Two Days in Mumbai

Mumbai, India -- October 4-5 -- Day 2-3

Although I've been here before, India is a real kick in the head. We are definitely not in Kansas anymore. India, or Mumbai in particular, is a dizzying kaleidoscope of movement, sound, color and smells all layered onto a canvas of stained and crumbling roads, buildings, and sidewalks with the occasional Acacia or Banyan tree wedging its way into a crack.

There is something to be seen everywhere -- dogs and cats serenely curled up on the sidewalks, the occasional sacred cow slowly wandering or lying on the sidewalk, the full gamut of humanity from beggars, workers in drab shirts and shorts, to men in suits and ties, and women of all castes in brightly colored saris. Shops endlessly line the streets from proper stores with lights and windows to wooden stalls with strings of lights, to low tables and shelves, to simple mats or plastic sheets stacked with goods. The men sitting on the sidewalk, with only a broken down bathroom scale siting in front of them, seemed but a step above the most lowly.

The extent of the crumbling infrastructure too is fascinating -- stained and worn paint, cracked walls, broken tiles, hanging wires. The scaffolding and ladders used for multi-story construction are literally bamboo lashed together with hemp ropes.  Gutters, potholes and broken drain pipes mesmerized Dex and Kylie as they came to life during brief downpours. One of our first purchases were colorful, full sized umbrellas for only a couple dollars each.

Just in the time we were in Mumbai, we were solicited for custom sewn shirts and suits, rugs, bags, bracelets, umbrellas, and sunglasses, not to mention bongo drums, gigantic kids balloons and of course taxi rides, tours, and hotels. The vendors would always earnestly request that we "just look no buy,” but, of course, it is only ever about buying.

Giant balloons, 10 rupees each ($0.15)

Among the endless variety of items for sale are backpacks, luggage, cigarette lighters, shirts, pants, watches, eyeglasses, and toys.  Stands for chai, sugarcane juice or samosas are interspersed thoughout, not to mention copy and print shops right on the street. That came in handy when we needed a copy of our passports to buy an Indian SIM card.

Twice we were approached by robed individuals insisting on blessing us with a bracelet -- bright yarn or flowers -- and a smudge of red pigment on our foreheads to commemorate the current religious holiday. The blessing, though, is immediately followed by a request for money.

No blessing for Dex

Our two days in Mumbai were mostly filled with chores: getting money, made harder by the various ATM machines and the fact that each of our cards had been locked; buying and activating a new SIM card, a 10 minute activity in Namibia but a 30 hour task here requiring copies of passports, local and home addresses, two passport photos, multiple visits to the vendor, and phone calls for activation; purchase of bus and plane tickets; a haircut for me; and a few small street purchases. Prices can be all over the map, so buyer beware. Nevertheless, the $1.50 sunglasses are hard to understand even knowing they are just cheap, RayBan knockoffs.

We did do a tiny amount of sightseeing and enjoyed some super tasty meals. So far, we haven't ventured into the world of street food, but it's been great to see Dex and Kylie dig into the spicy curry dishes. The one time we ordered too much, Dex and I took the leftovers with us and handed them out to some of the more needy we saw -- an older man in dingy robes sitting cross legged on the side walk and a group of women and children next to a building. After giving the two containers of curry to the latter, one young girl asked for some rupees for chapatis to complete the meal.

In any event, close to the Strand Hotel, where we stayed, is the Gate of India, a large arched monument finished in 1924 to commemorate the visit of the king and queen of England in 1911. Right across the road is the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, a fancy spot known for its fine dining and the fact it was bombed by terrorists in 2008. Now, security guards open the hood and look under cars with mirrors before allowing them drive into the modest driveway.

The Gate of India

The Taj Mahal Palace 

Main Train Station

Despite the limited sightseeing, we decided to head south to Goa on Wednesday. We had had no success trying to reserve train or bus tickets despite trying various websites, including MakeMyTrip that an American/Indian couple from Washington state had recommended in the Dubai airport. One of the websites required registering with the IRCTC train network and sending copies of our passports, which I did but still hadn't heard back from. So, on Wednesday, we went to find a man that had approached us on the street the day before at his tiny "office" right next to the haircut place. He was happy to get us bus tickets, though we did bargain him down from his initial price since we had already seen online how much a "Volvo, A/C Sleeper" ticket cost. Afterwards, Meg went with Kylie to get extra cash at the ATM -- the same one we'd struggled with that morning -- while Dex and I went to find the guy on the street that had sold me the SIM card the day before. All I needed to do, I had been assured, was dial 59059 after 1:00 p.m. to activate it. Now that the bewitching hour had arrived, I still had ... nothin'. And, although Meg had pulled out 5,000 rupees earlier in the day -- a relatively large sum in terms of taxis and meals -- we hadn't fully processed that that only equated to 75 bucks and would be severely depleted with the purchase of our $63 train tickets.

Phone store, abandoned in favor of street stall

Place for urgent passport photos

So pretty much the two days in Mumbai were spent just getting organized and planning the first leg of the trip. All we had to do now was get ourselves to the Cama Hospital to pick up the bus. Back to the hotel we went to pick up our bags, a few minutes wandering around the streets with packs looking for a grocery store (we ended up with fruit), and then another cramped taxi to the pickup spot. Soon it was dark and still no bus, but the elderly man sitting in front of the dilapidated wooden bus kisok told us we would be taking a taxi to the bus ... hmm, I thought we were at the bus stop. Oh well, this is India, and it's best to expect the unexpected.

Fruit for the road

Needy family

Sure enough, a little while later another man walked up and said he'd get a taxi and take us to the bus, now leaving at 8:20. Once again, we crammed into a little Hyundai taxi for the lurching, noisy, night time adventure, but now with the four of us in the back seat and our "friend" in the front. At the new location and with 15 minutes to spare before the new departure of 8:30, we trudged along the crumbling sidewalk to a nearby restaurant and order naan and chicken tikka masala to go.

Man taking us to the bus

To our relief, at 8:30, our Paulo bus pulled up and we climbed aboard to find sleeping compartments on each side of the narrow walk way, double wide on one side, single wide on the other. We located our two lower double cubbies and unwrapped the naan and tikka masala. Ahh. All was right in the world again. We were off the street, on the bus, and filling our tummies with warm, spicy food. Good bye, Mumbai; hello, Goa.