Gateway To India

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Lame title I know. It was going to be Mumbai, da da Mumbai, do do do do Mumbai, da da doo. Yeah, yeah. But only me and operators would know how I like to twist song lyrics up. Plus I thought I would be normal for a change and try this approach to getting on the front page of travelblog.org, heh.

From Doha the plane wasn’t as good as the previous one, but the food and the company was better. I was next to a Russian guy called Alex and his Turkish wife, they were off to India to practice yoga for a month. They sounded like they watched a lot of BBC Prime religiously from Istanbul. Believe it or not they knew more about Eastenders than me!

We landed at Mumbai at 5am, almost as soon as the wheels touched the runway all of the Indians were out of their seats and getting their hand luggage out of the compartments. Bloody hell, whats the rush?

You know when you are waiting at the luggage carousel waiting for your bag, and you for a split second think your bag is not going to turn up, and then it does. Mine didn’t. Good job I was really tired otherwise I would have looked like one of those chavs off Airport moaning about something. They told me that my bag will be in Mumbai tomorrow morning. No worries I thought. I got a taxi to Colaba, the travellers area of old Bombay. Being tired and slightly pissed off, anywhere will do. Apollo Guest House it is, pricey for what I get, but Mumbai is expensive compared to the rest of India.

I woke up about 1pm and sorted out my info with the Hotel manager. “Do you want to be a Bollywood extra?” he asks. I declined, all I wanted to do today was take it easy and wait until I collect my bag tomorrow. I’m sure they don’t want a tired, smelly, unwashed Englishman getting in the way.

I go for a walk around the Colaba area of town. After thinking of getting the next flight home after my mornings taxi ride I am starting to like it here. There are as many touts and street sellers here, but I have become immune to them, thank god! I get food in a café and then walk towards the main train station, it feels like I am walking through Oxford more than a town on the Indian Ocean. A lot of the buildings are as old as the British Raj. So it feels like any old town back home.

The train station is worth a hour of your time alone. Really busy and hectic, all in a Gothic style, which makes St. Pancras in London look ordinary.

Back towards Colaba and to a bar for a few beers. I can’t do much else here so I go to bed early, hoping that my bag is in flight to here!

I get up and call the Qatar airways office, they say my bag is here, good. I get a taxi and eventually find the Qatar airways office. “Oh” says the rep, “Not your bag, another mans bag arrived today, yours is stressed to be here tomorrow”. Stressed? What about me!? With nothing else to do I get another taxi back into town. Sod it, I think and splash out on a Aircon cab. After all they are going to pay for it. Good job I did, it was really humid and smoggy out on the Mumbai streets.

“Where is your bag?” my Hotel manager asks “Fuck know’s” I reply as I went to my room and sleep off a wasted morning.

I went out later to catch up on the net. For some reason there are loads of Chinese restaurants here, I want Indian! In the end I had some Chinese food at Leopold’s, the famous Mumbai travellers café. All the café’s and bars all seem to be linked up to the same jukebox here, plenty of old rock and surprise, surprise, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Crowded House.

Next morning I call the Qatar Airways office again. It’s here! Get the taxi to the airport and storm into the office. Time for a good shout at them, not just for them to feel bad, but for me to let off a bit of steam. That felt good. The 5000 Rupees compensation felt better! After walking around this maze of a airport, my bag was sitting in a empty room, where I had to sign loads of forms, just adding fuel to the fire! I have my back on my back at last, now to get through customs. “Anything to declare sir?” “Yes, Qatar Airways sucks!”. They wanted to know what I had in my bag, bloody hell. “Clothes, toiletries, books, shoes, cuddly toy”. These were all put down on my file, lovely.

Another taxi back to Colaba. A shower, I didn’t care how good it was as long as it was wet. But it really was a 10/10 shower, great. Then a change of clothes. Now my trip to India can begin! 2 days late. First stop was some late breakfast/early lunch and a phone call to my parents to tell them my bag is here, panic over. I spent the afternoon/evening watching some English footy and had my fair share of beer to celebrate. My head hurts, time for bed.

