I like to think this video speaks for itself. U-turns into oncoming traffic on the expressway, no clue where he was going, and not one but two attempts to kick us out of his cab and leave us on the side of the road. Welcome to Delhi. Note the Shiva (Destroyer) trinket hanging from his rear view mirror for just the right touch of irony. He also ushered us out of his cab while he refueled. “Safer” he told me. Clown.
Flying off to Nepal tomorrow but will do our best to love this city between now and then. Not looking likely but I’ll keep an open mind. Charlotte, thanks for the cabbie tips which should make for less exciting video but much safer journeys.
For those of you not familiar with YouTube, welcome to 2008. Just click the box above to watch the video.
As sad as it sounds, I could have happily spent the next three months exploring Goa. Something about arriving in Delhi just felt wrong. It’s more filthy than charming, more chaotic than surprising. Upon leaving the airport, we had the fortune of meeting India’s worst cab driver (imagine). He made three U-turns into oncoming traffic on the expressway, tried to convince us twice to just get out of his cab because he was lost, and only took us to our hotel because the look in C and my eyes was clearly that of two people who were about to tear him limb from limb. I took video the whole time and will post a ‘greatest hits’ tomorrow.
I like to think I’m driving a pretty hard bargain at the markets these days, but this interaction just cracked me up:
“Good chess set sir,” said the village idiot of the Anjuna market. ”1000 Rupee. Good price. You like.”
“No thanks. Afraid I don’t really need a chess set.” My bag was heavy enough.
“Okay okay… 900 Rupees.”
“No seriously, I don’t want it. It’s not the price.”
“800 rupee.”
“Please stop,” he was humiliating himself in front of the other vendors.
“700 ruppee… 600 rupee… 500. Good price,”
At three hundred, I told myself that if he kept following me and dropped the prie to 200 I’d take it. Partially beause he was humiliating himself and partially because I actually did like the chess set.
“200″ he said, “Good price”
“I’ll take it! Now stop,” I said trying to save the last ounce of his dignity.
“150 rupee! Very good price sir.”
“Wait. I just said I’d take it for 200. What are you doing?
“Oh. okay. 200.”
I handed him 200 rupees and hoped he’d run away as all the other vendors were looking on with disapproving faces at this point.
C and I will be engaging in a chess war from Delhi to Varanasi. Will keep you posted on the results.
We’ve been hanging with a trio of western aerialists (think trapeeze and tightrope) here in Goa who are traveling with an Indian circus for the summer. They were teaching us hand stands and how to twirl last night before one of them was attacked by a pack of dogs on the beach last night because her dress smelled like elephants. She’s fine. She dress isn’t. The dogs were understandably freaked out.
This photo is from Calangute, the south beach of Goa. It’s where Indian tourists go to “see and be seen” if you will. It’s a short beach, but it took us about an hour to walk across it as Indian beach goers apparently have a thing for taking photos with Western tourists. No idea why, but after the 13th request, we decided to make a run for it. Luckily, our beach is really chilled out. Hardly anyone on the beach at this point in the seasons and the locals are really cool.
With most of the foreigners gone, Indian families are hitting the beach, frolicking in the waves, and chatting on the sand. The women in the water are dressed almost completely while the men roll around in the breaking waves either in shorts or their underwear which has C wondering what the protocal is around tanning in a bikini.
We got here last night and caught a harrowing cab through busy clay colored rural roads to Arambol which is about as far north as you can get from the cheesy packaged tour and rave scene in Goa. Charlotte recommended it to us and it was exactly what I expected Goa to be like. When we arrived, you could hear the waves in the distance, packs of dogs playing on the sand and there were a bunch of travellers watching a cheesy American flick at a bar on the beach. There were fishing boats pulled up on the dark beach which was dotted with candles. I loved this place. But for some odd reason, we thought we could do better so we got a cab down to Anjun which I imagine is a great place to stay when things are actually open and the locals haven’t tired of the rowdy tourists. Right now, more places are closed than open but we’ve found a little place on a gorgeous beach, made a few pals, and just saw the first gorgeous sunset I’ve seen in a long time.
