MUMBAI (BOMBAY), INDIA

After the long visa hassle I was very anxious to get to India. My flight left Cairo on time and a few hours later I stopped over in Kuwait City (on Kuwait Airlines) for a change of planes. It was very interesting to actually be in the heart of the Middle East although it’s impossible to get less of a taste of it than a 90-minute layover in the very modern airport. It was the first airline I had been on that offered no alcohol for any price and likewise the airport had extravagant Duty Free shops, but had no booze whatsoever. One thing they did sell which caught me eye was those Iraq ‘52 most wanted’ playing cards, although they were priced at around $15 per pack. Also, almost half the people on the flight from Cairo to Kuwait City wore the Arabian white cloths on their heads.

I landed in Mumbai around 5:30 a.m. and I made a reservation at a hotel in the touristy Colaba district at the TI desk at the airport. I am still not sure whether the guy there was messing with me since he seemed very anxious to help me with a reservation and when he called my first choice they said they were full so I had to call one of his choices. My book said that was a common trick among hotel touts, but this guy was working for the government. My book also said my first choice is often full, but the more I think about it the more I think this guy was personally getting a commission at the hotel I ended up at.

I then needed to get some local currency so I went outside to the ATM. It was very hot and very humid even in the early morning and the ATM was not working. Someone told me about another ATM that was about a 5-minute walk down the terminal and I found it to discover that one was also out of order. I changed a US $20 bill to pay for my cab at the prepaid taxi booth and was soon being led to a cab. A really pushy guy grabbed my backpack and tossed it into the taxi then demanded $1 since he is a porter. I gave him about 20 cents worth of local currency but even regretted that since I didn’t need or ask for a porter. Almost every poor-ish country seems to have an abundance of assholes at their airports trying to con newcomers and making sure these same newcomers start out with a terrible impression of the country.

The taxi was still quite cheap and soon we were on our way. I had heard India in general was horrifyingly dirty and the drive from the airport through the neighborhood surrounding it until you reach the freeway certainly confirmed that. It was really disgusting, but when you reach the freeway it looks okay. The airport is a long way from the touristy part of town so it took almost an hour, even with little traffic in the early morning. I arrived at the Strand Hotel and it didn’t look bad. It’s right on the harbor and just down the block from the 5-star Taj Mahal Hotel.

I went in and looked at their cheapest room with A/C and it was very small. I asked about other rooms and discovered for only a little more I could get a room twice as large with a sofa and table along with a refrigerator. I took the larger room and slept for about 4 hours since I slept very little on the plane. After waking up I decided to see the neighborhood on foot. I walked around the block to the main street that runs parallel to the harbor front. My first impression was that Mumbai wasn’t as bad as I expected. This was the tourist district after all, but I expected worse. I got some cash at an ATM and made a lap around the neighborhood.

It was very hot and humid and I wanted lunch. I found a fancy looking place and went in for a meal. The food and service were both great and the air con felt nice. It cost about $6 and I knew that was fairly expensive for a meal in India. I then went to the area around the Gateway to India memorial and was approached by a young guy offering a private tour of Mumbai for about $15 in a non-air con car and more for A/C. I told him I wanted to do a tour the next day, but wanted to check with my hotel first. I went back to my hotel and they said they had an A/C van and driver that I could hire for about $14 for a 4 or 5-hour tour the next day. Since you can’t really trust street touts I decided to sign up for a private tour the next day through the hotel.

That evening I walked around the area a bit and wandered into a sports bar type place that had a happy hour. For a bit over $2 I got two pints of cold beer in a very modern setting. I was impressed. The music was a strange mix of light rock tunes from the 70s and 80s — everything from Air Supply to Debbie Gibson. I met a young Australian guy there named Duncan who was hanging out with a local fellow around 30 years old. We all chatted and had a few rounds while discussing India and Australia. The local guy, Ajay, said he was a filmmaker so I asked a lot of questions about the Bollywood scene. He offered to take me to a movie the next day, but I wasn’t sure why.

The next day I had breakfast at the hotel and then climbed into the hotel’s van for the tour. Mumbai doesn’t actually have many sights that foreigners know of so I wasn’t really sure of what I would even see. My Lonely Planet – India had many pages of hotels and restaurants, but only a few sights listed for each city. India is huge so that isn’t too surprising that they have to trim things out of the book, but it made it harder to sightsee. I asked if the driver spoke English and the woman at the hotel said that he didn’t speak much, but he knows how to give a tour.

