Confirmed India: 7 – 9.09.2013

Arriving into Jaipur, we were exhausted from a nights broken sleep, thanks to one very loud crying baby. We had pre-booked accommodation (more so, Vijay had contacted his friend who owned a more luxurious hotel and basically guilted him into offering us a room there at a very discounted price), and I’d spoken with the manager the night before to organise pick-up for this morning, but no one bothered to turn up. As a result, we were hounded by auto drivers wanting a sale and spent more than an hour driving around from guest house to guest house with a tuk tuk driver who constantly spun bull-shit about how he was so honest and fair and how we could trust him, but said nothing and made a very guilty face when I pulled him up on a very clear lie.

Welcome to Jaipur.

Eventually, after visiting guest house after guest house and turning down ridiculous priced rooms with either very rude owners or dirty sheets, and getting tired of tuk tuk mans attempts to make us book a tour of Jaipur with him, we finally demanded to be taken to the hotel we’d originally booked.

In our room, we spent some time abusing the free wi-fi, like all good travelers would, before heading out around 9:30am to see what Jaipur had to offer. We caught a cycle-rickshaw into town, which was a nice and different experience; traffic is certainly hectic in this big, big city.

We headed straight for the Lassiwala; a hole-in-the-wall famous for it’s fresh lassis that are served in large ceramic cups. Delicious.

After breakfast, most of the shops along the main road were still shut, so we walked to the Raj Mandir cinema – a famous attraction because of its beauty and grand details – and booked ourselves a ticket each for a latest release Bollywood movie that opened just yesterday. We adore the Indian Bollywood movies, and it was a must to experience Bollywood at this very grand place.

With a few hours to enjoy before our movie started, we walked to Old City – also known as the Pink City (even though the buildings are more of an orangey-red colour). We walked through the bazaars; past textile shops, shoes, jewelery and bits and pieces galore; touters trying to sell us things constantly, frequently purposely blocking our path and attempting to physically push me into their store; it got to the point where I had to force them out of my way. Regardless, I really enjoyed the short time we spent there, and we planned to go back and take more time.

In the cinema waiting are, we were in awe of the buildings interior and beautiful detailing. It was stunning! Entering the actual cinema, we were blown away by how massive it was; it must’ve seated more than a thousand people!
Once the lights dimmed and the curtain lifted, the trailers began and, almost instantly, the crowd went WILD – screaming, laughing, whistling, cheering, shouting. This happened continuously throughout the movie; when the tough guy performed a stunt, when the bad guy got caught, when the beautiful girl entered the room, a first kiss… it was hilarious! We loved the experience as much as the movie, and the dancing and singing  scenes were pretty awesome! Everyone seemed to be in the cinema; from the very young (babies and toddlers who loved to cry) to the elderly, and plenty of people in between; many who seemed to be taking phone call after phone call or holding important conversations during the movie.

On exiting, having stuffed our bodies with too much pop corn and not having slept much during the overnight train ride, we were exhausted. It was late afternoon, and we decided to head back to the room for a rest, but were intercepted by a man selling hand-made Jaipur puppets. He was eager to sell one, as he hadn’t made a sale today and needed some good luck, apparently. He was pushy, trying to get us to buy these terrifying puppets that we did not want nor need, dropping his price almost instantly from 300 rupees for one, to 100 rupees for two. After continuously saying no, he dropped his price again to 80 rupees and performed briefly with the puppets, whilst we continued to say no and tried to get away. He dropped his price again to 50 rupees for the two (less than a dollar) and folded them up and shoved them into my hands; I was ready to simply give him some money to leave us alone. After more pleading from him to buy, and more nos from me and Jacob, he finally gave up on me and asked Jacob one more time – to which he was met with another no. With that, puppet man gave a growl, screwed up his face in anger and flicked his hand at us with such ferocity and aggression, before furiously walking away. It was an oddly distressing experience.

