January 6, 2008

Day 2: Mumbai Tour
I woke up at 7:15 AM and felt fully alert, despite having just 4 hours of sleep. I felt like I had a sty starting in my eye and became anxious and regretful for not bringing any eye drops. I decided to go to the gym and run, which felt awful, likely due to lack of proper rest and a despicable eating schedule while traveling. I listened to Chris Tomlin while running and a sermon by Rob Bell when I got back to the room, in lieu of hunting for a church. After I showered, I picked up a phone call from the front desk, following through on the 9:00 AM wake-up call I had requested. Breakfast was outstanding: fresh papaya, various Indian dishes, potatoes seasoned like I had never experienced, and starchy donuts. I had a glass of carrot juice, which was a tad risqué, but thought nothing of it at the time.

Our group met in the lobby at 11:00, and I was one of the first to meet our tour guide, Rusi Khambatta, a lifelong Mumbai resident and an officer with the Indo-American Society. We climbed aboard the bus and took off to our first stop, the Taj Mahal Hotel, a spectacular creation of one of the Tatas, spurred by his exclusion from another popular hotel. The architecture was phenomenally detailed and grand. Surprisingly, Christmas decorations outshined any other religiously affiliated items.

The India Gate was directly across the street, and after snapping a few photos from strategic vantage points in the hotel, we traversed the busy street a la Frogger. The Gate was under construction, which meant scaffolding marred the image and workers were chiseling tiles by hand for the courtyard, right before our eyes. Several young boys hawked postcards and trinkets, while older men competed for the ice cream popsicle trade. Beggars were few, but convincing, with eyes displaying pain and disappointment in humanity, while motioning toward their mouths to indicate hunger.

We moved up the street past a booth raising awareness for vaccinations to the Cottage Industries store, a government run market, seemingly targeting tourists, with quality-ensured goods from scarves to carvings to tea. I grabbed a bag of fine Darjeeling and delayed other purchases.

Next we drove a few minutes through comically narrow streets (passersby stopped, pointed, and laughed at the size of our bus) to a low-income street market area where I felt very uncomfortable. Not unsafe, but intrusive, evident from the stares we got. It was loud, dusty, and I could not for the life of me figure out who would buy all the old car parts and widgets that were presumably for sale. Obviously not a bunch of white kids in polo shirts. We stopped in a store to see a clock, a really big clock purportedly in the Guinness book, with about 12 smaller clocks on it. As we were waiting for our bus to pull around, I saw a man pushing an old wooden cart with four large sacks of potatoes who had trouble stopping his momentum and nearly plowed into a car that stopped ahead. The mix of old and new was striking. As I boarded the bus, I decided to take a picture of four young boys that I thought looked fascinating. Before the flash they were on me aggressively begging. I barely escaped.

The next market we stopped to see was much more civilized, and I only bought a SIM card in hopes of calling home cheaply. The store manager was highly adept, assertive, and would likely have held a solid middle class job if she were in the States.

Next we travelled to the Ghandi museum, a house were the Mahatma had lived, donated by rich philanthropists to the cause of commemorating his life. The photos, models, letters, and his old room were fascinating, especially with the Ghandi movie fresh in my mind.

Our next stop was the local produce market, a street with many small booths displaying colorful fruits, vegetables, and spices. The street was relatively calm because it was Sunday. Our guide ecstatically purchased a square of white goat cheese from a street vendor and offered to share. I glanced to our professor, whom I knew what not let us eat something (this early in the trip anyway) that could cause stomach problems. He seemed ok, so I ate it, and it was mild and delicious.

Next we moved to the laundry, where much of the cities clothes are washed by hand through a well-coordinated system. While seemingly unsanitary, our guide took pride in the fact that his grandfather, father, and himself all had their clothes washed in the same manner at the same place. There has got to be a better way. There was a family aggressively selling various bags, jewelry, maps, and postcards that moved as a team. I supposed that if someone showed any interest in buying something, they could cross-sell.

Next we visited a Jain temple, where shoeless worshipers bowed and prayed to the 24 statues of teachers. The bright colors, gold and marble, complexity of design, and various quotes and proverbs on the walls was a striking difference from Christianity, and I was not moved spiritually, other than regret that in my mind the followers were missing the boat.

Last we explored Kamala Nehru Park, a beautiful conglomeration of flowers, topiaries, red dirt paths, children flying kites, and brightly clothed families picnicking. The trashcans, shaped oddly like penguins, were some of the first I had seen all day. It seems like the waste management system is in dire need of help. Part of the park had wonderful views of Mumbai, displaying the Queen’s Necklace.

We then returned to the hotel, hungry and anxious to eat. The appetizers were plentiful and the buffet of traditional Indian fare was right on target. Dessert was a special treat, with fried goodness dipped in caramelized sugar and some kind of milk based pudding. Our visitors from Tata were swamped by classmates and I spent the meal conversing with other comrades. After dinner I got to see how much nicer the other rooms were as I borrowed a outlet converter and an iron, amenities I was not privy to.