There and Back Again, a Couple’s Journey

“It’s a dangerous business going out your door, You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

Bearing Bilbo’s warning to Frodo in mind me and Mahlah risked an adventure anyway, just as Frodo did before us … and we ended up in middle earth. Nerdy insert: We’re actually staying half way between Hobbiton and Mount Doom, whose real life name is Mount Ngauruhoe. So we kind of did the Lord of the Rings Journey backward, or at least part of it. We also decided to use a bus. The whole epic journey thing looked quite exciting but frankly Frodo and Samwise seemed pretty knackered at the end of it, oh and Mahlah doesn’t like spiders, which seem to feature a lot. Best to avoid Shelob when a big daddy-long-legs sends Mahlah hysterical.

The fellowship of the bus were mostly of the two legged variety. There were a nice couple from Florida and another two people who were rapidly becoming a couple … Oh what am I talking about WE WENT TO HOBBITON.

It was a clear sunny day after a night of heavy rain so the sun glinted off the trees and grass, bringing out the Middle Earth-ish-ness of the place. As we walked between the hobbit holes we half expected Sam to jump out of one of the doors. The fact that we had arrived in the middle of winter played to our advantage as we got to move around the little village at our own pace and take fairly human-free pictures.

As for me and Mahlah, we were nerded out. Mahlah nearly wet herself when she saw the washing drying at Bag End and I shouted out Rosie a little overenthusiastically when our tour guide, a great local bloke with a vaguely hobbity grin, asked us the name of Sam’s beloved. Apart from being the set for not one but two of the coolest movies ever shot, Hobbiton is also a really beautiful place. Tolkien based the town in the middle of the imaginary land of The Shire on an traditional Yorkshire village and, with the chill wind of a Kiwi winter blowing in our hair while the sun shone over the rolling hills, this realisation of his work felt like Yorkshire squared, like the volume was turned up to 11 and the colour was at max.

From the hobbiton veggies patch the tour ascends to Bag End with its iconic green door under an oak tree (below). We then wander down the winding path, taking in the myriad more hobbit holes before turning to skirt the edge of the party field where Bilbo celebrated his eleventy-first birthday. Then we potter on past Gandalf’s pass to the water mill and finally The Green Dragon where a pint of the Shire’s finest awaits us beside a roaring wood fire where we can warm our tired, hairy feet. What a day!

Back to Bombay

So, after a lovely break in Goa and a terrible experience of Poona, as related in Mahlah’s last blog post, we got the train gratefully back to an increasingly familiar Mumbai.

It seems odd but, after our other experiences, brief as they were, the massive city that once seemed busy, smoggy and mercenary now seems more homely. There are plenty of clichés about giving places time to grow on you and I think that Mumbai would fit any of these. Either that or we have just become a bit more wise to the ways of the Indian infrastructure and the eastern entrepreneur. With the help of a kind waiter (and a kickback) we got shown to Sunstar lodge where we got a nice, clean and quiet room in the town centre for a steep but fairl reasonable 2200 rupees (£24). This was like a feast for the starving as we were both feeling very much worse for wear after our Poona experience and the various ailments from which we were still recovering.

Still on doctors orders to avoid anything vaguely interesting or Indian, we have so far eaten at McDonald’s, Pizza Hut and a noodle bar. Chow mein and chips anyone? We’re now at the Pantry, which is apparently a destination of quite some pomp and popularity in Mumbai circles, with a vibe that harks back to colonial times and prices to suit colonial dignitaries. Needless to say we ordered cheap about an hour ago and now sit writing this in the cool while the midday sun blazes outside. Direct sunlight at lunchtime in India is something that two ginger north Erners really weren’t built to take. So we have been taking part in some indoor activity.

Yesterday we spent the day at the wonderful Mumbai museum of India, which has a broad and varied collection of exhibits from the spiritual, artistic, military and collonial history of India in a palatial century old Indo-Saracenic structure built for the purpose by England’s King George  V. Importantly, since then, it has acquired some air conditioning and a helpful audio tour which helps to sort everything out.

