We survived Mumbai.
As I expected, it’s hard to sum up the largest city I’ve ever visited. We stayed in Andheri, a large slum in the north that is currently experiencing incredible change. But that’s India all over by what I can see, read and what the few people we’ve had chance to speak to so far tell me.
The problem for us was that the area is far away from the main tourist traps and when I say far, I mean it. Fortunately, we only had three nights (two of those taken up by adjusting body clocks and getting rid of what felt like nitro-narcosis from the flight) and so didn’t feel we missed out on much because we simply didn’t have the time.
We were picked up at the airport and seamlessly taxied out to our hostel through traffic that has its own rules. If you don’t let go and abandon yourself to it immediately you’re just going to up end up as a scarf, wrapped around your driver’s head and screaming, which will get you killed. They know what they’re doing.
There is no right of way, lights mean nothing unless there’s a traffic cop and even that’s optional because they very often turn up on each other’s patches and start competing for domination, negating any directing effect either might have had.
The smell was the first thing that struck me (after the heat of course, which was fierce at 34C) – I thought it was dusty, smoggy and initially lemony but the citrus undertone was one end of a spectrum, the other being unadulterated sewerage.
We stayed about 2 kilometres from the airport, at a tiny hostel called the Anjali Inn, nestled down a side street between a wire extrusion shop and a grill bar. This was typical of the way space is used across much of the city; little units recycling bearings or cardboards right next to showrooms packed with HD 3D LCD TVs. If the means are available to them, Indians love their technology.
Our room was clean, if a little rickety, and we had satellite TV and intermittent, but fast, wireless net access. I was very glad to discover that the Radio 4 portion of the BBC iplayer was accessible and duly caught up on the latest episode of The Unbelievable Truth.
Our hosts were friendly, helpful and full of advice on what to do and at the cheapest prices.
The cost of most things we bought was comparable to the UK, except street stall food such as chai (sweet, milky and spicy tea that alleviated both of our raging caffeine-withdrawal headaches) and dosas (nommy little pancakes packed with things like cheese and veg, served on a steel tray with three types of sauces). We held out on diving into such stuff until we found a stall that was surrounded by Indians; heed this advice.
We ventured out on two major reccies. The first was on our first night to find a hotel for a beer. This was a major culture shock. Within 2 minutes we were picking our way down a major avenue through piles of rubbish, open sewers, prostrate dogs, browsing goats and subsiding pavements. A gent walked past us and shouted over the endless car horns – “welcome to India!” – and laughed his arse off.
After 10 minutes I had seen more rats than in my entire life, including stomping hard right on top of one by accident. By its yelp, I thought I’d broken its back but it kept on trucking.
We ate at one hotel restaurant, vegetable kebabs. Tasty as but the lesson was, the blander the veg the more fiery the spice. Approach cauliflower with asbestos gloves and silvered welding mask.
Later, we went on to another hotel that had a bar the like of which I wouldn’t get into if I were delivering napkins to it back in Blighty. Watched India woop up Australia in the first cricket test and chatted to some import/export guys who explained about the massive investment currently going on in Mumbai. The road we had just picked our way down is overshadowed by a vaulted superhighway being built along its middle. This is happening in a lot of places and I worry about the life down at ground level when these are finished. It’s bloody tough now for working classes/castes but when the money is flowing seamlessly 50 feet above them, what then? In 5 years, they said, it will be a different city. Of that there’s no doubt.
Our second sojourn was into the main city the next day. We took a terrifying taxi ride from Andheri to the Hanging Gardens, some 30 clicks away. I’m sure our driver Dinesh did it just for larks but I shall now never forget his traffic jam aversion skills. This amiable nutter saw a blockage, stopped and reversed the wrong way down a 3 lane dual carriageway. Soon after he nipped over the central reservation and drove 200m the wrong way down the other side, into traffic going at least 40mph. I was very glad then that no right of way exists.
The Hanging Gardens sit on a rock above the city, just up from Chowpatty beach. They’re pretty basic, plant-wise, but have shade and crows and dragonflies by the truckload. I do wonder about British dragonflies, which seem to keel over at the slightest environmental touch. The double-hard Mumbai versions thrive on the air which by now was strafing my throat and making my teeth taste funny. Couples (chaperoned and not) mingle here with bunches of students and families, lazing around and chatting in the shade. A tout came up to us and tried to ply postcards, which as soon as he found out we were British quickly turned into abridged versions of the Kama Sutra. Go here to escape the madness for sure.
We then ambled, via a nosh stall, through a park for kids on the other side of the road and down the hill to Chowpatty beach for sunset. This was good, seeing Mumbai families relaxed and eating sweetcorn, paddling in the sea (do not do this, we’re told – very toxic with city run-off) and harassing French travellers to speak to their kids in their native tongue.
From there we went down Marine Drive and witnessed a change. Elsewhere the people have the minimum of body fat but here it was mostly middle class and mostly portly people exercising with pedigree dogs, which as far as we could tell involves donning trainers and walking slightly faster than the average.
I saw a sleepy-looking street dog and set myself up for a point of view camera shot as he slumbered between his outstretched front paws. This enraged the beast and he chased me with the loudest, most primal sounds I’d ever heard a dog make, much to everyone’s amusement.
Marine Drive is long and well-lit along the sea front and leads into a massive commercial area with skyscrapers and the promise of a future India. We treated ourselves to pizza at a place recommended by Lonely Planet and decided, stupidly, to take a walk. This is where it got a bit scary. We got totally lost within 5 minutes.
It got hotter by the step and darker by the turn. In the end we were starting to panic, realising how far we were from home. Flagging down taxi drivers firstly resulted in vile looks and refusal or demands of 1000 rupees (c.£14) to take us back. Not much you might think, but seeing as we got there for 450 Rs, it was taking the piss. In the end we got a driver to agree to take us to the airport for 450 then got a motorised tuktuk from there back to the hostel for 30 Rs. We got back a bit shaken but we’d won and quite cheaply.
The next night we were gladly off, our friend Ed’s advice not to stay in Mumbai ringing in our ears because we were tired, hot and soaked with sweat. The smell of the Mumbai slums sticks to you too.
Our mate Dinesh picked us up at 3:30am the next morning to get the reserved express train to Anjuna in Goa, our next stop and from where I gladly write to you now. Driving through Mumbai in the dead of night was an experience – the place does kind of sleep between 1am and 4am, with only massive trucks dropping off industrial quantities of marigolds and coriander as the main activity.
We had an air-conditioned carriage that bore our names (and everyone else’s) on a piece of paper on its side. The chai and tomato soup flowed all day, with breakfast and lunch too. Spoilt children fought over their parent’s laptops and we devoured books, slept and got annoyed, in the end, by all of this and the 2 hour delay.
We’re now in an edgy paradise, staying in a friendly Goan family’s complex of guesthouses with AC, good wifi and a more nature than you can chuck citronella at. I’ve spotted 3 types of ant and spider so far with butterflies as big as your hand, as standard.
Life, so far, is good.