I planned to go to Elephanta Island the next day, but I was too late. Instead I took some excess luggage to the main post office to send back home. It took me a hour to get my photos onto a CD for various reasons, then a walk across town. It was slightly raining, but that didn’t stop the local kids playing cricket in the street. At the post office I handed my stuff to a Parcel-wallah. He wrapped it up more like a surgeon sewing up a open wound. It looked secure enough and was off to sunny England. More sunnier than here at the moment, it’s pissing down, rivers in the streets. There is a unwritten rule for men, 2 men should never share a umbrella, the parcel-wallah let me share his umbrella with him, I’d rather be dry than washed away down the street!

I got a cab back to Colaba, then some lunch at Café Mondegars, on the main road. Most shops and all the bars are closed today, either because it is a Sunday or because it is Gandhi’s birthday. So my chances to see today’s Arsenal match was as slim as birthday boy. Just as I was about to give up, I saw a green screen in a restaurant, and you don’t get much greener than The Home Of Football. After 80 minutes of Birmingham’s keeper saving everything, and me ready to give up football for the rest of my trip, we score! A deflected goal, but it was about time we got some luck our way. I leave straight after the final whistle and type up some travelblogs in the internet café. I go back to Mondegars in the evening and watch Liverpool v Chelsea. No beer here, everywhere is a “dry” day today, no fair! Orange juice it is. I will try and get up early tomorrow.

I got up early, but its pouring down here, plus my Lonely Planet book says that no boats go to Elephanta Island on a Monday. Instead I head out to the train station to sort out my ticket to Goa. There is no way I am getting there dry, so instead of a taxi or a bus, I buy a umbrella and head for Victoria Terminal. The reservations office is upstairs and is just as busy as the rest of Mumbai, It's like a sub-Continental version of Argos here. There is a special booth for foreigners, and no queue! handy. I go for the cheaper option in the sleeper, its a quarter of the price of the 1st class air con. We shall see!

I head back to Colaba for a Lassi and a read of the "Hindustan Times". India speaks very good, clear and colonial English. All over the place there are signs in perfect English, not a typo or spelling mistake in any of them. Unlike the Middle East, where Engrish was the second language.

I walked along the causeway afterwards, loads of street sellers, all thinking that hitting a drum or waving a balloon will send me in a buying trance. I have bought my one thing from here, a umbrella. A pirate DVD is not going to keep me dry! Once Mumbai had dried up, I went into the parks, there was a partial eclipse of the sun in the late afternoon, it didn't make much difference to the to the light here as it is always a hazy sky. When ever its not raining, it always feels like it needs a good thunderstorm. After a long time at the internet cafe updating my travelblogs it was to my room to read my paper and check up on my next destination.

Right then, up early and off on a boat trip to Elephanta Island. Very humid today so some cool sea air will help. Once on the Island there was either a 5 minute walk or a 10 minute wait for a 2 minute train ride. Walk! A 5Rs. "Hello!" tax was paid and then a short climb to the Islands main attraction. Another ticket office, and into the stone cut caves and carvings. I think it must be me, but they don't seem that impressive, I must have been spoilt by Egypt and parts of the Middle East. Someone carved these out of the rock 1500 years ago, unfortunately not to impress me. Still, it's a nice setting and a great half day out of smoggy, noisy Mumbai.

I had time to kill before my 11.00pm train to the state of Goa. One of the best ways I have killed time in the past is drink. Which is exactly what I did this time. I got chatting to a Brisbane guy about his travels and the glorious England cricket team, 7 beers later I use up my last half hour of internet time and then head for the train station.

To Goa!

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Photos

Gateway To India
because that's what it is!

Mumbai Harbour
Is there, somewhere

Mumbai Harbour
Ahh, It's OK, we found it.

Order Number 69 To Collection Point D
Victoria Terminal ticket office.

It's Going To Be A Carnival Atmosphere
Just As You Are Having A Quite Drink, some bunch of kids start banging drums and setting fire crackers off.