Some of the ancient Hindu and Buddhist statues we’re spectacular, with very refined carving techniques, an art that survives to this day with jewellery boxes and displays carved layer upon layer to create intricate forests, court scenes and such like. The story of the Mughal Emperors, their wars, their weapons and their traditions was particularly interesting, but the natural history section amounts to little more than a host of depressing and creepy colonial taxidermy examples. There is little in the way of interactivity either, but the sheer variety and interest of the exhibits makes up for this. A wonderful, if disjointed, insight into India’s historical identity.

Panic in Poona

A less then glamorous 10 hour experience on a night bus with no toilet  from Goa takes us to the Lonely Planet’s reccomended destination of Pune or locally Poona. In my humble opinion, the second name reflects the place more, or at least our very brief experience of the city and to say we were dissapointed would be the understatement of the century.

It all begins at 06:30 when without any warning we are thrown unceremoniously off the bus having reached our destination. Its dark, the bus driver turns the lights out so we cant see our things and are left scrabbling our stuff into bags whilst he keeps edging the bus forwards and yelling in a bid to hurry us off. Bon Voyages are exchanged in the form of various Indian expletives and we step off into a road on the outskirts of the town with no less then 50 rickshaw drivers all shouting at us to try and charge us a ridiculous amount of money to go to the centre of town which turned out to be a very short bus journey away, though we practically had to wressle through the crowds of rickshaws, including stalkers (one driver followed us for no less then 10 minutes), to get there.

We arrive at the train station to another swarm of taxi and rickshaw drivers and make our way into the station whilst we decide what to do next. The city is filthy, the people aggressive and certainly not the bespoke destination we’d been promised.

We decide to try getting a hotel for the night nearby simply as a place of refuge until the next day when we haf already quickly decided we would move on elsewhere.

Again we are bombarded as we walk from the station to a strip with various hostels and hotels. All claim to be full,at which point a dubious man approaches us claiming to work for a hotel and says he can get us a room for 1500 rupees. Phew we both think. Until he the  leads us to all the same places we have been who continue to not have a room. He claims they will not give us a room because we are white, however he then encourages us to go with a rickshaw driver who claims he can get us a room for 1000 rupees. On the hotels card he shows us, the prices are clearly much higher and this seems yet another attempt to rip us off and after the less then friendly welcome we feel less then inclined to want to go off with a stranger in a rickshaw anywhere. We decide to bail back to the train station and see where we can get a ticket to. The dubious man follows us there thinking we havent noticed but eventually gives up and leaves us alone.  Whilst in the station we sit to look at the boards with all the train timetables listed. Beggars harrass us, and we continuously have to fend off ladies trying to force painted dots onto our foreheads to charge us. We try to buy tickets to Delhi – the ticket man sends us to a cyber cafe to buy them online as apparently they are “special” tickets which he cannot sell. This proves to be another wild goose chase as we get online only to find we cannot buy tickets as we cannot register without an indian phone number

Ordinarily despair would probably have set in by this time, however the young man working at the cybercafe is the first friendly face we see and he shows us his currency coin collection, then takes great delight in being given a 20 pence piece from us which we explain is the same as 20 rupees. Me and Jamie have also proven to work well as a team and more recently seem able to take on most challenges.

We decide to head back to Mumbai on a four hour (and so worth it) train ride and get tickets North from there. The train we board is a mail train with vacant sleeper seats as many people occupying them have already departed at other destinations and it is 09:50 by this point so we indulge in a lay down and a doze whilst the four hours quickly pass by not least because I have the ability to sleep anywhere in any position when im tired enough.

The landscape passing the windows as we travel is like that of the eastern Mediterranean, with great dry mountainous regions, scrubland, lush river valleys and the occasional not-so-Indian paddy field. Or at least so im told  by Jamie who was not quite so able to sleep.

So in a nutshell, would we reccomend Poona? I’ll leave you to drcide upon that for yourselves, but if we do I’d probably consider whether you’ve annoyed us recently.

