It was a hot, sticky, high speed ride, and we both gazed out of the windows while being observed by the unblinking eyes of the other passengers . My favourite sights were that of women in colourful saris leaning hard on the end of a rope in order to try to pull their cow, ox or water buffalo along. We did actually see several very happy water buffalo wallowing in the backwaters amongst the water lilys, chomping away with the tops of their giant heads, horns, long necks and bony hips visible above the brown water.
On the platform, many out of date magazines for sale in this tidy display.
After four and a half hours of being sat on our PVC seats, we peeled ourselves off and hoofed our bags out of the train. (The doorway being just big enough to allow us to pass through it wearing them). At Ernakulum we looked for the left luggage room, which was in a dank, puddle filled concrete corridor that smelt of rotting fish. Ironically the door to the station heath inspector's office was opposite. We could not, of course, make a quick get away without filling out lots paperwork in order to leave our bags behind. Kindly Wiji volunteered to do this so that I could escape the smell. However I managed to locate the source of the smell right at our designated meeting point. It was coming from large polystyrene boxes that were covered in wet hessian sacking, that was stitched together like a morticians Y section. The whole stack of fishy packages was destined for a long hot journey on a train!
Bag free we went in search of food and ended up at Pizza Hut, where our surroundings looked sterile and we hoped our pizza would not make us ill. Then we collected our bags and caught an Ambassador taxi for the first time, to the airport. The car was big on the inside and we felt as though we were sat on a giant sofa. Wiji dozed off immediately while I spent the hour long journey gawping at all the sights as they flashed by.
At the airport, after the tooled up security staff had looked us over and waved the car on, a photo was in order. 'Cheers drive!'
Our flight to Mumbai with Go-Air took 3 hours. The plane looked new, they served no food that wasn't paid for in advance, but was efficient and just what we needed in a budget airline. When we exited Mumbai airport we were ready for the madness, second time around! Our taxi driver had no idea where he was going and this added to what was already going to be an hour long journey to the Fort Area of Mumbai. Wiji had phoned 12 hotels before we could secure a reservation and when we arrived at 11:45 ish, pm, (after seeking directions from 4 seperate rickshaw drivers), we were pleased to find that our hotel as a proper old hotel complete with 70's style lobby, and big rooms. Result!
The next morning we had a better look at the interior of The Grand Hotel. The internal courtyard seemed to be channelling Strangeways. We had a buffet breakfast in the hotel and when the service door swung back we noticed the room behind had no floor, only beams, and looked like part of the derelict building. We wondered where the food was being prepared, but didn't dwell on it.
We got straight on the case with a 'Wiji walking tour', taking in the early morning sights of men washing their pant clad selves out of buckets on street corners. Queue's of men stopping for a chai and a good old spit. The unravelling of taxi drivers who had slept in their cars, and some very quiet streets in the Fort area.
The main post office, looking a bit Harry Potter, had a giant airy interior and no queues! We brought some stamps...
Approaching the Victoria Terminus now the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, CST for short. The city's most extravagant rail station, described as 'a meringue of Victorian, Hindu and Islamic architectural styles'. Completed in 1887 and recognised as the busiest rail station in Asia. It was heaving on this Monday morning.
lots of home made missing person signs covered the exterior walls on the east side.
Leaping gargoyle dogs protruded in all directions.
The view from the west side, with planted gardens...
And a fleet of waiting Ambassador taxi's.
There were so many people that it made memories of the London rush hour seem sparse.
Some of the details from the oldest profession in the world...Stone masonry...lol.
Next up we caught a taxi to the Gateway of India...Pick that nose!
On the Apollo Bunder opposite the gateway, a group of school girls dutifully lined up to pay their respects to the images that a teacher has set out. The whole world over, without exception, teenage girls have been subjected to the horror of pleated skirts. Is there some kind of conspiracy?
The Gateway of India was built to commemorate the 1911 visit of King George the 5th. The architectural style was derived from 16th century Gujarat. It was completed in 1924, ironically just 24 years later it was used to parade off the last British regiments as India moved towards independence.
Policeman seemed to be everywhere after the recent terror attacks, but the ones that we really noticed where all taking it easy, using their authority to be idle without question like only men in uniform know how.
Opposite the Gateway of India, the Taj Mahal Palace, the 5 star hotel that we had seen on trip advisor, Lol.
Oh yes, blending in seamlessly with all the other tourists snapping away.
One of Wiji's fave buildings, The Old Majestic Hotel.
The Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya (The Prince of Wales Museum). We didn't go in, but it did look very pretty from the outside paan splattered perimeter wall.
My fave building of disrepair. Plenty of collapsed balconies, but still lived in.
