I took the train to South Mumbai yesterday and went around Colaba, which is the trendy shopping and nightlife sort of area by the water. There are a lot of street vendors and things (I got lots of presents for people), in addition to Bennetton. It was crowded, and tourist ridden. Seriously, they/we were everywhere. I think it's where a lot of the budget accommodations are, not to mention that a lot of people were carrying the same Lonely Planet guide I had in my bag. It is funny how much I'm isolated from all of that, which I'm now really glad about. I think the distinction helps make it clear that I'm living here for three weeks rather than visiting. That I'm in an apartment does a lot for my sanity that a hotel or something could never do.
Most of the stuff was your predictable street sales, but there were some oddities (the guy hawking these huge balloons, the guys with the hand drums--what I would do with either was entirely unclear).
By about four o'clock, I realized I had been at it for about two hours and hadn't eaten anything all day. Bad sign. So I ducked into this movie theater to get away from everyone wanting to be my friend or sell me things, found a restaurant in the guide and went. Generally, I would have just gone somewhere in sight and not been so tied to where Lonely Planet thinks I should eat, but there were no places around without going back in the other direction. Plus, I didn't want to deal with trying to assess the cleanliness of the place; I just wanted to eat. So I found this place, which was this trendy spin off of a fancier place nearby and it showed in the clientele--all english speaking, rich Indians. And a bunch of white backpackers, Lonely Planet in hand. Very strange combination. I had a nice salad and a mediocre pizza, opted for no dessert, although the idea of it was appealing (I've been buying bars of Cadburry on the way home to calm my sweeth tooth and have been having Ben & Jerrys dreams).
Nearby was the Gateway to India monument, which signifies the British landing here. The British presence here is sort of odd--it's easy to imagine this as a British colony, but besides english spoken and the prevalence of tea and biscuits (even though the tea is Indian and not British), there's not much I can tell are hold overs. I suppose you can say the same of other former colonies I've been. The sign outside the major museum indicating that the XX Museum (Formerly the Prince of Wales Museum) made me think about it for a second.
It was good to be out of my routine for a while and cover some of the requisite sites. It's a really beautiful city, at least in terms of architecture.
Getting on at the first stop of the train got me a seat, which was wonderful, considering it's a 45 minute trip on the fast train. I have been having the worst trouble getting a rikshaw from the train station to take me home, though. I've walked more times than I'd like to count. It's not really that far, but I'm usually exhausted by the end of the day and I'd much rather pay $.25 than walk. I think my pronunciation of the area we live is just so poor that they don't understand me. And I've practiced. I've spend like 20 minutes with two roommates to teach me how to say it. Still, no one understands me. I can even direct them from the main road, but trying to convey that it is even harder. So last night, I got really excited because someone understood me and I got a ride. There was this terrible traffic and for no apparent reason, so the road was just a sea of rikshaws and scooters. After a while, I lost track of where we were but didn't make much of it, until I realized that we'd gone too far. I asked the guy where we were going and he repeated what sounded like my neighborhood's name. I said that I think we went too far; he insisted, I relented, and we went ahead.
Until we were about to get on the expressway for the airport--I knew that was wrong. There was no u-turn ahead, so I told him to pull over before he got on that road to nowhere. He pulled over this guy who asked me where I wanted to go; I said it, he repeated it. And he said, "yes, this is the way," pointing to where the driver was going. I said "No, it's not. Here's your money, I'll get off here." They were very nice and even asked me to write down where I was trying to go; once I did, they realized that we were talking about different places and started to give me directions back to it. I was tired, and in a bad mood, frustrated that I can't communicate with anyone these two words that get me home, and just sort of took off. There was no way for the guy to turn around and take me there even if either of us wanted that. So, I walked home (it was like a 5 minute walk behind us), and at least got the frustration out of my system (although not the fatigue) by the time I got home. I guess it's all part of the fun.
Most of the stuff was your predictable street sales, but there were some oddities (the guy hawking these huge balloons, the guys with the hand drums--what I would do with either was entirely unclear).
By about four o'clock, I realized I had been at it for about two hours and hadn't eaten anything all day. Bad sign. So I ducked into this movie theater to get away from everyone wanting to be my friend or sell me things, found a restaurant in the guide and went. Generally, I would have just gone somewhere in sight and not been so tied to where Lonely Planet thinks I should eat, but there were no places around without going back in the other direction. Plus, I didn't want to deal with trying to assess the cleanliness of the place; I just wanted to eat. So I found this place, which was this trendy spin off of a fancier place nearby and it showed in the clientele--all english speaking, rich Indians. And a bunch of white backpackers, Lonely Planet in hand. Very strange combination. I had a nice salad and a mediocre pizza, opted for no dessert, although the idea of it was appealing (I've been buying bars of Cadburry on the way home to calm my sweeth tooth and have been having Ben & Jerrys dreams).
Nearby was the Gateway to India monument, which signifies the British landing here. The British presence here is sort of odd--it's easy to imagine this as a British colony, but besides english spoken and the prevalence of tea and biscuits (even though the tea is Indian and not British), there's not much I can tell are hold overs. I suppose you can say the same of other former colonies I've been. The sign outside the major museum indicating that the XX Museum (Formerly the Prince of Wales Museum) made me think about it for a second.It was good to be out of my routine for a while and cover some of the requisite sites. It's a really beautiful city, at least in terms of architecture.
Getting on at the first stop of the train got me a seat, which was wonderful, considering it's a 45 minute trip on the fast train. I have been having the worst trouble getting a rikshaw from the train station to take me home, though. I've walked more times than I'd like to count. It's not really that far, but I'm usually exhausted by the end of the day and I'd much rather pay $.25 than walk. I think my pronunciation of the area we live is just so poor that they don't understand me. And I've practiced. I've spend like 20 minutes with two roommates to teach me how to say it. Still, no one understands me. I can even direct them from the main road, but trying to convey that it is even harder. So last night, I got really excited because someone understood me and I got a ride. There was this terrible traffic and for no apparent reason, so the road was just a sea of rikshaws and scooters. After a while, I lost track of where we were but didn't make much of it, until I realized that we'd gone too far. I asked the guy where we were going and he repeated what sounded like my neighborhood's name. I said that I think we went too far; he insisted, I relented, and we went ahead.
Until we were about to get on the expressway for the airport--I knew that was wrong. There was no u-turn ahead, so I told him to pull over before he got on that road to nowhere. He pulled over this guy who asked me where I wanted to go; I said it, he repeated it. And he said, "yes, this is the way," pointing to where the driver was going. I said "No, it's not. Here's your money, I'll get off here." They were very nice and even asked me to write down where I was trying to go; once I did, they realized that we were talking about different places and started to give me directions back to it. I was tired, and in a bad mood, frustrated that I can't communicate with anyone these two words that get me home, and just sort of took off. There was no way for the guy to turn around and take me there even if either of us wanted that. So, I walked home (it was like a 5 minute walk behind us), and at least got the frustration out of my system (although not the fatigue) by the time I got home. I guess it's all part of the fun.
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