Mumbai (Bombay)

Days 9-10: Bombay Well, I hardly made it 36 hours into my stay in India before coming down with a case of the infamous "Delhi Belly". First it crept up slowly and I thought it wouldn't be too bad. Then it hit me head-on. I thought I had been pretty safe about what I'd been eating and drinking, but I guess I need to be even safer, even if that means avoiding the omnipresent and cheap street food. I certainly don't want to spend my entire time in India living at the mercy of when nature calls so I'd better be extra vigilent about my diet from now on.

Day 9 Today was a day pretty much lost: 22 hours spent on a train. At first the train ride was fun, because I was able to converse with every person in my 6-person compartment. There was the Canadian girl from Winnipeg, just through working for an NGO in Uganda and on her way to a bird sanctuary. The Punjabi ship's deckhand who is studying to be a ship's engineer. The two young French ladies on their way to the desert. And a French-speaking Muslim gentleman from Madagascar with a wonderfully wispy white beard. We all had a friendly time for the first 6 hours or so. Then the ladies got off, and the heat started getting oppressive as the farmland turned to desert. Even if India is the 2nd most populated place on earth, there is still a great deal of empty land, although it's never entirely uninhabited: there are always a few peasants or farmers around, working what they can out of the land.

At this point I retired to the upper bunk. It was hot. I had opted for the non-A/C car because it was cheaper (the entire journey cost less than $10). I chose the top bunk because it's safer, but it's also hotter of course, and I couldn't see out the window. Since my stomach was starting to kill me, I lost all my appetite and basically ate nothing all day except for mango juice. The train housed an army of food-sellers and I swear every 60 seconds we were assailed by someone selling one thing or another, usually chai. The chant went something like this: "Chai chai chai chai chaivily chaivily chai chai chai chai chaivily chaivily chai chai chai chai chai" and it went on the entire train ride save a few hours between 1am and 4am.

Day 10

Finally arrived in Mumbai at 6am and I've never been so happy to get off a train. Hopefully I won't have too many more super-long journeys like that.

Fortunately was able to check into a hotel at 7am. It's not such a good deal as Delhi. Bombay on the whole is more expensive, probably the most expensive city in India. By the way, although the city was officially changed from Bombay to Mumbai around ten years ago for political reasons, most Indians and locals continue to call it Bombay. I'm paying $10 a night for a single room with shared bath. There's a TV and when I turned it on Seinfeld was on. The Veranda outside is pleasant, with views of the brothel across the street. The brothel is an old teeterig wooden structure, oddly juxtaposed next to a steel-and-glass skyscraper.

I've only been in Bombay a few hours but already it is noticeable different than Delhi. Bombay is more humid. That might sound like a bad thing, but I think it's actually good, because there's no dust in the air. Delhi was horribly dusty, my eyes hurt just to be outside. Bombay is a seaside city, which may or may not be the cause of what seems to be a more relaxed ambiance. The traffic is significantly better than Delhi. That's probably due to the law banning rickshaws in the streets. It's easier to cross the street. Vehicles aren't always on the verge of running people over. It's a much greener city, the streets lined with trees. I didn't see a single cat in Delhi, but here there are cats everywhere, especially at the seafood market (apparently, Bombay cats are smarter than Bangkok cats). Like Bangkok, the air is permeated with a sort of fishy smell. Perhaps that's why so many shops burn incense.

The whole city seems much more urbane than Delhi. The urban infrastructure, while probably older than that in Delhi, has also held up better. Admittedly, it's mostly British, but it gives the city an air of formality and grandeur that most of Delhi lacks. It also seems more compact and walkable, because it's compressed onto a peninsula (I'm sure the suburbs are a different story).

After hardly eating anything yesterday, I decided to treat myself to a splure this morning. I had the breakfast buffet at the Taj Mahal hotel, the finest hotel in Bombay, which happens to be right across the street from my hotel (on the other side from the brothel). While $13 is admittedly high for India (a week's wages for many) I think it was worth it.

I take back some of what I said about Bombay being so much more orderly and clean, etc. etc, than Delhi. Alas, Bombay can be just as loud and worked up in a horn-honking frenzy as Delhi. It just depends on the time and place. My meanderings took me north from downtown Bombay up past cricket grounds, a very British-looking railway station (where I waited 2 hours in line to get my next ticket - they make foreigners wait in a special foreigners line that takes forever, and then charge us 3-4 times what they charge Indians). And I made my first attempt at bargaining with a street vendor. I'm afraid to say it ended miserably. I saw an Indian style shirt I liked and asked how much. He said 950 rupees ($21). I knew this was way too much, so I said 400. First mistake. I started my bidding way too high. In my mind I was thinking, ah, well, it's probably worth about 400, so I wouldn't mind spending that. Well from there the only way the price can go is up. I got it for 500 ($11), thinking I was so clever for talking him down to nearly half his original price. Well, my friends, I was duped. As soon as I got away from the shop I tried on the shirt, and one of the buttons broke in half. The shirt was scratchy and clearly the product of cheap, haphazard craftsmanship. It wasn't worth more than 50 rupees. I paid way too much. Well, it's a lesson earned. Always start the bidding ridiculously low because you know they will start ridiculously high.