And onto the Keneseth Eliyahoo Synagogue, built in 1884 and still in use by Mumbai's dwindling Jewish community. The colours reminded me of a house featured in the children's book 'Busy, Busy World', that had stories about animal characters from around the world. As it turned out we had both enjoyed these books by Richard Scarry...
Just outside a common sight, a few slaps to a boys head.
The exterior was having a bit of work done, hence the bamboo scaffolding. Inside the interior had chandeliers, stained glass and painted pillars, all of which we would have loved to have seen...
'No, you can't come in. Yes, we are very busy outside reading the papers!'
The back of the Elphinston college.
Mr Paan seller at the front and rickshaw customer behind him. When I asked if I could take a piccy he was very smiley and more than happy to agree, then true to form as soon as the camera was focused the smile was gone! LOL, here he actually looks like he is going to chase me down the street! He was all smiles again when I showed him his picture. I asked if he liked it and he was all 'yes! Yes! Very good' He even watched me catch up with Wiji, show him the pic, and gave us both the thumbs up!
In his tray were the betel nut ingredients and 'seasonings' that would be smeared by the vendor onto a tobacco leaf (in the bucket) for chewing and projectile spitting.
In Mumbai we saw a lot of cats on the street. They seemed to be a lot better off than the dogs that we saw. We watched a cat in Armedebad having is chin stroked by the big hairy toe of a rickshaw driver. Both parties seemed to enjoy it.
We marvelled at the striking art deco style of the New India Assurance Company building, while dodging more 'HELLO! Where are you from!' demands that without fail, if pursued, led to requests for cash.
We felt the midday sun burn up a carbon-monoxide cocktail with all sorts of street and sewer aromas. By running across several lanes of traffic (we were sure that drivers purposely aim for pedestrians), lol, we reached the Flora Fountain, named after the Roman goddess of abundance. It was surrounded by a soup of stagnating thick green water and like all the fountains that we had seen so far, it wasn't working.
Post Christo? As I took this pic a taxi driver got out of his car to stare at the building and back at me several times...he just didn't get it!
Under a banyan, a street food stall with large copper water pot on the right.
We were hoping to chillax in the shade at Horniman Circle botanical gardens, but it was closed. Surrounding the gardens was a beautiful circular arcade of 18th century buildings. Sadly the scene in between this loveliness was less appealing and was functioning as a car park with rickshaw drivers pissing, sleeping and spitting in it...
There were plenty of these gorgeous beasts in the trees. One our first visit to Mumbai we had seen several picking the flesh of a dead cat.
By the Horniman Circle...no, not the result of a drive by shooting, just two male taxi drivers taking a nap, LOL. The circle seemed to be the place for some carefree snoozing with your best male taxi mates. Lol, some teenagers found it highly amusing watching us, watching the sleeping taxi men. It would have been fun to scream into the car really loudly and see their startled faces. I wasn't allowed to do this.
Some of the bottled Indian drinks that we didn't fancy trying, but did see and hear being lobbed from the moving trains into the countryside and rural villages. Smouldering heaps of acrid burning plastic were a common sight. Even out in the sticks at Ooty the fields were strewn with plastics that were semi dug into the fields with crops.s
Crawford Market, (Mahatma Phule Market) was next up on our list. It was totally heaving in every respect...
We headed straight for the The Rajdhani to sample their quality thali. The tiny corridor restaurant was bustling with waiters serving out non stop helpings of the all you can eat lunch thali. The waiters were being summoned to different tables with hand signals and fingers clicking from the front of house man, who seemed to get in everyone's way. It was super frenetic and not at all a respite from the hectic streets outside, but totally hilarious.
Mmmm, starting the thali, it looks innocent enough, but wait, this is force feeding Indian style. 'MORE? MORE? EAT!'.
Off to a slow start for maximum confusion...
Loving the mix of the green and red sweet chutneys that are part of the appetiser...
Wiji in full swing, 25 servings later and a photo opportunity with the front of house man who got someone else to take the pic on his mobile...'Yayaya hairy Engleeesh!'
This man had a superb furrowed brow and extremely serious face that he leaned centimetre from my own to repeatedly ask me if I wanted more naan or chipatis in Hindu. He was very upset to the point of personal injury each time I refused. When I asked to take his picture, he was all smiles! Lmao, shame! I really did want to capture his searching serious expression. He also had the heavyset brow of the character Jaws from the Bond films about him. A great face!
Murder on the dance floor...The hierarchy of who could slap who about the head wasn't far from the surface. We really enjoyed watching the shouting, hand signals and shoving that was all part of the service!
Back on the market street, it almost seemed calm!
Merchandise covering every surface.