We began driving and I knew this was going to be a strange tour. The driver was a young man, maybe 20 years old, and the little English he spoke was in such a thick accent that I had to have him repeat everything at least twice and then consult my guidebook to search for a word that somehow resembled the combination of syllables that came out of his mouth. The first things he pointed out were some corporate headquarters and a waterfront apartment building. I thought that was really weird, but later on other people would point them out to me too so I figured out these are proud landmarks for Indians.

We drove on and as we got out of the tourist neighborhood things started looking quite a bit worse. There is a business district and a beach area that you travel through first and those are okay, but once you get out of that you are in the real India. Most of it was okay, but I noticed right away that there was almost an infinite amount of Indians walking around. Wherever we went and no matter was time it was it felt like work had just let out since there were just hundreds of people on the sidewalks going in both directions on every street.

We arrived at something called the Hanging Gardens. I’ve heard of a famous place called the Hanging Gardens, but this wasn’t it. It’s basically a nicely groomed park with large bushes shaped into animals, but the edge of it does offer a nice view of Chowpatty Beach. I later found out it’s called the Hanging Gardens because it’s built on top of a large reservoir. I don’t know how that makes them ‘hanging’, but that was the best explanation I got. We drove on and I was taken to a temple and a Catholic church and past a mosque that was built on a long peninsula out on the bay. Occasionally the driver would get lost and have to ask anyone he could find for directions. It was a terrible tour.

A couple of times the driver would point out a large, modern shopping center with excitement and gesture that I might want to go in. The ironic thing about that is these shopping centers he pointed out were literally the only things that looked like the United States to me so they were the last places I might want to go. He seemed proud of them nonetheless. The two highlights I wanted to see were the Dhobi Ghats and the somewhat famous Red Light District that the other guy who offered me a tour spoke so highly about. The Dhobi Ghats is where much of Mumbai’s laundry gets done. Up to 10,000 men at a time tend to these large tubs where they first soak clothes for a few hours before literally beating the dirt out of them by smacking them on the edge of the brick tub for a while. We arrived near the bridge that provides the best views of the attraction and the driver motioned that I should walk into a gate and around a corner. It turned out to be the side entrance to their horse racetrack, which was closed at the time. A man I saw told me the laundry place was in the other direction. I went back to the car and the driver finally told me it was the racetrack and then urged me to get back in the van for the short ride to the laundry place.

We arrived two minutes later and the driver parked and then walked with me up some stairs to the top of the bridge. The Ghats were interesting, but not really as impressive of a sight as I had expected. I snapped a few photos and soon we were on our way again. I asked the driver several times if we were going through the Red Light District and he always nodded or said yes, but I was never sure he understood me. The Red Light District in Mumbai is supposedly the world’s largest with 80,000 women working there and it’s evidently an attraction on almost any tour of the city, but the next thing I knew we were almost back at the hotel. He definitely didn’t know what I was asking about.

The other memorable thing about the tour was the way my driver and every other driver in Mumbai drove. I’ve seen things like it in other countries, but this was pretty bad. In order to get anywhere you apparently need to adopt an Every-Man-For-Himself attitude. Lane markers mean nothing, as 3 or 4 cars would often be side by side on a 2-lane street. Every time, and I mean EVERY time a possible conflict would come up between two cars or a car and a pedestrian that might like to occupy the same space soon, the drivers would toot their horns. Since this happened about once per second it means being on the roads of Mumbai means hearing a never-ending symphony of honking. My driver was possibly the most aggressive and horn-happy in town, which was strange because he was a small, quiet looking kid. It never occurred to him that his driving and honking might somehow diminish my trip and I was his only client. He just kept cutting people off, making illegal turns, and honking every second or so, sometimes just for the sake of honking. It was a bit stressful for me, but fascinating nonetheless.

I was glad to be done with the tour. The heat and humidity were awful so I decided I might like to go see one of the famous Bollywood movies at a historic cinema near my hotel. I started walking, but I eventually realized I was lost. I asked a taxi driver and he said we would take me for about 75 cents so I jumped in. One of the few things I was liking about Mumbai was the way the taxi situation works. Not only are the cabs ridiculously cheap, but instead of trolling all over town and clogging up the streets, they just park after they drop off a fare and wait for someone to approach them. This often meant some streets were just lined with available taxis so it took no effort at all to find one or even bargain with them since the competition was so obvious and fierce.