We took solace in our hotel room, and made plans to go to a popular Indian grill/kebab restaurant this evening, but tuk tuk drivers refused to take us there and back for less than 800 rupees (almost half our daily budget!) We decided instead to go into town and eat at a kebab restaurant there, but once there, we found prices were way out of our backpacker’s budget, and we had to leave. This happened again, and again, and we were losing all interest in eating. There were a few street kebab places, but I refused to let Jacob eat there for fear of death by Delhi Belly.

Instead, we spent ages walking along the main road, avoiding the drunk men and beggars who sat, screaming very aggressively  at us. Traffic was hectic, and the dusty, dark footpaths made me feel very unsafe. It became a really stressful experience, and by the time we got a tuk tuk to the hotel (with a driver who surprisingly used the meter, and then refused to give us change when he saw where we were staying) it suddenly, after more than a month here in India, all became a bit too overwhelming…

I was genuinely starting to wonder if I wanted to stay here another two months, and we spent our evening chatting about possible options, and hoping tomorrow would be a different story.

Waking late and strolling into town, we declined every tuk tuk driver who refused to use the meter; we knew now after using a metered tuk tuk yesterday, that they absolutely do work and do get used here in Jaipur, and we are sick of being ripped off. We chose to walk, which led us to a little street food stall selling delicious Aloo Tikkia; the first meal I’ve had in a while that didn’t make me feel unwell the moment I ate it. It was there we met Firoj; a tuk tuk driver with a big smile who “would love to take us to Amer Fort”… We got him to take us to Anokhi instead; a beautiful textile and gift shop which, more importantly, had a café selling organic salads, coffee, fair trade teas and amazing carrot cake.

Jake and I spent a good two hours in Anokhi café, drinking coffee and devouring salad whilst we talked about how we were feeling regarding our travels in India.  I don’t know exactly what the plans are, or if any plans are made at all yet, but the idea of cutting our India travels short and heading to Japan for a couple of weeks is certainly being entertained.

With our stomachs full of coffee and salad, we moved away from Anokhi to our waiting tuk tuk driver, who was ready to show us some of Jaipur’s beauty.

We visited an area of Maharaja tombs which were stunningly beautiful, before moving on to Amer Fort, some 13 odd kilometers away. This was the first fort we actually went right into, rather than staring at it from a distance (with the exception of Jodhpur, where we almost went in). The papping wasn’t too extreme here, to my surprise, and together we were able to enjoy the climb up to the fort. Inside, a film shoot was taking place and lights and cameras were everywhere; every one seemed to want to get in on the action and the crowds around the film sets were huge. Lots of props and colourful cloths filled the massive open area, and it was all a bit exciting, and very, very beautiful.

Amer Fort was magnificent, that’s for sure, and those who lived here once upon a time would’ve had a pretty sweet life. We spent a while here, and it was incredibly beautiful, but one thing will stand out in my memory of our visit here.
This fort had a pool room. Yes, a pool (Billiard) room. Thoughts of “This is goin’ straight to the pool room” were echoing in our heads (any Aussie should know what I’m referring to), and made us smile.

Climbing stairs that lead to the unknown, we explored the hallways and lanes of the fort as though it was a maze. We were stopped at one point by an Indian man who was delighted two whities had found their way to him, and forced both his hesitant wife and us to pose for “just one photo” (which is never, and was not just one!) with him.

On exiting the fort, we were met again by our driver who drove us all the way back to Jaipur’s Old Pink City, where we stopped for chai before heading back to the same Aloo Tikkia street food stall we started at this morning. We had another 40 rupee dinner there, then stopped at the near by convenience store for some bottles of water before heading back to the hotel for the evening…

Late at night, when Jake opened one of the bottles of water we purchased, a foul smell filled the air. On closer inspection, the water was a murky colour and filled with inconsistant specks of stuff, which had not been visible when the water had come straight from the fridge covered in condenstaion. We’d checked the seal at the time of purchase, which had been perfect, but hadn’t ever thought to check the bottom of the bottle, which in this case, had been punctured, re-filled with toxic water, then sealed with a dollop of glue. We’d heard of this type of thing happening, and had been cautious to always check seals the whole time we’d been here in India, but seeing this in our own hands put a knot in my stomach. It made me angry that there could be such a sheer disregard for the health of others, and that we’d come very close to getting very sick.

