11/06/2013
We arrived in Bandra
station and followed the crown out of the back exit. The stench in the train station was
unbearable. Someone really needs to get
a pressure hose out once in a while. Will
had read somewhere that you’d experience the best and worst smells ever in
India, so far I’ve only experienced the worst.
I don’t think I’ve smelt so much faeces in the last 10 years of my life
then have in the last few days.
We’ve noticed a few older
men with dyed hair, normally bright orange.
Apparently it’s done by henna; the more you put on the more orange it is. It’s funny how at home that would be seen as
the least desirable hair colour yet they seem to love it here. We just found it interesting that none of the
women dyed their hair too. Women at home
dye their hair regularly and yet they all have the same colour hair here so you’d
have thought they’d want to gain some individuality.
After another standard
overpriced taxi journey from the train station (900Rs) we got the hotel. He’d showed us the price on a tariff card but
it must have been titled ‘Naive Tourist Prices’ sat next to ‘Tourist Prices’
and then ‘Locals Prices’.
The hotel is right on the
sea front which is nice as there’s a cool breeze and it has a great view. Unfortunately it’s really foggy though so
couldn’t take any photos (I took these the next morning, it still wasn’t sunny
but was better than the day before).
Walking around it’s
immediately apparent that our Caucasian celebrity status is over. We’re yesterday’s news here in such a
cosmopolitan and western influenced city.
It’s just so unceremonious! One
minute they can’t get enough of us and are all giggling and queuing up to have
a photo taken with us and then we don’t even get a sideways glance! I can see why washed-up has-been’s end up on
‘I’m a Celeb’ now.
We started off on a walk
around the city and ended up at India Gate which is quite a grand sight. It was built to celebrate the arrival of King
Edward and Queen Mary in 1911 (if my Roman Numeral interpretation serves me
correctly). It’s another of India’s
grand gestures marking the arrival of royals, it must have taken a lot of money
and time to build such a thing.
After spending 10 minutes
batting off the advances of an over-zealous tour guide my stomach reminded me
we were in India and I had got by unscathed for too long. Making a quick dash to find the nearest
toilet I was on the cusp of body slamming the begging children who wouldn’t let
me go without buying one of their stupid items.
I know they’re only trying to make money for food but when you can’t
walk anywhere without them grabbing you, trying to take your belongings out of
your hands for them to keep, shoving the things they’re selling in your hands
and then following you for ages you
start to lose your patience. Especially
when it’s such stupid things! Do I look
like someone who wants a giant (and I mean GIANT, ¾ the height of me) weird
balloon thing shaped like a pear that would be impossible to carry around with
you? Do I look like someone who would
want a motorised boat you put in water?
Do I look like I want a coffee table?
Do I look like i want a carpet?
We’re clearly not local and the chances of us having arrived on a
private jet are slim so we’re probably just normal tourists with a suitcase
with a weight limit. A suitcase that is
never going to be big enough to include a carpet and a weight limit that is
never going to include a coffee table!
Come on now, you’re salesmen, assess your potential customers.
After fending off the
massively annoying kids I saw a bar and dashed inside sending Will to buy a
bottle of drink to appease the barman.
As I burst into the one toilet available I am, of course, greeted by an
Indian style toilet; the good old hole in the ground. I dashed out and opened the next door in the
vain hope they’d be a western style next door but I was just greeted by a broom
cupboard and a man telling me there was only1 toilet. Brilliant.
So my Delhi Belly finally gets a hold of me and all I have is an Indian
toilet. It’s beyond me why anyone would
rather squat over a hole trying to avoid splash-back (and in cases of
urination, failing) when they can sit on a seat! The trains have both styles right next to
each other so people can choose. I don’t
see the requirement for debate!
In the street you can get
a haircut or a shave just sat on the pavement.
I saw a guy getting a shave and wanted to take a photo as it’s quite a
surreal image so I thought I’d be polite and ask. I was met with immediate refusal for a
photo. After all the countless photos
I’ve had taken of me against my will the last few days and they refuse to let
me have 1! I should have just taken it
rather than be polite. I’ve learnt my
lesson now. I was tempted to go over the
other side of the road and utilise my impressive zoom then flick them the bird
as I walked off but he did seem to have a traditional cut-throat razor and
after seeing a specific emergency number just for crimes against women,
children and the elderly I didn’t want to antagonise the crazy barber. I’ve not seen Sweeney Todd but I didn’t fancy
making the Bollywood version.
We strolled through a
street market and bought 5 pairs of sunglasses between us for 100Rs each (about
£1.15). Will had 3 pairs of ray bans in
different colours and all with different takes on the name; Roy Boys, Ry Don’s
and Ray Bon’s. All of course assured at
the point of sale of their authenticity.
It’s very amusing when the sellers come at you with a price of 350Rs and
pointing out the name. “Yes, they’re all
fake. Fake is fake. One is no more fake than the other so if
these were 100Rs then so are they.”
We wandered past a
military gate and stopped on the other side to check our map of where we were
going. One of the guards blew his
whistle and waved us to walk on.
Somewhat annoying as we were hardly posing a threat to their safety but
what was really pathetic was his mate coming out a few seconds after, seeing us
walking away he blew his whistle 2 more times and when we stopped and turned to
look at him he waved us to walk on! What
an absolute power hungry jobs-worth! I
was tempted to start walking back towards him asking him what he wanted but the
idea of Indian imprisonment wasn’t overly appealing so I settled to just
bitching about his pettiness instead.
