OK, so I recently read back my last blog post about Hong Kong and
Macao and I noticed numerous grammar mistakes. My excuse is that I wrote it
while at the bar in Hong Kong airport waiting for my flight. Regardless, I will
try my super harderest to minimise the grammar mistakes this time round.
I arrived in Mumbai in the early hours of the 12th.
The taxi took me to my hotel and the first thing I encountered was the poverty
in India. There are quite literally thousands of people sleeping in the
streets, so many in fact that the pavements are full and people sleep in the
roads and the cars drive around them.
The daylight dawned and I got my first real glimpse of
India. It’s insanity here. The first thing that I was really aware of is the
never-ending threat of disease. When I walk down the street I’m consciously
thinking about avoiding the stray dogs that carry rabies, the dirty puddles
with cholera, the mosquitoes with malaria, and the people with every form of
hepatitis. 
If you manage to avoid those threats you then put your life
on a knife-edge when you get inside a taxi in India. The taxis are about 50
years old, they are old tin buckets on wheels. I’ve been sat inside them
thinking that if this taxi is in a minor collision then I will definitely die.
And of course, there are no seat belts. If the thought of dying in a sardine
tin wasn’t terrifying enough then the way they drive will provoke a
heart-attack. They have mirrors, but you wouldn’t think so. They pull out in
traffic whether there’s a space or not, and drive by sound. The drivers listen
for other’s horns. A taxi journey in India is up there with skydiving.
As I walk around the streets of Mumbai I realise that I
stick out like a saw thumb. Sometimes when you’re out and about you might be in
a bad neighbourhood and you might think to yourself ‘I wouldn’t like to take a
wrong turn in this part of town’. Well, that’s not possible in Mumbai because
every area is the wrong part of town.
A few days in I took a boat trip out to Elephanta Island, the boat trip was relaxing, out on the Arabian Sea, away from the death-trap taxis, and the
noise. However, when on the island I found out that it’s inhabited by aggressive,
thieving monkeys. There’s no rest from it! I’m now avoiding stray dogs,
mosquitoes, goats, cows, chickens, dirty water, and now monkeys with only a
selfie-stick to defend myself with.
The sightseeing has been fun despite the unbearable heat and
the unstoppable sweating. I’ve been to; The Gateway of India, Chowpatty Beach,
Shree Siddhivinayak Hindu Temple, the Haji Ali Daragah (an island mosque), and
the Sanjay Ghandi National Park.
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| The famous Gateway of India |
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| The Haji Ali Dargah Mosque and part of the Mumbai skyline |
The most interesting tale comes from when I tried to go to
the Vipassana Pagoda in the northern reaches of Mumbai. I asked the hotel staff
how to get there and they said that a taxi would be too expensive (£8) and that
I should opt for the train (£0.15), so I did.
At the train station, the man who issued my ticket explained
the route that I needed to take. The only problem was that he had one of the
strongest Indian accents I’ve ever come across. Being the polite Brit I
asked him to repeat the instructions, but again I didn’t understand. So, I went
on my way without a clue how to get there (and the only maps available were in
Hindi). All I gathered was platform 3, something in a broad Indian accent, Borivali
Station (my destination).
The trains are exactly how you’ve seen them on TV and film.
The doors are wide open, no concern for safety, and people hanging on for dear
life.
It was a slow train, and stop after I was hoping to see
Borivali Station. I waited but it never came. Before I knew it, it was the end
of the line and I had no idea where I was.
And this is where I ended up...
I went up to the ticket counter and asked how to get to
Borivali. He ignored my distress and issued me another ticket (this time 20p –
robbing bastards). Well, back on the train I suppose. This time it’s packed and
I’m in second class. I trust no one. I wear my bag on my chest and my hand
stays firmly on my camera. It’s ridiculously hot, I’m the only white person in
the carriage, I feel unsafe, and I’m clueless to where I’m actually going. So I
think “fuck it, let’s get a taxi”. At that particular moment I wouldn’t have
minded paying £9 for a taxi, I just wanted to get off. I got off at the next
station (wherever that was) and ask a taxi driver to go to the Vipassana
Pagoda, but he’s never heard of it. I’m so lost, so far from Mumbai that even
the taxi drivers couldn't help me. On that day, all I knew was that I was in
India, it was a pretty scary thought. Well, back on the train I suppose.
Back on the heaving, smelly, grotty train (can you tell that
the novelty wore off pretty quickly?), and a kind, softly spoken man helped me.
He told me to get off at a station called Dadar and change lines. Thank you,
random softly spoken Indian man. I get to Dadar and there are about 8 lines. I went to the ticket queue and ask which line I need. Unfortunately, I’m still too
far from the international part of Mumbai and no one understands me, and my
Hindi hasn’t improved since the last encounter. With my possessions still
intact, I opt to cut my losses and head back to Mumbai.
The next day I tried again and managed to get there, and
what a sight it was.
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| The view of the Global Vipassana Pagoda from the water. |
India is a crazy, trying place. It’s certainly not a
relaxing holiday destination. I think I would have been bothered by it a lot
more had I not been eating delicious curries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My Indian journey doesn't end here. Next stop - Delhi.
