Mumbai

09/02: We touched down in Mumbai at 04:30am and were now five and a half hours ahead of Britain. After a long wait for our luggage we queued for the prepaid taxi booth - we really didn't fancy to be ripped off and dragged around Mumbai at this hour.
I replaced my six times table used for conversion of dirhams and was re-familiarising myself with the eight times table, as £1 was roughly 80 rupees. In the queue we met Raymondo, a tall blonde haired guy from the Netherlands. We decided to share a taxi. We were aware that things were quite cheap over here, but when we handed a collective 600 rupees over we realised how cheap. We had just paid £7.50 to travel forty minutes across Mumbai.
We found rows of taxis lined up outside, and were taken to ours: 8474. It was a black and yellow sardine tin on wheels. Our back packs were placed on a metal roof rack and secured with blue yarn. This was going to be great. I was so excited for my first taxi experience in an Indian city. I was ready for the battle to commence. Blair and Raymondo ducked their heads in the back, while I climbed into the front seat which seamed to be as close to the dashboard as physically possible, and of course the latch to slide it back was broken.
It became apparent very quickly that drivers here do not rely only on their sight alone to drive, oh no, they make full use of their horns. The constant beeping and honking was to indicate to other drivers of their presence and to move anyone along, whether they be pedestrians, cyclists, lorries or buses, and regardless of whether you could move along or not. This made any type of traffic jam or bottleneck situation deafening.
We were driving along a motorway-type road, I say this because there were no markings indicating lanes. Cars cutting each other out, with erratic change in speed and direction was the way here. We passed mopeds with up to three men on them, none of the moped drivers or passengers wearing helmets or protective gear. People sitting in the back of lorries and trucks, using the merchandise they were transporting as seating. The freshly printed papers of the day, tied together in bundles, balanced on bicycles. Later on we saw entire families on mopeds; women would cradle a baby and between her and presumably her husband were sandwiched up to three children. An impressive amount of people could also be crammed into taxis.
We were approaching a red light at a crossroad. We weren't slowing down. We didn't slow down at all. Our taxi driver casually looked both ways, nothing to the left and a lorry around 300 yards to the right. Unphased by the truck or the red light he continued straight on. By the time we'd come up to the second red light and was familiar with the drill, I took in the sights.
We arrived at the Travellers Inn, our home for the following night. By this time it was 06:30. We were hoping we could maybe check in earlier than the usual time of 12:00, even if there was a charge. We should have known what the answer was going to be; the corridor was filled with some seriously glum looking people, waiting on their rooms. We left our luggage in a safe room and decided to walk.
We were walking through an awakening city.
The air was heavy, smoggy and polluted. People covered in scarfs, sheets and blankets were sleeping along the streets, in any place they could find. A boy was sleeping along a pathway, in an awkward position. No blanket was covering him, but the most noticeable thing was the fact that his leg was hanging over the curb and his foot resting on the road; cars that whizzed by only just missed his small foot.

