Mumbai

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Waving goodbye to Robin, I set off for the bus station to catch the Mumbai sleeper in a state of mild panic. This really was being let loose in India alone and I wasn’t sure I was crazy about the idea. I was feeling alarmingly queasy and suspected that my tummy had been hijacked again by pesky bacterial invaders. But, like every day in India, it soon turned into a grand adventure – at the bus station (after sitting on my backpack for an hour wondering if I had packed the immodium within easy reach), I got chatting to other single travellers and soon came across a German lady who was heading to Mumbai too. She knew the city well and I felt reassured that I had chosen to head, as she was also, to Colaba, the southernmost peninsula and the main travellers hangout. The bus station was manic – destinations were announced as each bus swooped in but it was difficult to hear over the din and some people were left behind in a frenzy as their bus departed without them!

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The Mumbai bus arrived (late) and stopped for just a few minutes, driving on before we had even loaded our luggage, let alone boarded. I was forced to chase it along the road, trying not to lose sight of it or my fellow passengers (there were many identical buses streaming past) as I struggled with the luggage. The bus stopped again around a few corners and 50 people tried to cram their bags into the back and jump on before it set off again. Indian businessmen shoved me aside but a dreadlocked Israeli guy managed to get my luggage on for me. When asked for the seat number by the man marking the luggage with chalk, he gave his own and I spent the entire night wondering if my bag would now disembark before me! Besides which, my seat was originally booked for the airport stop but I had decided instead to get off at the harbour – how would the bag logistics work? The driver and the bag guy refused to engage in any kind of conversation with anyone – I would just have to pray that my bag would still be there in the morning. I shared a booth with a bubbly Aussie girl, Annette, who spent hours cooing to her boyfriend on her mobile. The berths were bigger than the Goa bus, but this time not caged in, meaning that I was unable to sleep because I had to hold on to a bar all night, else I would have fallen out!

a man with a giant marrow-shaped, glitter-filled balloon chased me, prodding me with the balloon

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By morning I was definitely poorly and was keen to get off and find a hotel room with attached bathroom! At each stop, the driver shouted something incoherent and a few people shuffled off each time. I decided I would stay on until the end (surely the peninsula would be last!) I watched the sun rise as we passed glistening skyscrapers and grim shantytown slums. Finally there were only 5 or 6 people left onboard, (the German lady had disappeared), but I was indeed turfed off at the harbour, reunited with my luggage (phew!) and immediately pounced on by a taxi driver. I jumped in and asked for a LP recommended establishment. The driver was rude, insisting that my chosen hotel was closed (OK mate, I’ve been in India for 2 months now, I’m not falling for that one!) and I was adamant and irritable, demanding to be taken to Seashore Hotel where I was ‘meeting my husband’. He tried to charge me 300RP for the 5 minute journey. Furious and finally agreeing to pay 200RP just to get away, I managed to stomp off, snatching my bags from the road where he had dumped them just before he deliberately reversed, nearly running over my yoga mat.

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The Seashore hotel wasn’t closed, but it was grotty and it was full. They suggested I come back at noon – somebody might check out. It was 7.30AM and by now I had cramping tummy pain, a blinding headache and an alarming fever! Leaving my rucksack there I went for a walk in a daze along the harbourside. I came across the Gateway to India – the grand colonial arch from which the last British regiment sailed away in 1948 when India claimed its independence. It’s a triumphant and impressive sight and I wished that I felt well enough to care! Touts wanted to sell me tours and a man with a giant marrow-shaped, glitter-filled balloon chased me, prodding me with the balloon insisting that I should buy it! I quickened my pace and soon found myself on a hotel-lined street, quickly finding one willing to check me in immediately – over budget but hey, there was a loo and a TV, (I had a feeling I would be spending a fair bit of my Mumbai time in the hotel room!)

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Sure enough, 2 days later when I checked out to head for the airport for my Varanasi flight, all I had seen of the city was a pharmacy when I had ventured out for emergency antibiotics, (thankfully you can buy them over the counter and the ever helpful LP told me what to ask for). The 30km taxi drive to the airport was a real eye-opener though. The driver, much kinder this time, took pity on me having been cooped up all weekend and gave me a whistle stop tour of the city along the way as I frantically took photos from the window! I saw the fabulous High Court, reminiscent of a gothic castle and the extravagant Victoria Terminus railway station – a world heritage site and the busiest station in Asia. I also came face to face with some of the 55% of Mumbai’s population living in the largest slum in Asia (more than a million live within 1.7 square kms!) We stopped for petrol in a grimy, dusty alley and were then caught in a jam of mayhem, people, animals and poisonous traffic fumes. Families sat outside corrugated metal huts, setting up their veg market and street food stalls and children rummaged through gigantic piles of rotting rubbish, looking for recyclables to sell. I tried to hide my camera away as they peered in at me – it was an insightful experience but it struck me that this was normal everyday life. The area was economically depressed and horrendously overcrowded but the people seemed somehow tranquil in their bustling chaos. The slum was a hive of activity and, as always, India was embracing life.