Woke up last night to the sound of pouring rain which felt really good, but served as another reminder that the monsoons are about to start which means we’ll have to enjoy this while we can. Hopefully, they’ll hold off until we fly to Delhi on Friday where our hot Rajasthan adventure begins (45 Celsius!).
Before leaving, a good friend of ours categorized us as “champagne socialists” and since Tuesday we’ve been travelling accordingly. The excuse has been that Mumbai isn’t cheap, but I’m not sure we can continue travelling like this without blowing a frightening chunk of our pathetic net worth on this trip. We’re off to Goa tomorrow which means living well on the cheap shouldn’t be a problem from here on in.
Went up to Chowpatti beach again last night and the coolest bunch of kids invited us to join their group on the sand. It turned out they were a big family of cousins and they were super keen to ask us everything about our lives and humor us with “Indian Culture 101″ which was interesting. It turns out people still live in big extended families and women go off to live with their husband’s families after arranged marriages. It turns out that arranged marriages aren’t actually all that bad – your parents basically play matchmaker, who you end up with is rarely a scary surprise and you can talk sense into mom and dad if they’re way off the mark – at least according to these guys. It also turns out that our negiating skills are crap so that’ll be something to work on from here on in.
The train to Goa tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous and the town is empty so we’re hoping to get in a few days of solitude at the beach before the monsoons arrive.
Mumbai is fantastic. I was expecting to walk away from this place with mixed feelings at best, but it’s the mixed feelings that make this place so interesting. From the texture of the city itself to the fact that everyone is up for a chat at all times. I keep waking past the same drunk homeless man who gives me a thumbs up, a pat on the back and what sounds like a “yo go” cheer in Marathi every time I see him. Last night at the movies, a girl turned around and effortless started a conversation with us in a way that would have seemed odd in the US (and inappropriate in the UK)
Today, we had the opportunity to take a tour of Asia’s largest slum ,which happens to be here in Mumbai. Most of my associations with slums have painted a picture of the kind of place that’s generally not safe for anyone, especially two white people who just spent the past year in Notting HIll. There was the level of squalor you’d expect: people using the ground as a toilet, rats running around, networks of dark, cramped alleys flanked by tiny little rooms housing entire families, loose electrical wires, garbage everywhere… to things I hadn’t thought about like horrible working conditions and yearly floods of toxic water. However, people seemed to make life work despite all of this. There were enterprising businesses built around recycling garbage shipped from the US and the UK, families making pottery, stands selling DVDs and a bunch of curious people interested in chatting. In Latin America, the chances of us getting out of a slum uncut, unrobbed, or unshot at (less articulate by the day I be are pretty slim.
On a random note: we’ve decided to pass on being extras in a Bollywood party scene, forgoing the the 500 Rupees (just under $10 US) we could have had. I’d love to say it’s beneath our new enlightened standards after an afternoon at the slum but in fact, we couldn’t bare having to wake up at 5:30 and pretend to enjoy a party for 12 hours straight with a bunch of people we don’t know (not even on my best day).
Before leaving London, a drunk in Brixton toasted me with his beer can as I walked to the tube carrying my travel backpack. Then, last night a Sadhu (high as a kite) gave me an enthusiastic and encouraging pat on the back. Life is good.
We spent yesterday recovering from jet lag, wandering around and generally not engaging much with anything. After a nap, we watched the sunset at Chowpatti and walked back to our hotel along Marine Drive – which is pretty much an Indian version of Havana’s Malecon (not that I’ve ever been there of course).
Okay, I can’t stand blogs that just recount “what I did today” so I’ll end this with a plea for advice: We were approached three times about being in a party scene for a Bollywood film. Pretty sure it’s legit, but I know some of you are actually from Mumbai and probably have a better sense for these things than I would. Any thoughts?
The post-job/pre-sabbatical life I had envisioned included long outdoor lunches, hours at the rock climbing gym, afternoons sunning myself in the park and sleeping until 11 every morning. To date, this hasn’t exactly happened.
I’m sitting here with a long “to do” list, an apartment full of movers, inlaws who have flown in to ‘help’, vaccinations to get, errands to run, utilities to shut, and all the other little joys of packing up a life and moving it to another country.
With some luck, the apartment will be empty in a couple of hours which leaves the next five days free to enjoy London without a care in the world. With more luck, the sun might actually come out again