Men were washing and going to the toilet in the streets. Some of the people who were awake walked around barefoot. Dilapidated buildings and shacks lined the streets. Scaffolding was a creation made of bamboo sticks and yarn. Stray cats and dogs roamed the city, either sleeping or sniffing out food.
We came across a slum. Matchboxes of corrugated iron - some balancing on top of others - homed families, most still sleeping. There was a strong smell of urine and excrement, that continued to hit us in waves. People were scrounging through rubbish bins and bags for scraps of food or things to sell. Blair mentioned that glass bottles of coke were collected and refilled with coke and sold on. Mounds of decaying food waste and rubbish were piled up against the curbs. We were extra vigilant about where we stepped, and kept an eye out especially for fecal matter. We saw goats either tied to shacks or lying on the ground. Kids were running playing with their neighbours so not to disturb their still sleeping parents. Street cleaners brushed up dirt and rubbish and burnt the piles as they went along. We took no photos of the slums or their inhabitants. It felt wrong to capture their everyday lives as if they were a tourist attraction. Fishnets were strewn along the roadsides, with tens of people untangling silver fish ready for sale.
We walked for three hours. People were running, walking, practicing yoga and Tai Chi in congregations along the road lining the sea front. The sea was black; I had read it was toxic. We were in a new world entirely from the one we left a few hours ago.
We got a taxi up to the famous Taj Mahal hotel. We walked along its front and ahead of us stood the Gateway to India, where small fishing boats were moored.
We were approached by a young woman. Hung from her arm were beautiful hand maid wrist ties made from a beautiful perfumed white blossom. She silently tied one to each of our arms. Blair went to reach for money when she pleaded for us not to give her any. She instead asked us to buy her some food. I couldn't believe it. I instantly said we would, since we were looking for some breakfast, but I didn't know where the nearest food stand was. She led us passed the Gateway and down a busy street. After a few minutes, we were brought to a little shack selling food. I asked her what she wanted, she replied "milk for baby and rice for me". I asked the shopkeeper how much this would come to. So if Blair wasn't best pleased about having flowers tied around his wrist, had been denied the easy option of giving the woman 50 rupees and made to walk further than we already had, been told that he was now being charged 600 rupees for milk powder and rice just did it. He laughed at the shopkeeper and walked out. Now we were being hounded by a different woman, who had ditched all manners and was just demanding money from Blair, telling him he had enough cash on him to spare. In annoyance he gave the 50rupees he was willing to initially part with and she walked off. I realised that the young woman who had gifted us the flowers had been robbed of her money.
After this, I blinkered everyone who begged, the most difficult thing was walking passed the children. We had a few rupee coins on us - the equivalent maybe of a few pennies - I handed it to a child no older than four. She had beautiful round eyes, and held the coins out proudly with a huge smile. A minute or so later, I turned around and she was still behind me, but this time another three women with babies were too. The young girl still had her hand out. It was empty. I held her hand, of course she didn't understand me when I asked her where the money had gone. She continued to smile, as if she was playing a game, not yet wise to the ways of begging. This aspect of Mumbai was really tough. I had never experienced such a scale of poverty and begging.
Blair had told me not to give hand outs to children, because they are usually used by adults. He was told during his time in China that children would be kidnapped because of their greater appeal to charitable and naive tourists like me. We were natural targets, and throughout the day we were approached by pregnant women, women carrying babies, blind men lead by younger beggars and of course children. The kids clutched or tugged on our shirts. Sitting down to a big meal really didn't feel right.
On one of the monuments next to the huge train station of Mumbai read: Let truth Prevail. It did here, the whole truth of India's slums and poverty were on show for everyone to see, it was inescapable. Unlike the darker sides of Dubai and Abu Dhabi which we had read about in an article by the independent (Google it for a fascinating read on how the UAE employ the Indian and Pakistani builders of the shining buildings, the article is titled : The darker side of Dubai-Dad, this is recommended to you) it was not hidden away from sight, it is a huge part of this city.
We opted for a Starbucks that abutted the Taj Mahal hotel, mainly for the free WiFi to let our families know we were safe. The higher end shops and restaurants were manned by a security guard or doorman, and following the terrorist attacks on the hotel in 2008 metal detectors were placed at any entranceway into the hotel. It was really strange to be scanned for going to drink coffee.
We returned to the hostel at 11:30 and our room was ready. We had no hot water, but the cold shower was so refreshing and cooled us down. I made the mistake of falling to sit on the bed; it was rock solid. But it was clean and we were so tired it made no difference. In fact if all of our hostels are like the Travellers Inn we will be fine, we could do much, much worse...I'm sure Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos and Malaysia will challenge that!
We slept until 18:00. We were hungry. So Blair sought out the 'must try's' of the Lonely Planet eBook. We went via taxi to Samrat where Blair had the best meal he has ever had! He opted for an all you can eat vegetable Thali, while I chose a traditional vegetable dish in a tomato sauce with a plain naan. We also tried the buttermilk that was free refill and a popular choice with the locals. It was perfect to neutralise any burning tongues. We were stuffed. We had had a big meal in a restaurant with as many waiters as there were tables, and all for a huge £11!