“Moving on up…nothing can stop us”

Back to a chronological order (which feels better- it’s probably the social worker in me) it’s fair to say we’ve got little to report on since our last post in Goa. There’s been a cute festival going on in Samba square, which has comprised salsa/ Latino music, food and dancing – all of which seem odd in an Indian tourist town. I also treated myself for a mere 100 rupees to my nails being done by a lovely student training to be a teacher at the local college. Sadly, whilst the design was lovely, in the heat the varnish didn’t last long. Those who know me will not be surprised to learn that it was very satisfying pealing this off too as it was really thick and came off practically a whole nail at a time. (I don’t profess not to be a freak, nor have I ever)

We are both under the weather at the moment and so upon various sources of advice are now on a diet of bland food, mainly digestives and bananas and lots of fluid including electrolytes thanks to our Canadian friends. For anyone with IBS, you now have my utmost sympathy and for those who have not experienced the joy that is Delhi Belly, consider yourselves lucky. The positive of the situation is however that we each have a perfected high speed routine for our auditions for the ministry of silly walks and I think we have provided much entertainment to the locals in our efforts to make it to the loo on time (which have been successful I feel I should point out)

We’re heading back up north tonight to Pune (pronounced Poona) for a couple of days in order to eventually arrive at the Golden triangle of India, and if health matters don’t improve we’ll be paying a quick trip to the doctors when we get there. Fortunately, the costs are pretty low for health care, though to be frank I think we’d both pay millions to feel better then we do right now.

In spite of our ill health, we have been bold (or stupid??) in not booking any prior accommodation for when we arrive either so wish us good luck!

By the way, who has M People in their head right now?

Elephanta(stic) Island

More time travelling is in store for our readers, as it seemed a shame to not give our last day in Mumbai a mention. Particularly as this would probably be in my opinion at least, the most fun we’d had up to that point on our trip.

So it’s Saturday, and we decide to go and do the typical tourist things that Mumbai is famous for. The difference in relation to the city’s congestion is remarkable and if I was told we were in a different city, I’d have believed it. You could walk freely, less people harassed you and crossing the roads could practically be done blind folded compared to the previous 4 days. An Indian man said to us that to cross the roads in Mumbai you need good eyes, good legs and good luck, and it seemed that day we were especially lucky.

The Taj Mahal Grand Hotel is certainly a large and impressive building, as is the gateway of India, however seeing these two buildings was only circumstantial really, as we had headed to that end of town to catch a ferry to Elephanta Island which is quite simply beautiful. We were however “blessed” whilst stood by the gateway of India. This involved a man approaching us, insisting on blessing us by which whilst chanting he wrapped coloured cotton around our wrists and placed two marigolds each in our hands and these weird sweets as well as pressing a spot of red paint in the centre of our foreheads and then in typical Indian fashion, trying to charge us 200 rupees for the pleasure. We gave him 50 rupees for entertainment value alone which he seemed content with and we each went on our way.

Shortly afterwards, we are approached by a family who thrust their baby in my arms and ask for a photo. The baby is massive, and very cute but also wriggly as clearly being passed to strangers is unsurprisingly quite traumatising for him, however despite the near tears, and the scrunched up face on his part (and nearly mine) the family beam in delight at the photo and thank us profusely. We then make it to a number of other family albums too on out walk to the ferry pick up point.

A boat ride later and we arrive on Elephanta. The scenery is beautiful with lush greenery and trees, and whilst the water is clearly polluted, the air seems clearer here. The market stall holders are unobtrusive – we suspect they are encouraged to behave in this way so as not to deter tourists and the best thing of all – there are monkeys. Everywhere. Just roaming around and doing their own thing. Jamie purchased a star fruit and when he produced what he did not want (which was most of it, as star fruit are gross) he was practically lynched.

Cannons and ancient caves in glorious sunshine then occupied the rest of our day. We went underneath the cannons which was eerie and exciting in equal measure as there were massive bunkers beneath them. In one particularly dark corner on shining a light into the room we saw several bats. Needless to say we departed for daylight pretty swiftly. Jamie then insisted on being the braver of the two of us, until walking past a bush which brushed against him which was apparently a terrifying experience. Later when we decided to go beneath a second cannon, Jamie’s story will be that when he lept out of his skin at the sound of my foot crunching on the ground, at which point he grabbed me to pull me out the way to make a hasty retreat, though he claims he was actually protecting me by grabbing me. I’ll leave you to decide which version you believe though I must add that it was then me who went into the second bunker first.

