Mumbai

We flew into Mumbai, landing around 11am local time. The airport was quiet and everything went according to plan, no nasty surprises at customs and we had our bags, even if we hadn't slept too much on the plane. The first thing i noticed when we got out of the airport was how quiet everything was. I've only entered Mumbai before by train, so the calm, shady courtyard which we encountered just outside the terminal building was a pleasant surprise. We bought our pre-paid taxi ticket and after numerous tips to numerous porters started a long, hot and sweaty 90minute journey into the city.

Our hotel was amazing- marble floors, full ac and more porters than you could count (more tipping required). Mumbai, especially in March, is hot and sweaty and humid, so the air-con was a realy luxury on that first night. The nights afterward we moved into a more affordable hotel, Hotel Lawrence on Sai Baba street, which i thought was slightly portentious as i've just been reading a book about Sai Baba. He is believed to be either God or an incarnation of God (an avatar) or a Saint respectively- the current Sai Baba is in fact the 2nd incarnation, the original was around sometime in the 19th century. Anyway he has a huge and controversial almost cult like following in India, and at the moment he seems to be following us wherever we go! More on that later...

We visited the main attractions in Mumbai, the gateway to India, looking out over the Arabian Sea, and surrounded by Indian tourists overawed with the presence of white people; the Prince of Wales Museum, now called something i will never remember due to the Indianisation policy. The airport and train station have the same name- i don't have a problem with Indians wanting Indian rather than British names for their landmark building but i do think they could benefit from introducing a little more variety into proceedings. I've just looked it up its the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, the Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport and the Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum. If that doesn't just roll off the tongue..

Anway Bombay, or Mumbai (im surprised they didn't call it Chhatrapati Shivaji City) is a very interesting city, if perhaps a little hot and humid this time of year. There is a haze of pollution which hangs permanently in the air, obscuring some of the cityscapes from Chowpatty Beach. The pollution's not surprising given the amount of traffic- the streets are choca ith vehicles for most of the day, although the motor rickshaws, so prevalent in other Indian cities, are conspicuously absent- yellow and black taxi cabs rule the roads (although they never have seat belts). The Indian style of driving was proabably perfected in Mumbai. I'm sure it has been covered in detail elsewhere, suffice to say that it really just involves trying to get from point A to point B in as short a time as possible, without taking notice of any road signs, markings or traffic signals, driving as fast as humanly , sometimes up to seven cars abreast over four lanes. However, the real beauty of Indian driving lies in the horn. It appears that the common car horn is woefully underused in Europe, even in the big cities. The Indian people have pioneered the use of the horn as a replacement for other, more troublesome driving skills. These include indicating, braking, driving on the correct side of the road, not driving on the pavement, and all too often, using the steering wheel. Miraculously, there does seem to be some sort of order amongst the chaos, and although dents are quite common we have yet to witness a car crash in India (although i think it has the highest road accident rate in Asia).

When the pollution and the traffic can be dodged Mumbai is actually a great city to look around. It's permanently busy all day and night, in a way that London only manages during rush hour, which give the city a lively pace without it being overbearing. And perhaps the nicest activities we did were the most simple- watching scores of amateur cricket games on Oval Maidan on a Sunday afternoon (the Indian Premier League is in full swing so cricket fever is even more pronounced than usual), or eating dinner and watching the sun go down over the city from Chowpatty beach. Even just people watching in the western bars can be an eye opener- Mumbai is markedly more Western than many other places in India, a fact illustrated by the relaxed attitudes towards drinking and fashion that you see in the scores of young, stylish Mumbaikers (that is what they are called) who come to eat and drink at bars like Leopold's and Mondegars in the evening.

Given all its charm, it was still a relief in many ways to be leaving Mumbai. Our white skin and sweat marked us out as new arrivals- fresh blood and easy meat for the hundreds of touts and hawkers who reside in the city. Also the heat can be overpowering at times, and it's not the cheapest place in the world either.

So we packed our bags, left Sai Baba street (we would be seeing him again soon..) and headed for VT (Victoria Terminus or Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) for the 11pm train down to Goa, only to find that it wasn't coming to the station. 'Why not?' we reasonaly inquired. 'Not coming, Line is blocked' came the reply, with a smile and a head wiggle. Apparently it happens all the time. We ended up getting a Suburban Train to a suburb called Thane, north of the city, where our train was waiting. I was quite excited about the detour- the Suburban Railway is Mumbai's answer to the tube, though ther's only about four routes. During rush hour a phenomenon which has become known as the 'super dense crush' occurs- you can imagine what this entails. At 10.30pm the train we were on was as busy as any rush hour tube i've ever been on, i can only guess waht it must be like at 5! (probabaly super dense).

Anyway we finally left Mumbai for Goa, on a lovely 2nd Class Sleeper. These trains have not changed in the slightest in 4 years, i was glad to see. You can still hang out the doors and windows and smoke (furtively). More on the trains later they deserve their own paragraph.
So after a not bad nights sleep, we arived in Margao, in the centre of Goa.