Absolute tool.
The taxi’s round here are
awesome. They’re really old cars from 2nd
world war times (I’m pretty sure they’re the exact same car that I drove around
Berlin when I was there a few years ago, they definitely look very similar and
both have the gear change on the steering column). They have so much character and it’s amazing
they’re still going strong after all this time and all these miles driven. Indian’s cabbies don’t strike me as the type
who’d commit to regular servicing and general motor vehicle care.
The streets here are nice
and clean, there are green spaces, fountains and statues making it an enjoyable
place to walk around and take in. Where
its overcast the temperature is far more manageable too. The old British buildings are easy to spot as
they’re so grand and individual in their style.
Victoria Train Station (named after the Queen) has to be the most grand train station I’ve ever seen! (Externally that is, inside it’s dirty and it
stinks. Where they get all these smells
from is beyond me, I think they must buy them in cans, how can a train station
smell equally of sewage and fish otherwise? ‘Genuine Indian Train Station
Odour; Gutters and Garbage’ or the best selling ‘Faeces and Fish’. Buy one get one free). There are also modern style buildings and sky
scrapers and high rise apartment buildings but then you’ll have a run-down
hovel stuck in the middle of them all.
Even in the expensive parts where the Bollywood stars live there’ll
still be a little shack or a house with windows missing or part of the roof.
Victoria Train Station
We stopped at a camera
shop and the prices of India impressed me yet again. I’d considered buying one of those gorilla
tripods before coming out, the ones with bendy legs so you can use it on non-flat
surfaces or even secure it to a tree branch.
As I’ll spend most of this trip on my own and I’d like the odd picture
with me in I thought it would be handy.
After going to LA alone and managing to only get a picture of me sat on
a fountain and on a bench as they were the only spots with appropriate level
flat walls nearby I thought the £20 cost on Amazon was a justified one. (How Will had laughed when he saw me posed on
a bench, gazing out at LA and asked me “who took this photo?” Er, that would
have been me..... How the passers-by would have laughed observing me setting
that up. Oh well, better a moment of
embarrassment for a life-long memory caught on camera. The memory of me being a tit but a memory all
the same). They sold these tripods in the camera shop and I asked how much they
were; 100Rs. That’s a saving of nearly
£19 on what I would have paid at home!
Result! Whilst I was there I also
picked up a memory card reader for just under £2 and a pack of batteries for
the same price. Thank you, Mumbai!
The humidity was causing
some serious perspiration (Will more-so than me, see pic below) and upon seeing
the gold-dust esque ‘free wifi hotspot’ sign we dove into a coffee shop. The drinks were pretty over-priced but it was
air conditioned and it had wifi so we didn’t care, I just wanted to find the
nearest pharmacy and get same anti-diarrhoea tablets. Every other country I’ve been there seem to
be pharmacies everywhere but here they were as elusive as bloody wifi! We settled down with our expensive drinks
(Will realising he’d unknowingly ordered a coffee which he didn’t like so
didn’t drink) and attempted to log on to the wifi. Our excitement ended swiftly when we realised
we needed Indian phone numbers to get the activation code. Con sarn it!
Our day continued just
wandering around, taking in the place and taking photos. It’s so different from the other cities we
went to over here it’s hard to believe it’s the same country. People walk through the streets with laptop
bags talking on mobile phones (in Jaipur there aren’t really any pavements),
people go jogging here (in Jaipur they probably don’t eat enough to have the
energy spare to exercise). People here
walk dogs (in Jaipur they walk around with cows). The women mostly wear western clothes and the
only sari’s I see are on older women. Apparently
the women should wear Punjab suits until they are married and then wear a sari
but none of the younger generation seem to bother with the traditional clothing
at all. The people here seem to walk
around in couples and in families more whereas in Jaipur I noticed it was only
ever groups of women and groups of men.
The men hold hands too as a sign of friendship.
On the walk back to the
hotel we finally found a
pharmacy...who told us to go over the road to the other pharmacy as he didn’t
have any shower gel. Over the road we finally found a pharmacy that sold
shower gel. We even got a free washing
thing, the poufy ball that lathers up your shower gel so it goes further, I
have no idea what it’s called. We still
needed anti-diarrhoea tablets so we asked the guy in the medicine section and
he, of course, had no idea what the word ‘diarrhoea’ meant. We tried ‘poo’ and ‘soft poo’ and ‘runny poo’
but he just stared at us blankly. I looked
and Will and he looked at me, the realisation in our eyes that we were going to
have to act this out. Will took one for
the team and put on a sterling performance of poo shooting out of your
backside. Sound affects and all. Eureka! The shopkeeper understood! He understood enough to tell us that they
didn’t sell any. We took our shower gel
and left.
I wore my sari out to
dinner and it proved very popular with the locals! (Getting a taste of my old fame again it’s
like a junkie having a secret hit). One
lady even stopped me to tell me how beautiful I looked. We walked down Marine Drive and sat on the
wall like all the locals do. There were
hundreds of them all just sat around chatting.
Groups of friends, couples and families.
Despite the road being right next to you with all the relentless beeping
it still managed to be relaxing watching the waves and enjoying the sea breeze.
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