The caves too were incredible, each featuring beautiful art work hand carved by hand in the rocks, some dating back from as early as 500BC.

All in all, Mumbai and it’s madness have certainly taken it’s toll on us both, however in spite of this, I don’t think our adventure would have been the same without it.

Walking down a dream

It’s interesting how sun stroke can wash the colour out of everything. Even the bright stucco colours of Panjim, Portugal’s once great outpost in India, appear as mere ghosts of their former blazing selves. Combine this with the dream-like quality that the passage of time takes on when a person is in need of sleep and the result is a day of waiting that seems almost surreal.

We wait for six o’clock and our accommodation for the night. Homeless until then, we crash in parks and coffee shops until our bed for the night rolls into town together with the rest of the Pune night bus for which we now have tickets. Okay, I’m  being dramatic, but this is roughly the situation.

A healing oasis in the Goan heat is the Old Quarter hostel where we go to get WiFi and, more recently, guzzle coconut juice on the advice of a lovely Canadian couple we met this morning. Aparently it has a lot of electrolytes which are good for rehydrating the body and keeping it nourished. Whatever the  situation we have managed to turn ourselves from a pair of sweaty, stumbling zombies into something resembling relaxed tourists. Coconuts, electrolyte  powder and digestive biscuits are our friends while midday Indian sun is our chief enemy.

Roll on tonight when we will make our way to Pune and, from there, northward to India’s glorious Golden Triangle. Hopefully we’ll be more in tune with reality by then.

Chilling in Goa

At the moment we’re in the enchantingly Latindian (latino meets Indian) style old quarter of Panjim in Goa. Our accomodation is a few strides from a one of mainly christian Goa’s gorgeous churches and a stone’s throw from a lovely river. We’re multitasking, writing this blog while hand washing pants and hanging them out making our room at the optimistically named Park Lane Lodge look like a setpiece from slumdog millionaire, though admittedly much more luxurious (a pinch at £8.40 a night for two in the centre of the quirky and quaint town). The influence of the Portuguese, who held Goa for centuries, is obvious in the brightly coloured stucco architecture and a good meal plus drinks can be had for under a fiver.

We’re  a little reddened from a day of sand, sea and scalding Indian sun in nearby Cantuli. A day which, like most of our time in Goa, was just what we needed after the busy streets of Mumbai. In between playing in the waves, we fended off Indian men wanting photo’s with us, or at least Mahlah did while Jamie just struck a pose.

The pace of life is much slower here than in Mumbai (though that could be said of almost anywhere in the world). So we’ve enjoyed just bumming around and going on magical mystery tours to backwater market towns like Mapusa on some of India’s amazing local bus services which all tourists ought to try at least once.

First find your bus among the mad chaos of the station, where drivers pull in randomly and yell out their destination . Then get on to be greeted by an illuminated, flower-hung statue of Ganesh or Jesus. When the bus gets going, the real fun starts. The pumping bangra music goes up to eleven and the driver belts his way out into the crazy traffic. The buses are practically kings of the road; everybody gets the hell out of their way and nobody messes with them, except maybe the even more colourful lorries. Meanwhile, inside you are being jolted and jumped around while breathtaking sites wizz past the window and the driver honks at any road users unlucky enough to be in his way.

We’ve had a few such trips to various places since being in India but today is a chill out day for us. More on our journeys soon.

Slumming it

By Mahlah and Jamie

Travelling back in time to day three of our trip (Mahlah really does have a tardis) and our impromptu tour of the biggest of Mumbai’s infamous slums, Dharavi, things started to fit into place. Suddenly we began to understand why Mumbai is as it is. Why people constantly harass us on the streets, why they try and con us for a few extra rupees and why they work so damn hard a lot of the time. Of course we knew that there was a lot of poverty in Mumbai before we started, you can’t take more than three steps here without seeing it, but we didnt realise how utterly and absolutely oppressive it is. It is built in to the system, with police, government and big business working together to make money off the backs of these people working for around £1 per week. There is an urge to say ‘well that’s India’ or ‘it’s their problem’ but western businesses cooperate in the oppressive corruption. The money made by people with scalded arms inhaling dangerous fumes while recycling aluminium and plastics ends up in the Swiss bank accounts of the slum owners. According to our tour guide Jitu, certain British banks have been investigated for enabling these practices. When you realise how entangled our western economies are in this corruption it’s hard not to feel a little guilty.