We hoped our last day in Jaipur tomorrow would be better; we had no set plans, but another trip to Anokhi for salads, coffee and carrot cake was definitely on the cards.

 …

We woke early on our last day in Jaipur and spent a few hours discussing and researching flights, countries, budget options and places to visit in Asia that could be possible options if we did actually decided to leave India earlier than planned.

Eventually deciding we needed to leave the hotel at some point, we walked down around 10am to the same Aloo Tikkia place for breakfast again, where Jake ate dodgy looking panni puri and my food was luke-warm. Hmmm… we were definitely getting a coke to kill any nasty lurking bacteria.

We arranged a tuk tuk driver to take us to Anokhi, but I guess he got impatient after a few minutes and drove off. Instead, we flagged down another tuk tuk driver who agreed to take us to Anokhi, and even better, agreed to use his meter that actually, we discovered, didn’t work. When we gave him 50 rupees for the short drive (way more than it should’ve cost), he demanded more and we got out of the tuk tuk and simply walked away whilst he yelled at us for more money. Sigh… coffee will cure this deflated feeling, surely?

More coffee, more carrot cake and a brie, tomato and basil baguette was enjoyed whilst we talked more and more about what the next couple of months of travel would mean for us.

Buzzing from caffeine, we headed to Old City – Pink City – to explore a little more of the bazaar area. It was hot, crowded and noisy; we discovered it is Ganesh’s birthday today – Happy Birthday Ganesh! – which meant lots of people were busy preparing for celebrations and the sights and sounds were really interesting! We explored for a while, but by mid afternoon we were eager to look into our travel options, make some sort of decision about what we were going to do (and possibly where else we were going to go) and also start planning for Nepal – if we are leaving India early, Nepal will be coming up very soon.

Well after midnight and just hours before we need to wake up to take the train from Jaipur to Agra, we booked our flights. We are going to Japan. We are leaving India early, and welcoming a new country into our Asian Adventure.

After seeing our flights confirmed on the screen, I felt oddly relieved to know that we would be leaving India soon, and at the same time a bit ‘shocked’ by the idea that our time here was now only going to be a few days more. Our route would no longer include the very North of India; instead, we would travel from Jaipur – Agra – Lucknow as planned, then from Lucknow to Varanasi, then either fly from Varanasi to Nepal, or to Delhi by train, then fly from there….

For now, tomorrow we’re off to Agra at 7am: the Taj Mahal is in our sights! To make things even more exciting, we are traveling there on the Shatabdi Express – apparently a very nice Indian train indeed…

Let’s see what Agra has in store for us.

Big Smoke India: 17 – 19.08.13

We arrived into Mumbai – the big smoke – stuck in a traffic jam, and after stepping off the bus after 10am, rather than the estimated 7:30am arrival time. The bus dropped us on a random street where cars raced past, buildings soared, dogs roamed and taxi drivers circled us.
We had no idea where we were, we had no idea where we were going, we had no idea where we were staying, and we had no idea who to trust. Excellent.