I got the Eros Cinema (not an adult theater) and bought a ticket for the next performance of Zeher — the only movie playing there at the time. I only had to wait twenty minutes or so in the heat and I went in and up to my reserved seat in the balcony. For some reason, the balcony is the most expensive place to sit, but that was only about $1.50 or so. I have read quite a bit about Bollywood movies, but it turned out this was not a typical movie at all. It was a cop story with a love triangle set in Goa, but there was only a couple of songs and no bizarre costumes or dancing. The production values were good and it was strange at first to find that about 10% of the dialogue is in English. The movie is mainly in Hindi, but when a dramatic line needed to be delivered, suddenly it was in English. Every character mixed it up in the same way. I am fairly sure they write the script in Hindi and then change just enough lines to English so a non-Hindi speaker can follow the plot. I was able to follow it easily, but it didn’t hold my interest so when they announced an intermission I left. I walked back to my hotel through a giant and pleasant park and I watched people practicing Cricket, which is not just the national sport, but a national obsession in India.

When I got back to my hotel I rested a bit and then the phone rang. I had given the business card of the hotel to Ajay the previous night and he said he had called me a few times that day. I told him I went to a movie myself and he suggested we meet that night for drinks. He came to my hotel a couple hours later and I met him out front. He suggested we head to the seedy area near the Red Light District, but I didn’t trust him so I suggested we go to the same happy hour as the night before. There aren’t many bars in the area, I discovered, and I really liked the atmosphere and prices of that one so we walked over there. Just after we sat down at the bar Ajay said “Thank you for inviting me,” which was obviously his way of saying I would be paying for the beer. Since it was so cheap and he was an interesting guy to talk to I didn’t mind too much. We had a few rounds there and then got in a cab to check out the scene on the famous Chowpatty Beach.

Chowpatty is a nice looking beach with water far too polluted to swim in. There are a few brave or foolish people there during the day, but my book said the real scene is at night. We arrived and I didn’t see too much. There were some exotic food stands selling odd things and Ajay helped me order some really interesting stuff, for the two of us, and I paid for everything. Once again, I didn’t mind much since I had only spent about $12 total up to that point, but it was a little weird that he didn’t offer to pay for anything or even explain his situation. We sat on the sand near the water for a while and an endless string of people came by and offered me a head massage. It sounds strange, but a head massage is a common thing in India so for a dollar or two you can have a guy put some oil on your head and then rub it in for 20 or 30 minutes. It sounded interesting, but since there were two of us I thought it would be too weird to be getting a head massage while talking to someone not getting one. It was getting late, but we ended up walking all the way back to the area near my hotel. Along the beach I saw dozens of people sleeping on the cement wall that separates the sidewalk from the beach. Ajay said these are people who work nearby and that is where they sleep, and live. The weather was pleasant enough, but evidently being homeless or sleeping publicly is quite common there.

The next morning I wanted to buy a train ticket to Goa for the next day, but I didn’t really want to go through the major hassle involved in buying a ticket. I asked at my hotel and they were delighted to get me the ticket, but they said there was a $10 fee. That seemed like a lot for an $18 train ticket, but the alternative would have been spending a couple hours finding the train office in town and standing in confusing lines. I had them buy the ticket. As I was walking down the sidewalk along the harbor in front of my hotel a young Indian guy saw me and said I had something on my ear. He said it in a way that made me think I had a blob of shaving cream or something embarrassingly perched on my ear, but when I couldn’t find it myself he offered to help and next thing I knew he was cleaning out my inner ear with a swab. I had read that this was a common service offered in India, but I didn’t at all like the way this guy gets clients. He cleaned one ear and then went for the other. I thought this would be an interesting experience and I was willing to give him a dollar or so, but in the other ear he quickly found something he referred to as a ‘stone’.

It was like a dark brown ball the size of a BB, but I was skeptical that it came from my ear. He then instantly pulled a laminated card out from his pocket, which said that if he finds a stone the fee is 500 Rupee (about $12), per stone. I told him it didn’t come from my ear and there was no way I was going to pay anything near that. He assured me I was lucky because some people have 4 or 5 stones in their ears. I started to walk away, furious. He started to cut his fee and beg for 200 Rupee and then 100 Rupee, but I told him to get lost. He followed me for a while and begged for anything, but I screamed at him and told him to get away from me. I would have happily paid 50 Rupee or maybe even 100 Rupee if he had asked in a professional way, but this sort of extortion is ridiculous. I feel sorry for tourists who fall for it.