Dessert came from the very cool 210 degrees bakery outside the Samrat. Cubes of chocolate and biscuit were broken up and mixed into your choice of ice cream, this was done on a huge slab of cold granite to stop the ice cream from melting. Melted white and milk chocolate are drizzled over the granite in the shape of a heart and left to cool and solidify. It is then lifted and stuck into the ice cream and chocolate mixture and the whole thing sits in a wafer pot, its then sprinkled with the Indian equivalent to M&M's! Serious death by chocolate!

We slept until eleven this morning. We showered and packed up our bags ready to check out by twelve. We left our bags at the hostel and started on a walking tour of the city. It is by far the best way to see the city and probably the safest. Since cars don't really obey lights or adhere to a rational protocol in their approach to roundabouts, pedestrians, other vehicles or in fact any safe driving. Apparently its best to find a gap in he road, and walk at a steady pace across the roads. The stress in on the 'steady pace' as you don't dodge nor avoid the traffic, it avoids or dodges you. Basically if you were to speed up half way through a crossing, you're far more likely to be squished! I can't say we followed that advice, it was more like me clutching onto Blair's arm and just going for it, trusting these drivers and putting our safety in their hands did not appeal at all. The traffic wardens were less than effective; armed with a whistle, their shrilling did nothing to deter the ruthless taxi drivers or the shrieking honking. There was an unspoken respect between taxi drivers, and of defiance from regular cars towards taxis: Taxis always win here.
We soon came across the local markets and bazaars. There was more fresh fruit than you could shake a stick at: coconuts, pineapples, oranges, grapes, sugarcane, melons and more. There were stalls selling freshly squeezed lemon and lime juices.  Knock off clothes, sunglasses, belts, wallets and anything else you could think of were being sold for pennies along the arched walkways, sheltered from the sun. Tiny food stalls frying street food. We would have tried some of these, but we didn't want to chance catching the dreaded 'Delhi Belly' with an international flight only hours away.

It was really warm and muggy, which made the smells far stronger. We were hit by some serious tidal waves of rotting and discarded food and fruit. The hanging raw meat section was a particularly grim experience. Livestock wondered the narrow streets: cows, bulls, goats, sheep and chickens were all to be seen munching or pecking away at any tidbits they could find.
We didn't have to look too hard for the British influences. Red double decker buses, Gothic buildings such as the High Court and Central Train Station (which is a registered UNESCO site), and most apparent of all was the cricket.

Men and children of all ages played everywhere and anywhere; they played in the middle of streets and alleyways ( and would move aside for honking traffic), beside busy highways, on walkways or pavements and in old, unused buildings.
Our late lunch was delicious, again a recommendation of The Lonely Planet; we visited the Cream Centre where we indulged in more Indian dishes. Mine was fiery but I battled through the burn until I was stuffed. For desert we visited a khulfi parlour that is praised in the LP, and it must be good, because when we arrived, locals were huddled around ordering yummy khulfi. Blair went for chocolate and I splurged an extra five rupees on a Saffron ice cream. It was delicious. The khulfi is weighed on old fashioned bronze scales and served out on a betelnut leaf before being handed to us on plates.

Our taxi drive to the airport took us passed the outskirts of Mumbai's largest slum and filming place for Slumdog Millionaire. We saw a man sleeping next the middle barrier of the motorway and a herd of cattle munching away at the contents of a huge waste bin.

This city is the liveliest, most bizarre place, it really is incredible. Mumbai oozes character and hands out perspective by the bucket load and gives your moral conscious a good shake up: it's an undeniable reality check. I'm so glad we got to stop off here on our way to South East Asia.
We are now sitting in the airport awaiting the flight that will take us to our third destination: Bangkok