A driver in a camo-cloured doo-rag style hat hearded us into his taxi and drove us across the city to Colaba – the tourist and sight-seeing hub of Mumbai. He hid his meter with a dirty towel “because he has to” (for a reason he did not explain) and continually told me “do not worry about money, you always worrying about money, do not ask me about money, don’t worry, I don’t want any money, I not asking for any money”, which made me worry almost to bursting point. Of course, he wanted money, of course he charged us some ridiculous “luggage fee”, and of course, he took us to the most ridiculously priced, shit-box of a hotel/cell, where we were greeted by possibly the rudest Indian man in the world.
Whilst Jake stayed in the taxi, I went to check the room.The manager grunted at me that the room was 1200, and when I almost died of shock, he told me it was actually now 1500. Mumbai was a lot more expensive than we’d expected.
Back in the taxi, I weighed up our options with Jake, and the driver agreed I could barter the manager down.
Back up in the hotel again, I was now told the price was 1700. I’m still wondering why I didn’t walk away then and there, but instead I bartered to 1300 which was flatly refused, so my very generous driver offered 1400 – was he personally putting in that extra 100 for this cockroach infested cell? I doubted it, but the offer got accepted.
The driver left us with our bags and we trudged up the stairs, feeling as though we were about to enter into a contract we didn’t want to but were somehow unable to get away from.
Of course, without the driver by my side, the manager was even ruder and told us no air conditioning would be included in that price. I argued, and we walked away – and should’ve kept walking – but eventually Mr. Rude manager man had a change of heart and very generously let us stay for 1400… with air conditioning.

It was only after we had paid that we discovered stained sheets, cockroaches, and one single dirty, cigarette smelling towel. When I asked if we could please have a clean towel, and furthermore if we could have two, the manager almost screamed at me telling me it was clean. When I refused his answer, he angrily bought us a “clean” (still stained) towel, and grunted “one room, one towel.” Hmmm.

Out in Mumbai at last, we walked through Colaba and towards the gateway to India monument, past the famous Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. The architecture is incredibly beautiful here, absolutely stunning – our heads were in a constant craning state as we looked at the architecture towering above us, mouths open in awe.

We walked towards Leopold’s Café – one of the hard-hit locations in the 2008 Mumbai terrorist attacks, and also the once local hang-out of the author of Shantaram  – I was keen to see if this establishment lived up to my imagination… On the way, we dropped into Reality Tours office, to book a tour of the Daravhi Slums. A few minutes later, we were walking briskly towards Churchgate Station to meet for our tour of the biggest slum in Asia, to see what “the real Mumbai is like” – apparently.

I still can’t quite work out how I feel bout visiting a slum as a tourist, but the tour company we went with pours a huge portion of it’s money back into the NGO it runs within the slum, which we were able to see in action. We went as a group of 6 along with a guide who met us at the station and took us on the local Mumbai train towards the slums. He explained to us “three stops before we need to prepare to get off the train. Lots of eople will be getting on and off very quickly and the train will only halt for 15, maybe 20 seconds.” … Oh, shit.

Surviving our first local Mumbai train, we walked over the bridge and down into what looked like a very normal, very action packed street going about daily business. Chai and food stalls and vendors, shops, businesses, buyers and sellers, traffic and people about everywhere… We were in the business district, and it is here that several huge export and import, as well as nation-wide products are made, cooked, sewn, created and recycled, turning over a profit of around $650 million USD annually.