In the late afternoon I took the local train about 15-20 km north. That was an inexperience in itself. Super cheap (6 rupees), the local trains are how most folks commute to work, and I was riding towards the suburbs at rush hour. Packed like sardines in a tin. THe train barely stops at each station so passengers jump on and off while it's still moving. Got off at Ville Parle Station (don't know why it's French) and walked 3 km west to Juhu Beach. Juhu is where many Bollywood stars live, like Malibu is to Hollywood. The beach itself is not that pristine, but it's a cheery gathering place, and as I strolled along at dusk, watching the sun set over the Arabian Sea, it was *the* place to be in Bombay. Romantic couples, teenagers, children, people from all over the metropolis savoring the sea breezes and breathing space. Carnivals, food stands, and of course hawkers were to found as well. As I sat down to eat my Subway sandwich (had to see if it tasted the same as home) I attracted a circle of beggar children. Actually, they weren't that persistent, or annoying. They didn't even ask for anything. But I felt guilty so I gave them my sandwich. The cutest little girl also followed me around. She was applying henna tattoos (just ink with an ink block pattern), which is for girls, but she wanted me to buy a henna block to take home to my sister. She was super cute and spoke absolutely perfect English. I took that as a sign that she has been educated and is not poor and thus did not need my patronage. Another boy gt the better of me. He had a monkey and for my 40 rupees the monkey danced for me. This was only after he followed me around chatting for 15 minutes, and I felt the conversation was worth the 40 rupees even if the monkey wasn't. An old man was selling bamboo pipes with reeds that, when played, sounded an awful lot like a clarinet. Since I'd left my clarinet at home and was missing my ability to play music, I bought one. It only had six holes and I could only figure out how to play seven notes, even with different combinations of fingers. It lacked a hole on the back, which would have given me the freedome of an extra octive. Nevertheless, I figured out a few tunes and played them as I strolled up and down the beach, most definitely attracting the attention of most of the Indians on the beach (though not their rupees). I was going to drill my own hole on the back to expand its range, but I dropped it, smashing the reed, and rendering it useless. On the train ride back I was surprised how crowded it still was even late at night in the opposite direction of the commute. But this time an Indian gentleman kindly offered me his seat. And I realized that there is an exception to every rule.

Back in Bombay I was feeling very tired. I sat on the veranda outside my hotel room with some of the other guests - a funny old English chap who seemed leftover from the days when the English still ruled Bombay, and a French cinematographer - and observed the view across the street. It was most definitely a brothel, and Indian women of varying ages, all dressed in traditional saris, were hanging out the windows trying to get the attention of passers-by. On the street, a little boy of ten or so offered me hash or "brown sugar". I didn't know what this was, but later found out it is a low form of heroin. Rather sad.

Day 11

Today was the first day of rain on my trip (I'd had one night of rain on the island in Thailand, but that was only at night. I met a couple from England who had been cast the previous day in a Bollywood film as extras. The vast majority of India's imports and exports go through Bombay, so I wanted to see the dockyards where all the action was. But I wasn't able to get through security. Stopped at the city library where I caught up on some news. Every Indian there was reading newspapers or magazines, not books. I saw a facility on my map called the "American Cultural Center" and I wanted to find out what it was. I thought it would be a center for American expats living in Bombay. In fact, it is indeed run by the US Consulate General in Bombay, but it's for Indians, not Americans. It's a place where Indians can go for information on America, ranging from tourism to universities, visas, work, etc. Interesting to know that such a place exists. I noticed on the magazine shelves full of American magazines a copy of "Ebony" and I wondered what sort of audience that would fetch in India. One thing there are not a lot of here are people of African descent. Or Latinos. Or East Asians. Come to think of it, it's pretty odd for me being in such a homogenous place as India. Aside from the handfull of western tourists, everyone here is Indian. You don't have people immigrating here from other countries, except other South Asian countries like Bangladesh, Nepal, and Pakistan, and they basically blend in with the Indians. Coming from America, even a mostly-white enclave, I'm still so used to seeing a great deal of ethnic diversity on a regular basis, that it feels unnerving for there to be so little diversity here.

I had lunch at a Chinese restaurant. In America Chinese restaurants are run by Chinese, Indian restaurants by Indians, Italian restaurants by Italians, and so on. In India EVERY restaurant is run by Indians (see above paragraph), despite the cuisine. I don't think the Indians have yet perfected Chinese cuisine. Also, it's curious to see a Chinese restaurant that serves neither beef nor pork, yet does serve "Hunan Mutton".

The rain started to pick up, and I bemoaned the fact that I left my umbrella at the hotel. I ducked into a few shops. But I wanted to go north, so I walked along Marine Drive, which hugs the coastline. Then the rain started coming in torrents. I was walking with some English blokes in search of the cricket stadium (India is swarming with English blokes right now because of the India vs. Britain cricket match going on right now)and we ducked under a big leafy tree. Big mistake. As the water permeated the tree, it washed all the dirt off the leaves and onto our clothes.

I kept walking despite the rain, up past Chowpatty Beach (a poor man's version of Juhu Beach) and up Malabar Hill. I ascended the hill through a sort of jungle park and discovered a delightful garden on a sort of mesa overlooking the city. There were dozens of hedges trimmed in the shape of animals with big signs labeling the animals in English. And the garbage cans were penguins. I would later find these penguin garbage cans elsewhere in India. Not sure what the symbolism there is.

Had dinner at a pizza place. I know know....why is he eating so much non-Indian food when he's in India? Well, when I'm at home I don't just eat "American" food. I like to eat all different styles of foods. I suppose the same applies while I'm traveling. Trust me, I'm getting my fair share of Indian food while I'm here. And besides, I did have the pseudo-Indian "Tandoor chicken pizza".