Madness in Mumbai

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Dead to the world I was abruptly awoken by the train guard shouting "last stop Mumbai", and just made it out of the completely empty carriage to the platform with all my bits before the train trundled off to where-ever trains go to sleep! Composing myself, I was struck by the humidity for such an early hour, when I saw a fellow traveler, Heilke, a young Dutch guy who I spoken to the night before in a similar position - eyes half open, hair all over the place and with a rather bemused look on his face.

We jumped a cab to Colomba - luxury! but unfortunately my room would not be ready until midday, so I headed off downstairs to Leopold's, the infamous gangster cafe written about in Shataram, and sat back to wait out the hours. I was reeling at the difference in attitudes and dress; it was almost like being in a different country; laid back and cosmopolitan. I felt like a country bumpkin dressed in my salwar kameez.

Heilke, who had been unsuccessful in his search for a room joined me. Accommodation in Bombay (as everyone refers to it) is often overbooked and expensive so we decided to share and began our adventure. Dumping our stuff we headed straight out to explore the city, starting with a 3-hour historical walk around some of Bombay's old colonial sights. I kept getting flashbacks to London - St Pancras, Westminster. I was a little disappointed by the Gates of India, a huge arch which the British army ceremoniously left through, it was like it had been plonked on the beach front and was surrounded by hawkers selling the biggest balloons and touts pushing boat trips.

We continued dodging the traffic, stopping on the way for the best street toastie; potatoes, beetroot, carrot, tomatoe and onion coated in the chilli tommy k and topped with crispy fried bits - umm, and wandered around the modern art gallery, analysing the works, some garish and childlike but others thought provoking and stylish. We were also lucky that there was a black and White photograph exhibition; Henri-Cartier Bresson (I think!) portraying the Bollywood film director Nemai Ghosh in various poses and locations.

We popped into a synagogue, which looked nothing from the outside down a little back street but once inside it was magnificent, all painted white and blue (like the Israeli flag), with benches all facing the stained glass windows and enjoyed a pleasant hour discussing the Jews in India with the rabbi.

Best of all was the old library, stacks of books lining wooden shelves along the aisles and a wooden spiral staircase leading to a locked door - I did try and see where it led but we were ushered out before I could find out. In the quiet, the people were either asleep on their books, studying or sitting in deck chairs facing away from the noise of the traffic under a whirling ceiling fan reading the papers - so civilised. It would make a perfect location for a Havana cigar advert.

Onwards along the wide streets, lined with trees and dodging the security guard who told us off for taking photos of the High Court, we found ourselves at the Oval Maidens, wham bam in the middle of numerous cricket games on a well maintained lawn. Explaining the rules to H, a rather simplified version, we decided to join in, one to have a go and two to avoid being hit by the many flying balls. I fared rather better as the bowler gently threw underarm but I think H was astonished at the speed of the googlies!

Exhausted we returned to the hotel for a rest, but I was persuaded out to the cinema, reclining seats for 2 quid and popcorn, it's going to take a lot to beat watching Casino Royal in Mumbai. The night was still young, less so yours truly, I was running on pure adrenalin, but fuelled by a few beers and delicious chicken kebab from the traveling kebab shop with it's own microwave and telephone number, we decided to go dancing, Mumbai style, at a local 70's disco. Underestimating the dress code, we had to return to the hotel to smarten ourselves up and with H hobbling along in my walking shoes we returned, entering the club to a sea of people dancing to 'Daddy Cool'. Grooving the night away with a fantastic group of Mumbai locals, the girls alternating between western dance and elegant Indian moves... I learnt a thing or two. A fantastic 24 hours!

Sunday 26th Nov
We had been spotted to appear in a Bollywood movie but luckily, I wasn't really looking my best for my first film debut, it was cancelled and managed to stumbled downstairs to Leopold's for a much needed coffee and poached eggs.

I couldn't waste the whole day and leaving the dreaded rucksack, I did what all girls do on a hangover without TV and not enough sleep, I went shopping. One quilt later and I was at the post office watching my purchase being expertly stitched into a cloth package, chatting away to the locals and chuckling at the memory of yesterday.

Invariably with travelling you spend long periods of time just waiting for the next train, bus or plane reading or planning the next adventure, and I've discovered Indian's answer to Starbucks - Coffee Day, having reinstated my ban on McDonalds (except for pee stops). It's air-conditioned and does a great frappacino. So I spent my Sunday evening waiting for my train to Goa, looking forward to a few days in the same place and a chance to just relax and unwind. It's weird having spent so much of the first 6 weeks alone, I haven't spent a moment over the last few days and I'm rather missing my time to just myself just pottering about, talking to myself.

The beach calls…

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