We walked through the business district, and the recycling area first, where plastic comes from all over India – and the world! – to be recycled. The absolute sprawl and mounds of plastic that could be seen from the ground and from the roof top stretched so far and covered every surface, and I was in absolute shock at the…mess, maybe? I can’t even decribe what we saw. These incredible people work tirelessly, in very difficult conditions, and their business is non-stop.
We passed tailors and men dying materials to make saris and clothing – for men in one section, and for women in another.
We passed welders and people building machinery, working with metals and welders, barefooted and shirtless – without any sort of safety precautions or protection.
We passed bakers rolling tons of pastry dough, and women drying poppadoms on the slum floors that, eventually, will be exported world wide.
We passed leather workers who dry, treat and cure the leathers they receive and turn them into bags, wallets and everything else that will then eventually be stamped with Gucci and Prada stamps, exported, and sold for thousands in fancy shops.
We passed through the pottery area where thousands of clay pots were being turned and sitting to dry in the sun.
We walked through tiny, tiny alleyways with holes in the ground and electrical wires dangling dangerously low. The stench was sometimes overwhelming.
We worked our way through to the residential area, where children were keen to follow us – and put their hands in our pockets! The slums are alive with people; the tiny area of around 1.75square km is home to more than a million people! There is a Muslim section, and a Hindu section, and somehow, people manage to live together in such compact space like one big community.
The residential area made me both happy and sad – I think – I haven’t quite worked it out yet. People live in absolute mess – the smells are overwhelming in some parts, and we walked out into an open area where children were playing and walking bare footed amongst an absolute rubbish tip. The toilet block was making it hard for me to breathe, and the smell stung my eyes.
We spent the entire time we were there staring at our feet, watching each and every step – ensuring we did not stand in the muck and mess, the holes and putrid contents that continually covered the ground.
The tiny slum hut, one of which we were able to see empty, was smaller than my bedroom; a bathroom, a kitchen, a TV area, a living area, a bedroom, storage space… and five, six, seven people might occupy that area! No privacy, no space. Astounding.
But the people seem happy, and busy, and hard-working. Most of all, it feels like a community, even from an outsider perspective – you can simply see and observe it. I’m still trying to work out how I feel about it all, and what my thoughts are, but I’m happy we were able to take the opportunity to learn a bit more about a part of this world and the people in it.

The six of us on the tour took the train back to Churchgate Station together and spent the evening at Leopold’s. The bullet holes still fresh in the walls was a stark reminder of what happened here just a few years ago, and my head full of the words of Shantaram bought me right back to the dodgy wheelings and dealings that would’ve once happened, right there.

Having used our air conditioner to the maximum and after surviving the hoards of cockroaches, we checked out early and, like sleepy turtles, carried our backpack shells heavy on our backs. We wern’t allowed to leave them with Mr. Rude Guest House Manager.

Today, India and I clashed. It’s true. It was a build up, I think, of three weeks of (amongst a million other positive things) being frequently cheated, lied to, tricked, scammed, harassed, begged, and  ripped off.

Our morning was spent being lied to by various street touters and people offering “free tourist information.” After hours or messing around, being told one thing and then another, and then something else entirely, we ended up handing over a wad of cash for two train tickets to Udaipur which were then never given to us – instead, we’d receive them via e-mail apparently on Monday, the day before our train.

I was so upset at the fact that nothing seemed to be working here for us today; we’d been ripped off and harassed and furthermore, lied to continually, and booking tickets for trains seemed impossible. We left with no ticket, no receipt, a lighter wallet and the words of the tourist information guy saying “anything is possible in India if you put money under the table” ringing in our heads.  On the street, continually we were harassed by people wanting money, wanting to show us their hotel rooms, offers for weed, offers for taxis, offers to “help” us find a “nice something to wear”, shoe shining, ear cleaning, and more people claiming their office was the real tourist information centre. I was ready to scream. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the ‘process’ that we go through every day here in India, fighting off touts and tricksters, and sifting through lies to find the truth. I was tired of the fact that we have to be suspicious of everyone, and when a stranger happens to help us, we find it hard to believe they’re being genuine.
I was overwhelmed that to book a train took hours after hours, too many mixed messages and stories, and that people were happy to go above and beyond to hide important information and trick us. After three weeks of it almost continually, I was sick of this maddening bull shit.

Eventually, we ended up at VT station – apparently the biggest train station in Asia – the incredible station that we should’ve gone to first thing this morning. First floor, counter 52, a few forms and I was able to book our train tickets. Just. Like. That. No bull shit, no lies, no stories of why they will have to change the price, no poor treatment, rude comments or jumbled facts. The man just booked the dates and trains that I had written down and printed out the tickets for us. So this is the way to do it, hey?… Lesson finally learned.

From VT station, we booked a pre-paid taxi out to Andheri, where we were staying for the next 3 nights with a Couch Surfing Host. Our poor taxi driver then spent the next two or more hours dodging, weaving, or sitting motionless amongst a chaos of horns and impatient drivers. At one point I tried to count the number of ‘lanes’ of traffic: pointless – the traffic sprawled so far around our car that I had to give up, it was utter madness and it was a real thrill. Hello to the Mumbai I had imagined.

