I have never been so thankful for my nose hairs as I have been in the last month. Not that I am usually in the habit of examining the contents of my nose, but I can't help but notice that India is making my boogers black. That's all I'm going to say about that.
Before I get into a detailed description of all the things that contributed to the color of my boogers on my magical trip to Mumbai last weekend, I want to celebrate the fact that India has finally decided to bless me with an actual schedule of classes -- and only three weeks after classes began at that! I also must say a few solemn words about my awesome hot pink bicycle, may it rest in peace, as after I got the blown out tire and the chain "fixed" for "very good deal just for you, madam! (overpriced by only 200 rupees this time)" so the chain started coming off twice as often (so I looked like I had leprosy for most of last week because of the permanent bike oil stains on my hands combined with the faded henna). He also realigned the wheels so the bike kept tilting to the right, which wouldn't be that bad, except Indians drive on the left, meaning my bike kept veering into oncoming traffic. Anyway, I sadly had to trade it in for another little girls' hot pink bicycle (I named it Awesome Hot Pink Bicycle 2), and it has Wicked Witch of the West handlebars, so devasted as I am, at least there is that for comfort. And now some quick Hindi language facts: The plural form of you in Hindi is "ham log" (try to stifle your giggles), which translates to "you people," resulting in Indian people often saying things like "I don't understand how you people handle our climate" and "You people are quite offended by silly things. Also, I met a boy from Jew Town, Kerala yesterday. Jew Town (he explained to me why this is not an off color joke, in India, but I still find the lost in translation bit pretty funny).
On to Mumbai! The trip began after we jammed 12 girls with luggage into the back of a taxi to Nampally Train Station. At the station, we discovered that our tickets had not been confirmed, so Kate (the organizer and soccer mom who continuously saved the day whipping peanut butter sandwiches, toilet paper, inflatable lifeboats, and anything else we needed from her bag all weekend), while the rest of us tried to ignore perhaps the three millionth beggar who ignored every other person in the entire area and immediately started circling the pack of white girls like a shark, shouting, poking, us and sticking their hand in our faces (I don't know how to describe it without sounding like a horrible entitled jerk, so I'm a horrible entitled jerk. Beggars single out Westerners, exploit Western guilt, invade your personal space, follow you, yell at you, sometimes hit you, and if you do give them money, others immediately swarm you. But, honestly, I’m still a jerk.) Anyway, with two minutes before the train is schedule to leave, the whole train station (which was already staring at us) got the added attraction of watching the gaggle of white girls sprinting down the track and leaping onto the train, which wouldn’t be leaving for another 20 minutes anyway because it runs on India time.
The train itself was glorious. We took a 16 hour sleeper train overnight. I was under the impression that we would have a separate compartment, perhaps even with a door, as this is what we booked. Silly thought. The train had open alcoves with benches for 6 people (so 12 people) and with another bench facing the alcoves for people with unconfirmed tickets (us). Then each bench had two layers of benches that folded out so you could sit on them if you crouched and tilted your head. So we were all separated into the end benches of various different alcoves, giving the entire compartments a stage at which to unblinkingly stare (not exaggerating) for the next 16 hours. But I had a really fun compartment. After the intial first hour of staring, I started playing card games with them and discovered they were a group of 97 students from University of Mumbai traveling with their professors. They got me snacks and even a place to sleep (and also took my picture only 10 times instead of the usually thousand times.) A few other girls and I attempted some of our limited Hindi and they actually erupted into cheering. (The other girls weren't so lucky. Pretty much everyone but me woke up at some point in the night to several men who had standing over them staring at them while they slept. I think people tend to be less creepy once you talk to them for a little while. I'm still figuring it out.)