Walking down the lanes to the Mangaldas silk market, we attracted a lot of attention, so kept moving. This did not deter random men from coming right up close to us to stare into our faces about a foot away from our heads. Luckily 99% of the time we both have found this innocent curiosity a rather amusing part of the Indian experience.
Inside the Mangaldas silk market was a warren of raised alcoves were men sat on white beds with their fabric emporiums towering around them. They beckoned us in, but sensibly we kept going. One old man kept following Wiji asking him to look at several fabrics over and over again. But he just could not keep up with Wiji, who left him for dead. So as an after thought he turned to me and started on the pashmina line of enquiry, but I left him behind too, while he shouted after me 'Pash-meeeee-naaaaaar?' in an old croaky voice that we later amused ourselves with by shouting it over and over again to each other, lol.
Never mind the pineapples, check out those carrots!
There was some very non-committal head wobbling from the smallholder in the middle when I asked if I could take a pic of the stall. This sparked a furious debate between the man on the left and the boy on the right who then turned to the stall holder and seemed to be having a right go at him. The man on the left resolved this with me by waving me on to take a photo with head nodding and wobbling. Wiji was nowhere to be seen.
Mumbai the city of the side-car revival. Imagine the kind of trouble you could get into with one of those!
The streets around the market were lined with beautiful colonial architecture.
Sugar cane geni-powered juice machines on ever corner. We were amazed by just how many times the cane was put through before being thrown on the floor.
Two beautiful boxes of figs, lined with fig leaves, minus the three that I brought. Wiji and I argued in the street over the price, with each other, lol.
The fig argument marked the end of our time in the market, but didn't stop people wanting to sell us stuff. We escaped the chaos in a taxi in search of the Mahalaxmi Dhobi Ghat, getting the taxi driver to drop us off at the Mahalaxmi train station bridge for the best view. After a death defying run across several lanes of traffic on the flyover we were on the right track and could see the clean washing hung on the roof tops, blowing in the city fumes.
Mahalaxmi Dhobi Ghat is Mumbai's biggest clothes washing area and has been doing the laundry for 136 years. Hundreds of open air troughs are used to rinse clothes that are beaten by hand over cement slabs. It was mind blowing to imagine the organisation required to achieve this. The sight was incredible, right next to the rail line and the corrugated roof tops covered with grey city grime.
It made us think about the dhaba wallahs who collect thousands of lunch boxes from all over Mumbai during the morning, taking them to a central sorting station where they are organised by colours and numbers (many wallahs are illiterate) before being washed and filled with tiffin and delivered on time to the owner of the box. Apparently some 20,000 meals are delivered in this way every day across Mumbai. The madness and magic of India.
We decided to return to the Taj Mahal Palace for a drink and a chance to see the interior...
It was a lot calmer back at The Gateway of India later in the afternoon...
We went through four separate security checks before entering the building (figs n'all) and once inside we saw several groups of young European tourists dressed in saris and colonial Raj-era attire having their pictures taken in the lobby. We headed for the poolside bar, found a lovely table in the shade and tranquillity, but floundered when asked for our room number and were promptly ejected. We cursed ourselves for not being good or quick liars. Fortunately we had a plan B and laughed our way off to Leopold Cafe for a fresh lime soda and a beer.
'Errr what's my room number?' Cheers, lol!
In the early evening we reluctantly left the vibrant drinking scene and made a move to the bottom end of Colaba to check out some of Mumbai's young designers at Courtyard. It was all a bit disappointing. Opposite Courtyard was the sea wall, lined with sleeping men and not really the place to hang about. The sea looked thick, black and opaque and stank of raw sewage.
The next day was a Sunday and we did a bit of journey planning and had a relaxed wander through the deserted Fort area and off to see some of the sights that we had missed...
A common sight, street side barber.
We laughed our heads off at the children's traffic training park, with its mini sign and traffic lights. We would have loved to have seen what actually goes on here an how it bears any resemblance to the real road madness...
One for Lauren.
The University of Mumbai.
Gosh! Really? What, it has a lid on it? LOL.
The rear of the high court. Later, we read that some of the local stone masons responsible for the intricate carving on the exterior of the building maybe didn't quite have confidence in the authority within as one pillar contains a one-eyed monkey fiddling with the scales of justice.
We had coffee with some modern well to do locals in a popular coffee shop before treating ourself to a cheap cinema visit. We watched Tom Cruise (complete with original American accent...why? How was that appropriate or acting?) in Valkyrie. The Indian crowd loved it and we were surprised to see that the snack interval is alive and well, even in the most inappropriate parts of the film, quality.
Later that evening we caught our first night train at 10pm to Ahmedabad.
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