Eventually, we arrived at our Couch Surfing host’s home, where she welcomed us warmly and gave us a delicious home cooked Indian dinner. We took a tuk tuk later to a local shopping mall and she introduced us to Kulfi, a delicious Indian dessert.

Our second day in Mumbai was spent in fits of exhaustion and frustration, feeling as though we couldn’t handle – didn’t want to handle – India’s complexities any longer – but then it ended on a high. We knew that tomorrow could only be better.

Our third day in Mumbai was spent exploring Colaba a little bit further. Being Sunday, the trains were “not so busy” – meaning I was able to breathe slightly more easily, didn’t have to share the roof handle with another hand and didn’t have to fight with people in order to exit the train. The Mumbai trains are madness, but oddly enough we love them.

Arriving into Churchgate Station, we stepped out into the street to be immediately greeted by the bare bottom of a woman who’d just taken a decent sized poo in the middle of a busy main road. As if proud of her achievement, she stood – bare bummed – next to the pile of waste for way too long whilst I struggled to re-gain my composure.
We watched, sipping chai, as a Bollywood scene was being filmed in the street, and ignored the hassling touts – one of whom invited us to his cousin’s best friend’s sisters’ niece’s wedding somewhere in Rajisthan some time next month.
We admired art in a gallery, and even more outside where local artists were selling their paintings and were proud to show us their work. I adore moments like these.
We explored various shops and walked through the city area, visiting the local Colaba Market and avoiding another tout who was sure we’d love the clothing at his best friend’s wholesale shop.We had a fancy lunch at Delhi Dohbar, where I broke my vegetarian diet and ate some mutton.
Our afternoon was spent walking along Marine Drive, looking out over the Mumbai city scape and sky line. Chai vendors offered us chai and a woman with a monkey on a leash tried to get us to pay her for a dancing monkey show – which we very flatly refused.

Late evening we took another local Mumbai train back to Andheri, where we visited the local shopping mall. Tuk tuk drivers outside tried to charge us 150 rupees for the 20 rupee ride back to our host’s home, and refused to turn on the meter even though they have to normally. It was infuriating to be treated so unfairly, and I felt that frustrated feeling from the previous day returning. Eventually though, we found a driver who was happy to turn on his meter and took us safely home to our wonderful host and her handsome cat.

Our third day in Mumbai was a nice, easy going day; we didn’t really rush this morning, and spent our day in the outer suburbs away from the tourists. We’re so used to being the only whities these days; it’s starting to not phase us so much. Outside of the tourist area of Colaba, the people who spoke with us were friendlier and more interested in simply talking to us, rather than trying to take our money however possible.

We took a tuk tuk to the Andheri train station, where peak hour meant we were caught up amongst thousands of frantic commuters. The first train we attempted to board was so packed (to the point where people were hanging out the doors and along the side of the train!) we were not able to board. A young woman told me to get in the ladies carriage, and never attempt to take the men’s carriage… that meant Jake and I would be separated, and that worried me when we were about to attempt to get on – and would consequently have to eventually get off – the local Mumbai train.

As the train we needed pulled into the station, it was a sight to be seen – one I have difficulty describing. It was, simply put, a manic mess of chaos and crowds. Before the train can even completely stop, people are jumping off and attempting to jump on. As the train slows and finally stops, masses of people at every door have already started shoving, pushing, kicking and pulling; fighting their way into and out of the carriage. No order, no rules, every man for himself. It was madness, and the facial expressions and the way people behaved was shocking, to say the least. I was pushed, shoved and hearded into the ladies carriage by the kind young woman who then checked to make sure Jake was safely in the men’s compartment. So kind. Within the confines of the female carriage, I observed as every woman assessed the other – including many stares directed at me – often staring each other down in a manner that, more than once, made me feel self conscious.
When the train finally pulled into my destination, I was quick to learn I’d need to fight my way off. Along with every other woman pushing and kicking and shoving to get on – and off – I elbowed and shoved and escaped, free at last.

