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Published: January 30th 2007
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Hi Everyone!
Time for a bit of catch-up again. Sarah and I made it back to London by bus and said our sad goodbyes to David, Sam and Laurie. With our heavy packs strapped to our backs, we ever so slowly made our way to Heathrow. Forget the glamour of travel at times like these. Sarah and I were simply trying not to turtle. Traversing London during rush hour is tough. We arrived at the airport behind schedule and were welcomed with an hour-long check-in line. By some stroke of good fortune, Sarah and I were in chirpy moods once we arrived at the desk. The clerk engaged us in a bit of banter and then, wait for it.........we got upgraded! I would love to attribute this to our charming personalties and the clerk's instant adoration for us, but in actuality, the flight was overbooked and we were some of the last to check in. Sarah and I melted into our gigantic cushy seats and slept the flight away.
The peace ended there.
We have been in India for four days now. It has taken me this long to collect my thoughts into a somewhat coherent manner. The Mumbai
International Airport was usual enough, aside from the men striding down the corridors with rifles on their backs. We collected our luggage, changed money and booked a taxi. Everything was easy and was going as planned. Then we stepped outside.
The sliding doors opened to a mass of people waiting behind a gate. Some were there to meet family members, most were either taxi drivers, porters or beggers. They seemed to out number passengers 10-1. Policemen held the crowd back as we made our way to our assigned taxi. Porters grabbed at our bags, children grabbed at our shirts. Fifty other taxi drivers tried to steer us towards their cabs. We were finally shoved into a 50's-era car that looked as though it had no chance in hell of starting. All of the windows were rolled down. Sarah and I sat wide-eyed and flustered. We expected a bombardment but nothing could have prepared us for this. Our driver was MIA and so we sat trapped, people hanging into the car through all four windows demanding money from us. Welcome to Mumbai.
Obtaining a taxi was only the beginning of the chaos. We lived through the most terrifying ride
The Taj Hotel
Oooooooh lalaaaaaa of my life as our driver dodged Mumbai's traffic. I have discovered that Indian cars must have their horns connected to the brake. Any time a driver brakes or even thinks of braking, he honks. It is a chorus of honking at all times, everywhere.
Mumbai is very dirty by my standards. We passed countless slums and shelters made from rubbish as we drove. Children no older than 4 navigated streets the width of an 8 lane highway to push hand-made goods into our car. Our taxi, and others, barely took notice of them, avoiding them with as much care as one would avoid a pop can on the road. Homeless women and children bathed in mud puddles below billboards advertizing Mercedes Benz and Coke.
After about 45 minutes and seven near-heart attacks later, we arrived at Bentley's Hotel in Colaba, the heart of the tourist district. We were a block in from Colaba Causeway, the main commercial street and a tunnel of consumerism. Shops line one side of the sidewalk while kiosks line the other. Goods are hung from above; you are entirely enveloped. Men shout, "yes, madame, big balloon?" or "madame, like drums?" as they block your
path with giant balloons or beat a tiny drum at you. Everyone openly gawks as we walk down the street. Some men leer and make kissing noises. You cannot walk without being begged by children or women with babies for money.
Though we saw stunning art galleries and watched a flashy Bollywood movie called Saleem-e-Ishq (we hardly understood a word), bought salwaar kameez and long flowing skirts, to point out the good, clean features of the city on the same page as its problems would not do justice to the extreme suffering that occurs in Mumbai everyday. It is heartbreaking. And yet, Sarah and I both instantly fell in love. In all of its sadness and despair, Mumbai is beautiful. Words entirely fail me. It is something one must experience to understand.
We are now in Panaji, the capital city of Goa. We took a 12 hour overnight bus to get here and let me say, it was the first and probably not the last time that I have been entirely miserable on this trip. The bus was nice enough but we were forced to lay down the entire ride. Sarah and I were squished closer together than either of us would have liked. A few hours into the trip, my Gravol began to wear off and I got very nauseous. It was around 1am, neither of us had slept a wink and Sarah offered to switch sides with me and let me have the window. It didn't help. I breathed deep, focused my thoughts and closed my eyes, thinking of better places. Sarah got me a barf bag. Eventually, she fell asleep while my sickness and exhaustion battled each other. Thankfully, exhaustion won out and I managed about two hours of restless sleep. Around 830 the bus came to a halt in Panaji. I awoke dirty, sweaty and sore. We groggily made our way off of the bus only to be accosted by taxi drivers. We paid far too much to be driven into town but wound up and a charming, breezy little hotel folded into a steep hill. Sarah and I have spent the day getting cleaned up and fed and generally enjoying this place. It is much more relaxed and soothing. We are so happy to be here. It's only 1230 so we are off to do some more exploring before we head to Arambol tomorrow morning.
Miss you all!
xoxo Carlie
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A. Karen
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Holy smokes!! Quite the adventure. Take care.