The Rest of Mumbai and Onwards

I write this sitting on the train, nearly two hours into my trip to Delhi and thankfully I haven't got bored yet but with almost 24 hours still to go there's still time. I'm relieved to say that my fears of a journey in a cramped un-airconditioned carriage, shared with the very poor and other mugs who didn't book in advance have not materialised but that I'm sitting in absolute luxury with a couple of Swedish psychedelics, two very friendly Muslims, not wearing baggy clothing and without suspicious looking rucksacks, (sorry for the inappropriate joke) and another as yet unidentified traveller. 

Yesterday evening I strolled down to Marine Drive on the eastern edge of Colaba, (its one of Lin's favourite hangouts in Shantaram) and sat reading and chatting to passers-by. After a while Deepak ran up, apologised for being late and handed me a coke. We chatted for a bit, he started trying to expand my Hindi vocabulary, reached about ten words then switched to teaching me Marathi, the language of Bombay and the surrounding province, Maharashtra. Sensing I was about to become very confused I suggested a stroll. We walked for hours, up to Chowpatty, the northern point of the Bay of Reclamation, there was a beach of sorts and it seemed the place to be for young families on a Friday night. Then we looped south, had a quick beer and then went our separate ways at about mid-night. 

Chowpatty beach from across the Bay of Reclamation

This morning I woke up in my 400 rupee a night shoe box, had a shower, found a taxi that would be able to accomodate both me and my enormous suitcase. I succeeded-ish and with my neck bent at a right angle to fit my head in we headed off to the station. There I dropped my bags at the left luggage and headed to the slums with Deepak. Twenty minutes by train took us to an area of Mumbai that really wasn't very different to what I'd just left, there were fewer tourists, a bit more dirt and shabbier, less advanced architecture, but it didn't feel desperate or downcast as I'd expected it to. It was just as vibrant and loud and bustley as Colaba and the people didn't seem any diminished in ambition or friendliness. The kids thought I was the funniest thing they'd seen all yer and came up to me with their 'Hello, how are you's (I wish I could put an Indian accent into writing, it really cracks me up) and all shook my hand.

'Hello, how are you?'

Dharavian monkey enjoying some grapes.

It was only when I suggested to Deepak that we head off the main road that we saw real poverty. He only admitted it then but he'd never been to Dharavi slum before so it was all new to him too. To boost the local economy we bought cups of chai and a mixture of herbs and spices wrapped in bhang leaves which were a bit like eating very lumpy grass without the nice flavour. Huge rubbish pits began to appear with skinny, big balled goats rummaging through them, little children would squat down and wee in the street and the houses transformed from fairly sturdy concrete to mud, bamboo and plastic sheeting. Even that wasn't as bad as I'd expected and the kids all still ran around with no signs of malnutrition or dampened spirits.

Then in a little corner in between the main road and the railway lines there was a few acres of absolute squalor, people packed into shacks that were barely standing and would certainly fall when the Monsoons came, stick thin children and disease struck adults with missing limbs and hollow eyes littered the streets. The entrance had been disguised by plastic sacking and it was clear that foreigners never came in here. I was told not to go in by young men at the entrance and Deepak told me that 'it was a bad place'. I carried on walking and then found myself being ushered through stinking, narrow alleyways round in a loop and then back onto the main road. They were clearly embarrassed at the state of it and wanted me to leave as soon as possible.

I caught the train back down to CST, then grabbed some lunch with Deepak and we headed north again to the Haji Ali mosque, named after a rich merchant who, legend has it, saved a women from her husbands beating by making oil spurt out of the ground. However he realised that he'd harmed the Earth and subsequently died of remorse, his coffin was cast into the sea before running aground on some rocks just of the coast of Mumbai, so they built a mosque there in his memory, as one does. It is joined to the mainland with a causeway of 333 steps and has become an attractive site for pilgrimages and sweaty backpackers.

Haji Ali, its not actually at an angle thats just the photo.

I then stopped by Dhobi Ghat, where the Dhobi caste wash the laundry of millions of Bombayese??. It bizarrely attracts a fair few tourists and was the only place I went to in the city that you had to pay to enter. Then, broke and mindful of the upcoming train journey I walked the 8 km back to CST, stopping by a flower show on the way.

It was a brilliant way to see the city because you are at the peoples level and you see and experience things that you don't from a car, and theres no taxi drivers to prise all your money away. 

Back at the station I said goodbye to Deepak and promised to see him in a few weeks for his brother's wedding in Uttar Pradesh which he'd very kindly invited me to. He'd been brilliant the last couple of days and I'm sure I'd be in a huge mess without him, and he wouldn't accept anything to say thank you, he seemed offended almost when I offered money which was a lovely change to many of the other people I'd met.

And then onto the train and onto Delhi. 

Cheers to Mumbai for now.

Max

Mumbai update

Quick round-up so far

This ones just to let you briefly what I've been up to the last few days and there will be a more detailed entry later for the keen beans.

After leaving the internet cafe yesterday I strolled down to Marine Drive, met Deepak and then we walked and chatted for several more hours, discussing our plans for the next day and him trying to drill some Hindi and Marathi into me.

This morning I met him at CST, the main train station in Mumbai and we travelled twenty minutes up to Sion station. on the edge of the Daravhi, 'the largest slum in Asia'. My first impression of it was that it wasn't actually that different to the rest of Mumbai, shoddier buildings and more rubbish on the streets but with the same feel and vibe, and without the devastating poverty I'd been warned of. However excursions off the main drag revealed houses made of bamboo and plastic, kids squatting in the street and goats picking through the enormous rubbish heaps on every corner. It was poverty that I'd only seen a few times on Jangano and it was much more in your face as I was on foot and not flashing past in a Land Cruiser. 