More help from locals saved us the hassle of trying to negotiate with trick tuk tuk drivers, and eventually we found one who was happy to use the meter to take us to the ferry landing, so we could head across the ‘creek’ (more like a massive lake!) to the Global Pagoda – a golden beautiful structure that was really impressive to see. People come here for 10 day meditation work shops which are apparently really highly regarded.
Arriving, I think we were just as impressed by the structure as we were by the fact that it was free to enter.
The area was beautiful and really impressive, and it was well worth the visit out there.
After slipping in the mud and falling hard on my bum, checking to see if anyone saw, then laughing about it for way too long, we took an empty ferry back over the creek and a tuk tuk back to the station, before catching a train back to Andheri.

This evening we were meeting our host at the local plaza to see a Bollywood movie, but arriving early, we decided we’d and spend some time in what turned out to the the worst (and most hilarious) excuse for an arcade.
We wanted to have a game of 10 pin bowling but only one of the 6 lanes was working. The other lanes were “maintenance,” according to the staff. We put 100 odd rupees onto an arcade game card and went to swipe a game for some good old fashioned fun… but quickly realised the game we had selected was “undergoing maintenance.” This was the same for the next game, and the next, and the next, and the next, and this went on throughout the entire arcade for all except one game – the basketball hoopy game. So, whilst laughing like lunaticks, we spent a happy few minutes playing the same one game; shooting flat basket balls into a hoop, cackling the entire time. At the end, we had acquired a whole 6 tickets, and seeing as there were only three different ‘prizes’ behind the massive glass counter for 50, 200 and 5000 tickets, we fortunately didn’t get any sort of tacky plastic souvenir.
Oh India, you make us smile.

We met our host and went up to the level our cinema was on, only to find it had been moved to another cinema. So, down two levels, we bought popcorn and prepared for our movie to start, only to find out it had been re-scheduled for an hour later… So instead, we sat, talked and ate way too much popcorn. It was brilliant.

The movie was excellent but quite difficult for us to follow – lucky we had our host there to explain a little of the plot. After a late finish, she took us to a fantastic Punjabi restaurant where we enjoyed an absolutely amazing meal together. Tandoori chicken with lime and yoghurt, beautifully steamed rice, a bean dahl and a specialty of fried garlic cloves, along with an incredible traditional Indian sweet and a betel nut drink to freshen our mouths once we were done. Dinner at midnight, and this place was still packed. The food was one of the best meals we’ve had in Mumbai, and our beautiful host was so generous to take us out.

It honestly was such a wonderful way to celebrate our short time spent with her, and we are so grateful to have found such a wonderful person here in Mumbai. Tomorrow was to be our final day in Mumbai before heading off on a train journey away from the West and into the North to Rajisthan: first stop, Udaipur.

Scary Toilets and The Luxury Hampi Express

Pretty much as soon as we arrived in Goa – or at least in Agonda – we’d unexpectedly ended up planning to leave. The tiny section we have seen of Goa has been breath-takingly beautiful: green, lush, misty, rice paddy fields and hills that climb into the clouds. Farmers and dirt roads, palm trees and oceans…

We packed and left Agona early in the morning, bleary eyed and still utterly exhausted; still trying to catch up on the lost nights sleep from the sleeper train. We took another overpriced tuk tuk to the bus station near by, then an hour long bus to Maragoado. From there, we sunk a couple of chai (oh, the withdrawals we were already suffering!) before taking another one hour long bus journey to Panji – Goa’s main city.

We dumped our backpacks with another sweaty man at the cloak room, which happened to be situated between the ladies and the men’s toilets: instead of praying that our bags would still be there when we returned, I prayed they wouldn’t absorb the smell of stale piss within the next 8 or so hours.

