eating in well-to-do places to a slum area, where families are sleeping on the street and scavenging through the rubbish. It’s quite a shock to see a multitude of cripples, deformed persons and homeless families on the street begging for money and scavenging through the rubbish. It breaks my heart not only to see it, but to know there is nothing that can be done for these people. The experience definitely changes your perspective.

A Note to all Readers of this Blog: We would really like to hear from you, so I encourage you to leave comments on this page. It is very comforting to hear back from home, so please feel free to leave thoughts, greetings, suggestions etc.

We went to the Ghandi Museum. He kicked arse. Metaphorically, obviously.