That afternoon I took a trip up to Haji Ali, the mosque on an island, connected to the mainland by causeway and Dhobi Ghat, where the Dhobi caste wash the linen of hundreds of thousands of Mumbai dwellers (Mumbains?). I had been informed that it was very popular and with nothing else planned thought it worth a look. 

From there I walked the 6 or 7 kms back to CST, picked up my bags said my 'namastes' to Deepak and jumped on the train for Delhi. I was very relieved, that despite my ticket only costing 440 rupees (approximately 9 US dollars) I had a luxurious, air-conditioned sleeper berth and wasn't down in third class as I'd feared. After 26 hours spent reading, sleeping and hanging out the door I arrived in Delhi, then a quick cab to Louis and Frederique's lovely house where I watched the footie with Louis and headed for bed.

Will post pictures and a longer entry later today.

Cheers

Max

Mumbai Pics - First Batch

Mumbai Pics – First Batch

This ones for my little bro, as apart from the colour this is

exactly the same as a toy TATA overlander truck that we both

played with back in the day.

Here's a fairly sweaty me having just discovered the

'Gateway to India'. I'm sure 'Day Marine' the Mauritian

company that I worked for will appreciate the

advertising although most Indians read it as

'Germany'.

Me and Deepak in the same place, the photo was

 taken on his mates Polaroid and then given to us free

of the normal 30 rupee tourist surcharge.

Not the actual Taj but nonetheless the Taj Mahal Hotel, standing right

next to the 'Gateway of India' is still very impressive.

And lastly I'd like to leave you with a sign I saw on a cafe today,

 I thought it a useful piece of advice for anyone travelling

to India.

Max



First Impressions

Look away kids. Holy shit. Literally. Five minutes into my exploration this morning I stepped in cow poo. I then bought the offending cow some food to reboost my karma as that seemed the done thing.

My 16 hours here have been absolutely mental. Fairly lonely despite the 20 million people but really really amazing. I've made a friend, great guy called Deepak who speaks very little English but is a good laugh and so far hasn't asked me for any money, he's even paid his share of the bills. We're off to Dharavi slum tomorrow which will beat anything I've seen so far. Then I'm on the train up to Delhi, 25 hours in third class is not my prefered way of travel but apparently it was the only option left so I took the, well it'll be an experience view and went for it. I'll let you know how it goes.

After a quick cat nap in the hotel I hit the streets, met the cow, nearly got run over thousands of times, admired the architecture, and then as I was loosing momentum met Deepak. We chatted a bit, ran out of words and then he offered to accompany me to the Gateway of India. As we went I realised he seemed to know just about everyone and despite the language barrier he was really useful. So we communicated some more, his English wasn't that bad, he knew a lot about the 2008 terrorist attacks although from what I can gather they took out half the city, as on every second street he says 'terrorist' and mimes shooting an AK-47 off the hip.

He's now taken it upon himself to teach me Hindi which would be immensely useful apart from the lack of English translation. Anyway he helped me sort my train ticket, showed me around all day, paid for taxi fares, bought me a beer and has generally been exceptionally friendly.

Tomorrow may end up costing a bit in 'fixer fees' but it'll have been worth it.

I'll try and get photos up after dinner and then I'm off for a drink at Leopold's (the one from Shantaram).
Any tips or hints very welcome.
Cheers
Max

Hi all. 'All' is going to be the select few who have access to/can be bothered to check my blog on my time in India. In case you haven't heard I will be spending approximately four months in India, first working at a school up in the mountains in Shimla and then travelling around the country for a couple of months with a friend from Marlborough. I leave tomorrow, which is fairly soon; but I'm sure before long my amazing parents will have made sure that all their friends and relatives have been sent links to this blog. And then don't be surprised if you subsequently recieve phone calls from them demanding your views and opinions on little Maxy's big adventure.

So I'm sitting in my room in Harare with the generator powering the internet at the very end of what has been an amazing three months. But I can't bum around for ever and tomorrow I'll be dropped off at the airport with my huge suitcase and I'll be off on my own, properly on my own, for the first time. I fly into Mumbai (Bombay to apease all), arriving at half past midnight with only the name of a hotel and a vague picture of a map of the city in my head. Mummy isn't particularly happy about my level of laidbackness when it comes to travelling and she probably is right but unless I get abducted by a taxi driver I guess I should be alright (touch wood).

I'm fantastically excited about the next few months, its the real deal part of my gap year, somewhere completely new and fresh, somewhere thats going to blow my mind, I've even got a buzz out of talking to the guy at the reception desk of the hotel I'm staying at.

Before I go I want to thank everyone whose helped me over the last few months with hints, or anecdotes of their experiences, sorting me out when my disorganisation levels have reached new peaks and just generally giving me encouragement from the sidelines. Specifically Mands and Gus le Breton, Conor and Emma O'Beirne, Granny and Grampa, Ed Holmes, whose stories of his cricket tour to the sub-continent did seem to consist mainly of his team's bowel's reactions to the numerous curries that they ate, and of course Mum and Dad. I know I've already given them a bit of abuse in this post and there is a constant battle between me being way too laidback and them trying to drive some organisation into my life but I genuinely couldn't do any of this, and couldn't have done any of my travelling over the last year without their constant nagging and ideas and just generally sorting me out. So thank you.
Apologies to anyone I may have missed out, no doubt your advice will come in handy at some point and I'll make sure to credit you then.

Anyway feel free to comment on any of the posts, or if you have any more personal questions, perhaps regarding my body's reaction to Indian food then drop me a line on maxadams93@gmail.com.
Cheers
Max