India Part I

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As expected landing in Mumbai at 2.30 in the morning provided us with a full on assault to all the senses. The noise (lorries have 'Ok Horn Please' written on them to encourage anyone unsure over whether or not to use the device), the smell and the heat. Our guidebook informed us that it's best not to take a taxi from the airport into Mumbai between 2 and 6 in the morning as they are often hijacked at this time. We didn't read this until afterwards though. The taxi journey itself served to fully demonstrate that we were now in India. It's about 45 minutes from the airport to the Moti Hotel and for the most of that journey we were passing thousands of people sleeping on the pavement, under bridges or on roundabouts.

Sleep was the order of the day when we arrived. When we woke at about midday we met our hotel owner, Raj who was very welcoming - probably helped by the fact that we had with us the bottle of scotch he'd instructed me to pick up for him from duty free in Singapore. Our hotel was just round the corner from the Gateway of India and the Taj Hotel (where part of the terrorist attacks occurred 18 months ago), so we wandered round these for a bit then headed across to the other side of the peninsula to Marine Drive and Chowpatty beach.

On our second day we visited an orphanage which Valentina had found. The lady suggested we bring fruit and chocolate for the children. So during the day we set off to Crawford market to try and find something suitable. After the 3km walk in 34 degree heat we were told by a couple of shifty looking characters at the entrance that we couldn't go into the market unless we had a guide. Surprisingly we were not entirely convinced this was true so we had to sneak in round the back. We decided mangoes would be a good idea as they came in boxes of 24. After getting various quotes of around 600 rupees we came across some young purveyors of the fruit. These lads seemed to be keen to sell us something for the fun of dealing with westerners. Frantic undercutting ensued between them as they each tried to secure our cash. Eventually having tasted the goods we went for the Alphonso variety at 300 rupees a box. Very pleased with our business there we were too and a series of photos were taken by all parties in the deal (and many who weren't). Carrying the mangoes on the way back, I became a different species in the eyes of the locals. On the way there I was stared at like an alien (as has become the norm for most of the trip) but now with my fruit on my shoulder I was one of them and received words of encouragement, pats on the back and smiles from most people I now passed. Strange.

On our third day in Mumbai we took a tour to the city's biggest slum and the second largest in the world, Dharavi. It's an amazing place, not the complete picture of poverty you might expect. It's a city within a city, containing over a million people and has all the facilities it's inhabitants need - shops, schools, hospitals etc. These facilities are in places vastly insufficient, 6 toilets being shared by over a thousand people for example. Dharavi also has it's own industries such as pottery, textiles and increasingly recycling which help produce a turnover of over $665 million a year. Although most people are here because they can't afford to live anywhere else many people were given a house as part of government attempts to clear the area. Some of these people rent out that house and continue to live in the slum. Our guide for example was telling us about a friend of his who's an air stewardess and owns two apartments in New Mumbai which she rents out while she lives in the slum.

En route to the slum we were shown the world's largest open air laundry, Dhobi Ghat (a sight much more impressive than it sounds).

In our first three days in India I'd say there were more people trying to rip us off than in the previous 8 months combined. Any financial transaction where the price is not clearly written will mean a westerner will probably pay at least 5 times more than the locals. In some instances we just accept this but more often than not my pride refuses me to allow it as it makes me feel like a fool. A prime incident being when we were in the taxi to an orphanage. The driver wanted 300 rupees for a journey that on the meter costs 60. Unfortunately this debate only began once we were in the car so we had to jump out in the middle of the packed traffic as we refused to pay that much. 300 rupees is about 4 gbp but it's the principle of the matter. One of the less sophisticated attempts to swindle cash out of us occurred when we were waiting for our bus out of Mumbai. Standing at the bus stop a man approached us and we had the following conversation;

Him: I work for the bus company and my boss says you have to pay me 50 rupees for showing you where your seat is when the bus gets here.
Me: Did he really? I think we'll find our own seat thanks.
Him: So you don't want my help?
Me: No thanks.
Him: Do you want some hash?

Our next stop was Aurangabad where we arrived at around 6 in the morning after an uncomfortable coach journey through the night. After catching up on our sleep we visited Daulatabad fort. The following day we went to the Ellora Caves. Both of these sights were very impressive however my overriding memory will be of the vast numbers of people wanting to take their picture with us. The problem with this is when it's a group of around 20 or so and they each want an individual picture on each of their cameras as well as numerous group pictures on each camera. I'm happy to meet my fans but there is only so much of me to go around.

Next up was a mammoth journey north to Rajasthan and Udaipur. We weren't able to go direct so had to get two buses. The first was a sleeper and we had our own kind of cabin which was more like a fish tank. This was fine though. The second bus however didn't have air conditioning so for six hours in 40 degree heat we bounced along north west India. Valentina sitting near the window had the added issue of the dust blowing in her face. We were pleased to arrive. We didn't exert ourselves particularly during our time in Udaipur, we visited the Palace and Temple but mostly just lounged about. It is a very nice place for that though.

After another horrendous bus journey lasting about 16 hours without air conditioning we arrived in Jaisalmer. As is the norm in India we were greeted by a large group of touts trying to get us into their rickshaw, hotel or travel company. Sure enough 20 minutes later we were sat opposite a man trying to sell us a Camel Safari in the desert. Having just driven through the desert for 5 hours I couldn't see any reason why I'd want to wander round it on a camel for two days and pay for the privilege. When I expressed this to the salesman adding that the 43 degree heat made it particularly unappealing he responded by saying 'it's not hot in the desert'. Despite this insult to our intelligence a day and a half later I was boarding my trusty steed (Johnny) and Valentina was doing the same on Shamil and Mr Khan was leading us into the uninviting, arid wilderness. It turned out to be pretty hot in the desert and after two hours, at about 9.30am, we got ourselves under a tree and into some shade. Mr Khan prepared us some masala chai and a nice brunch of curry and chapattis. We stayed under that tree for 6 hours before we dared venture out into the blistering heat again. At around 6 we arrived at some sand dunes which was where we were due to spend the night. This part of the trip was quite enjoyable, it felt a bit biblical sitting under a starry sky in the desert with our camels. Any enjoyment was short lived however when a sandstorm arrived at around 10. From where I was sleeping I shouted across to Mr Khan for instructions as to the standard procedure in such situations, his chilling response was 'nothing'. So we just lay there getting pelted by sand for 3 hours before eventually falling asleep. The next day took on a similar format to the first and the sight of the jeep coming to collect us at around 6 in the evening was an incredibly welcome one.

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Photos

Leopolds Cafe
The bullet holes from the Mumbai attack