We’d been keen to go to an Organic Farm – Savoi Spice Plantation – to take a tour and see what organic farming is like in India; particularly in beautiful Goa. However, it was a 35km trip out there, and we didn’t want to spend 1000+ rupees on a taxi or tuk tuk, so we tried to find a bus. It was foolish; we’d just come off two hours on two separate buses that were packed so tightly it was difficult to move, and further more, we were both exhausted and hungry. But we persevered; asking one bus conductor after another for assistance in finding the right bus. We were sent to one side of the massive station, then back again, then back again, then back to a smaller section of buses, then told there was no bus, then told there was several buses, then told we had to pre-purchase a ticket, then told after we’d lined up for the ticket we didn’t need a ticket and to go “over there”, then we were “over there” we were told that bus didn’t go to the plantation, and it was around about then that I said “Fuck it I don’t even care!”, and we decided we’d just go and stuff our faces with North Indian thali and drink lassi instead.

We were so exhausted, we struggled to get up after eating, which had consequently made us even more fatigued. We had the good intention of visiting Old Goa – 9km away – which was filled with old Portuguese churches… The thought of visiting Churches today however, felt like the biggest chore, and we were much more inclined to find a chilled out café and waste away the hours until our sleeper bus departed. As we wandered about like a couple of sloths, we found a ‘Nescafe’ café – which would do for a few minutes at best – and then suddenly, I had a fantastic idea.

Let’s go and see a movie at the cinema. Not just any movie. A Bollywood movie.

Arriving at INOX Cinema, we booked tickets for Bollywood Blockbuster “Chennai Express.”
The next three hours were amazing; we don’t understand any Hindi, but we followed along easily enough, thanks to Bollywood’s ridiculously dramatic over-acting, spontaneous singing and dancing numbers and a good dose of imagination. We loved it – definitely going to see more Bollywood. We came to beautiful, beachy Goa expecting to spend our time mostly outdoors, but instead we spent our best hours there inside the cinema complex, and came out singing the catchy tune “Chen-ai-ai-ai-ai, ai-ai-ai, Chen- aiii expresssssssssssssss” – a tune that has stayed with us ever since.

We didn’t have to wait long between our movie finishing and our bus departure; enough time to get a drink, walk to the bus station, collect our bags, buy some food, and for me to use the bus station bathroom. It was the scariest Indian toilet I was yet to see; you know it’s going to be a horrifying experience when you – the white forigener – walk in, only to meet an Indian woman warning you “dirty! So very dirty! Do not go!” with a horrified expression on her face as she rushes out. Still, I had a 10 hour bus ride ahead, and no choice. I picked the least scary squat toilet, rolled up my pant legs, held my breath… I thought the worst was over… and then I went to wash my hands in the sink which was filled with ricey vomit. Uuuuuugh.

Jake downed five samosas in the time frame it took me to mentally recover from the scary toilet experience, and then along with several other foreigners, we boarded our first ever sleeper bus – a mighty steed – bound for Hampi. We were not sure what to expect; I feared the worst as I’d read about bad experiences, but when we walked through the isle to find our beds 7 and 8, we were surprised to find a double bed – with sheets, a pillow and even a blanket! What luxury. I called this bus, the Luxury Hampi Express.

In the middle of the night, the bus stopped for a refreshments break. I clambered out, bleary eyed, needing to wee. Jake came along to the toilet block to protect me, but waiting outside the piss smelling building, he couldn’t save me from the horrors of the officially scariest toilet I have now seen since arriving in Asia. Use your imagination.
Stifling my screams, I was forced to wee in the open air onto a sloped piece of concrete whilst Jake stood guard to make sure no one else came along for the show.
I guess, when your partner can openly, willingly and comfortably watch you squatting over a piece of piss sodden concrete, and not be at all bothered by the sight, you know you’re the best possible companions.

Back on the bus and with the horrors of the refreshment stop slowly easing, we lay there in the Luxury Hampi Express saying a silent goodbye to Goa, and letting the feeling of excitement for a new place to explore wash over us.