Despite this, and the seemingly squalid conditions in both the , residential and the working areas of the slum, it was remarkable how upbeat and resourceful the locals are. As we walked down cramped, dark alleys with sewage under our feet and electric cables hanging low over our heads, everybody smiled waved and said hello, children in particular delighting in short conversation.

Budding cricketers knocked fours and sixes on an open rubbish heap and later a young boy enjoyed showing us his Pokemon cards, especially when we were able to recognise and name many of them with him. There was a poignancy to this exchange when instead of holding onto these cards which he seemed to take great pride in, he tried to sell them to us for a mere 50 rupees, or 50 English pence.

The dangerous reality of slum life became very apparent though when a man tried to cut into our group in a narrow passage, groping Mahlah before being shoved out of the way by Jamie. Toward the end we looked at one of the ‘Reality Gives’ schools where money from our tour went, it was nice to know that something positive was being done, however the 36 kids being taught here at any one time felt like a drop in an ocean considering the two million residents of the four square km slum and the ten million more elsewhere in the city, but then every little helps.

By Mahlah and Jamie

Bollywouldn’t

Hostel worker: “You! You’re going to Bollywood. My friends his name Imran will be here to pick you up for free lunch and dinner and you get to wear the makeups and clothes and get picture”

Me: (in an almost scooby do Huuuuuuuh fashion) “I’m sorry what?”

And so an equally vague explanation is given. I of course hesitate given this sounds quite dubious to which I am presented with a mobile phone in order to speak to “Imran”, who I noticed was saved in the mans phone as “Eminem” which to say the least did little to appease my concerns.

Two other girls at the same time arrive back at the hostel to be presented with the same information. They however react quite differently and become excited by such a proposition. More digging and it transpires that the hostel worker is “friends” with someone who touts for European and white girls to be extras in the background of Bollywood movies, as these make the films more sellable. The dig is they want girls in bikinis to pretend to be swimming in a pool. They wanted us to work 5pm till 5am and in return we’d get dinner and 500 rupees (about £4.50) and get to experience first hand what it’s like to be on a Bollywood set. Reluctantly after persuasion from the other girls and some online research from a BBC feature I agree to give it a go, as it is actually quite a common thing to happen in Mumbai, and Jamie is allowed to accompany me as he is apparently my husband (I’ve decided to not correct this assumption).

I then spend the night not sleeping, fearing being robbed, exploited or worse. Sadly (by which I actually mean hallelujah) a lamp broke in the studio and so we are no longer needed. Queue big sigh of relief, and instead a day spent on a tour of a slum. Talk about a short lived career in fame.

Juhu Beach: Cleethorpes comes to Mumbai

At last, we found  some headspace on the beach!

I’m sat under a palm tree on Mumbai’s Juhu soaking up the sunshine in the first place we’ve  found in this town that can really be called relaxing. Ive  found a little bit of the peace and quiet  that I was looking for to get my flustered  head together.

Even after only four days, the constant bombardment of our senses and the need to be weary of theives, con men and beggars gets tiresome, so lying on warm sand in the shade of a palm trees is like a holiday within a holiday.

Juhu beach is nothing special, but I think this is exactly  why it is  so peaceful for us Westerners. We’re not  expected so there are no beggars or con artists lying in wait. We’re  the only white people in site on the grubby yet exotic suburban beach on the outskirts of Mumbai. The food is good, solid grub Indian style, with samosas, patties and chick peas replacing the classic British
fish, chips and peas. There’s a lot of rubbish and swimming is inadvisable,  but it’s enchanting in a slightly run-down way. If you’re having trouble  painting a picture in your mind, Mahlah described it as ‘like Cleethorpes but warmer’.

Today was a great way to take the weight off our minds unlike yesterday, which consisted of a thought-stirring tour of the infamous and industrious Mumbai slums. More on that later due to the temporally messed up nature of this blog.