Heels, Himalayas and Hilarity!!: Dot Does Mumbai - Day 1

Well what a start!! After a non-eventful 9 hour direct flight, I took a deep breath and exited the plane into the stifling heat of Mumbai. I was mildly concerned that on closer examination of my hostel booking that the piece of paper in my hand read “For Working Women”. I had taken the advice of a friend on staying here, and was really hoping this wasn’t some sort of mean joke and that I had, in fact, paid to stay in some sort of brothel! However on getting through customs and pre-paying a taxi at the airport that soon became the least of my worries!

The car I was shunted into was passed it’s used by date to put it mildly. I kept subconsciously grabbing for the seat belt, which of course was not there. The driving here is intense with no real sign of road rules, lanes, or anything else except being surrounded by horns – they LOVE their horns here rather as a proactive “I am here” than the more normal “get out of my way”. Deep breaths – what the HELL am I doing here?!

Again, even the driving (both my drivers and the others on the road) was about to become the least of my worries. After about an hour of hurtling over dodgy roads passed people on the street, cows, people carrying things on their heads, children playing in gutters and all sorts of other indescribable sights and decrepit structures, he asks me which hostel I’m staying at. I point to my paper with the name and address on and start to relax as we are apparently only “two minutes” away. After about 10 minutes of skidding down side streets and numerous hairy U-turns he starts waving his hands around saying “hostel area”. He’s not expecting me to get out is he? If he can’t find it in a car I’m doubly sure I won’t be able to find it on foot with my pack! I hold my ground and stay put and just point to my paper and stare back at him, practically holding my breath. The relief when he starts the car again was significant, and after maybe 20 more minutes of more side streets and U-turns he stops to ask someone. This somehow ends up a forum between 5 people (where did they come from?!), all of whom seems to have a different opinion of where this place is. I just sit staring out the window hoping for the best. Eventually the driver nods and gets back in the car. After about another 5 minutes he stops the car again and says “hostel area” after yelling god knows what in indian at me. Again I stay put, hold my stare, and point to my piece of paper. He is clearly getting increasingly irate, and the relief when he started the car again was palpable.

This process of side-streets, U-turns, and generally driving around in circles, stopping to ask people and then trying to get me to vacate his car goes on for probably about another 40 minutes over which time I am getting increasingly concerned what exactly I was going to do if he did insist I get out of the car. Unfortunately the obvious idea of calling the hostel was not an option, as my phone was in some state of “initialising” that went on during this entire process (thanks Ali C!), and apparently my driver didn’t have a phone.

Just when I didn’t think I could take any more, my taxi driver in the chaos of the road manages to clip another driver – and unfortunately one who is clearly, much, much more affluent than himself. The guy he’s hit winds down the window and starts screaming at him and gesturing at him to pull over. “Oh no!”, I was thinking (actually, it was much worse than that, but you get the drift!). Eventually after both cars driving next to each other and a bit of cat-and-mouse driving my taxi does pull over and both parties get out. They have not parked per-se, but have stopped their cars in the middle of the road. I wonder if driving off in the taxi was an option, but decide better of it. There is an ensuing screaming match of which I can understand the words “police” and “license”. Apparently my taxi driver doesn’t have one, which goes some way to explain the past hour and a half. Eventually, the guy who’s car has been hit storms up to the taxi, rips the drivers side wing mirror off and hurls it through the front window and storms away and takes off. The taxi driver storms back to his car, glares at me, but I’m still not leaving. Eventually he sighs, and starts driving round in circles again. This goes on for what seems like another eternity, a 3 hour journey in total that should have taken 1 hour! Finally he pulls up and gets out and points “there”. I stay put and look out the window – I’m not falling for anything to get me out of the car without being sure, but sure enough, the most beautiful 4 sparkly letters are there in flaking paint on a dilapidated post. We must have driven past it at least 5 times, and I mean at the very least! To say I was pleased to be there was an understatement!

I thank my driver and hurl my pack on my back. On getting to reception I get told that my first nights accommodation was booked for the night of 8 October despite the fact that I arrived on the 9th. They say I only have one night booked because my first night was the previous night. They say it’s my fault and make me pay. I briefly argue but in the end just sigh and pay it. Finally, finally I get up to my room looking forward to some quiet time, maybe a little lie down. I am greeted by very loud and incessant drilling and banging. Apparently they’re renovating. Again I sigh and decide to shower – with a bucket and hose (bro!). I’m a little nervous about the prospect of venturing out on my own, but decide that I’m starving and am going to have to. I remember seeing a McDonalds and thinking that it wouldn’t be terrible on my first day to sneak in and have something familiar. Not at all how I like to travel, but I was too tired and overwhelmed to care.

I am trying to get a bit of info at reception and the guy points to a girl behind me and says it is she who I will be staying the following night with. I smile and she starts chatting, and despite really not being in the mood to be friendly she asks if I want to hang out and go get some food. Ok, head first, let’s go, plenty of time to sleep when I die. Kirstine is an awesome girl, only 19 years old and travelling India on her own although on speaking with her you would never guess she was so young. She has spent a lot of time in India travelling with her parents growing up, and was also here last Christmas, so is well-versed on the ropes and for the next few hours we walked around, ate at a local café (not McDonalds! Veg curry – amazing!), drank chai from the street stall, all whilst I pumped her for information and she happily and chattily responded. And even after those short few hours I massively climatised as she was so calm and confident in her surroundings that it seemed natural. We also managed to find Leopolds (for those of you that have read Shantaram)

Kirstine and I at Mumbai Harbour

I can’t believe I’ve written 2 pages and I’m only on the first day, this place is so intense I feel like I’ve been here much longer than 24 hours! I also met 3 Canadians from Toronto which I have spent the first half of the day with walking around, and am now going to head to Kerala with them over what will be an epic 24 hour train ride in 2 days’ time rather than going to Goa next as I originally intended. Tomorrow we have got a driver that is going to take us round all the sites including the slums to see the ‘real’ Mumbai. Who knows what is install then, but it’s sure to be amazing!!

But for now the Canadians are waiting for me in the lobby – off for another adventure!

Adios!

xxx

PS: If anyone can tell me how to get a photo as a header/in the background of this blog, please let me know! I can’t seem to work it out, ran out of time before I left, but want to pretty it up!