I was back in my hotel room and Ajay called again. I told him I had worked in the entertainment industry off and on in LA and he asked if I could help him get some work if I ever knew of a production coming to India. I knew that would never come up, but I told him I would keep him in mind. Other than that, I had no idea what his motivation was for being my tour guide. He suggested we go see a more traditional Bollywood flick I thought it sounded okay so he met me in front of my hotel and off we went. We arrived with an hour to kill before the movie so we got some lunch nearby. I paid for the movie tickets and the lunch for both of us, but the whole thing was around $5 so I didn’t mind, much.

The movie was called ‘Black’, in English, as it seems that the majority of Bollywood films have English titles. This was a real tearjerker that basically told the story of Helen Keller, but with a teacher character thrown in played by the most famous actor in Bollywood history. I forgot his name, but the movie was quite good. About a third of it was in English and I found that very strange since the English dialogue seemed just randomly thrown in. Unfortunately there was no dancing in this one, or even any songs. We stayed through the intermission and watched the whole thing.

Afterward Ajay suggested we go hit some of the bars in the Red Light area, but now that I was sure that he had no money I had no interest in going there with him. I was getting tired of him, partly because his interest in me was so vague. He answered all my questions about India and he whined a lot that he couldn’t get a passport because of the bureaucracy in India, but he never really asked me any questions. He seemed to have nowhere to go or nothing to do so he just followed me. I said I would buy him a beer or two at the sports bar place, but that I wanted to turn in early since I had an early train the next day. I really didn’t need to go to bed early, but I wanted to be rid of him.

We walked to the bar again and had a couple, but it was Friday so there was no happy hour. I paid the tab and said I was going back to my hotel. He followed me and after a block he went and bought a small pack of cigarettes, and then instructed me to pay the 20 Rupee (45 cents) to the merchant. This made me crazy. I paid, but was determined to get rid of him, now. He asked what I was going to do for dinner and I said I would probably get room service at my hotel, not that I wanted to, but I figured he would get the hint. He walked with me and suggested eating at a place along the way, but obviously that would mean me buying for the two of us. When it sunk in to him that I wasn’t going to buy him dinner he actually asked me if I could spare some money for dinner for him since he was broke. After the cigarettes thing I couldn’t believe this. I said no way and he kept asking. He seemed like a nice guy and was an invaluable, but unofficial tour guide, but he was posing as a friend so just giving him some money seemed really twisted.

He kept following me and I eventually opened my wallet and gave him a 50 Rupee note (about $1, but definitely enough to eat with). He looked at it and said, “50 Rupee, are you kidding?” That made me even madder so I told him to eff off. He kept following me all the way to my hotel door and started with some sob story about how he was in dire financial straights at the moment. He even offered to give the 50 Rupees back if it would help our friendship, but I assured him it was way too late for that. I went in the hotel and left him standing out front. My ‘friend’ in India turned into a clumsy leach of a tour guide. When I looked back on it I think I might have been too hard on him since he negotiated cheaper cab fares etc. and pointed out some fascinating things about India, but the cigarettes thing really rubbed me the wrong way. If he had asked for money in a more direct fashion I probably would not have given it to him and would have told him goodbye right then. I think he just needs to figure out a better way to fund his drinking and movies and whatnot. I eventually decided that his idea was to be a very helpful friend and then mention his financial problems and ask for help, but he did it in a bad way that backfired. He was a decent guy, but I won’t be emailing him and keeping in touch like I thought I might a day or so earlier.

I did get room service in the hotel and it was cheap and delicious. I went to bed before 11 and that was good because I had a 6 a.m. train the next morning bound for Goa. I woke up the next morning at 5 a.m., packed up, and checked out. I went to get a taxi in front of my hotel and I was surprised by how many people were already out and about at 5:30 in the morning. I negotiated with the driver for a reasonable fare and 10 minutes later I was dropped off at the largest train station in the world. I went inside and looked for the track I needed and an older man saw me and figured I was heading for Goa so he started guiding me the several hundred meters to the platform. I would have figured it out on my own in a few seconds, but I couldn’t get rid of this guy. I even stopped to buy a newspaper on the way, but he just stopped too and waited for me. When we got to the train he then held his hand out for his tip. I knew what was going on and this is one thing that is unavoidable in countries like this. I ended up giving him 6 Rupee (15 cents), but with a little bitterness on my part. Sometimes guys like that actually really save you a lot of time, but usually they just beg for tips after showing you something that is already obvious. I climbed aboard and waited for the train to start moving.