The train doors every few alcoves weren't actually doors. They were open doorways (with puddles of urine in them), and we stopped every half hour or so and hawkers and beggars would make their way down the aisle several times before leaving the train, repeatedly shouting whatever it was they were selling or demanding. I started having fun with this after a while, as hawkers would stop in front of us, stick something in our face (a plastic toy, a 6 day old omlet they were selling, bangles, etc.) and yell "Chaichaichaichaichaichai!!!" so I started shouting things back into their faces, which they seemed to find highly amusing. I also got to experience the excitement of using a squat toilet on a moving train (squat toilet being a hole in the bottom of the train revealing the tracks flying by beneath you)! The way back was less fun. We had to close the metal slabs over the windows. Someone nochalantly mentioned to us that people throw rocks at the trains and sometimes come on and loot them in this part of town. We also passed through several train stations that smelled so bad that I actually vomited. At one point when when I was attempting to pull my camera out of my bag to take a retaliatory picture at someone who was staring at me, the string got stuck and set off my rape alarm, an alarm designed to be so loud that you can't think. Naturally, it jammed so I couldn't turn it off, so I decided to take the advice of every person with a mile radius of me, all of whom were now freaking out and yelling "Make it stop! Dear God! Throw it out the window!" (This is one effective rape alarm). So I panicked and chucked it out the window. (I'm pretty sad. This the second alarm I've lost this year. My first was in a bag that got stolen with my decoy wallet full of expired coupons and a note about the the rudeness of stealing. But at least now the thief will have higher moral standards and safety from wayward men). Anyway, at least we had our own compartment this time.
Upon arriving in Mumbai we headed to Gates of India, where we were scandalized to discover that some women exposed their knees and shoulders in this somewhat westernized city. I was excited, because I assumed this would mean that people would be used to Westerners and not photograph us as much. How wrong I was. There are currently about 300 pictures of me taken by strangers circulating Mumbai, by people who really like taking pictures of American tourists. We can categorize these picture takers into three different areas. 1. People who ask where you are from and make conversation before asking for your picture. 2. People who blatantly stare at you and take your picture, sometimes saying "PICTURE?! PICTURE?! ONE PICTURE MADAM!?" and 3. My personal favorite, people who try to surruptiously take your picture by pretending to take a picture of something right next to you and then quickly averting their eyes while innocently whistling and hiding the camera when you cross your eyes and stick your tongue out at them. The Gates were especially bad because it's already a huge tourist attraction, so getting your picture taken with the white girls becomes part of the tourist attraction. I've started taking pictures back at people in retaliation, so now my camera is full of strangers, too.
Kate had a friend who lived in Mumbai that took us to this beautiful super classy bar on a rooftop with a rooftop pool full of lillypads and a view of the sunset over the Arabian Sea (so I have many pictures of my unwashed hair fresh off the pee smelling sleepr train at the classiest place in the universe.) Then her mother, the nicest lady ever, took us to this amazing restaurant and order all this really good food and haggled the price down for us. Then we returned to our hostel. We were very lucky to receive a 12 person room with 2 bathrooms. However, the bathrooms did not have a roof and there we had a pigeon living in the rafters (This might bother some, but I was pretty excited to have a hostel pet. I named him Herman). Also, the lack of consistent water flow resulted in an exciting shower adventure in which I ended up scraping shampoo out of my hair with a comb.
We took a boat to visit Elephanta Island which despite being a giant tourist trap was amazing. We got see these beautiful Shiva Caves, have our picture taken by several hundred more people (two guys followed us all the way down the mountain with their cameras), attempt to avoid more hawkers attempting to sell us things for quadruple their value (more fun then it sounds), and best of all, watch the wild monkeys that infested the island steal crap from tourists less vigilant than ourselves. I saw one jump on this ladies back, steal her bag, and run away eating the banana inside it while hissing at her in a matter of 3 seconds. Then a guard chased it up a tree.) When we got back we went to the Hanging Gardens (most beautiful place in the entire unvierse), this Jain Temple I'd been dying to see all day (most beautiful place in the universe), and we got up then next morning int time to see the university, the courthouse, St. Thomas's Cathedral, and Victoria Terminus (more most-beautiful-place-in-the-universes. I'll post some pictures).
But now let me get to the best and most exciting part of the trip: my attempt to use the restroom in the train station. I was furious at the time, but this is actually hilarious. After informing the bathroom attendant that she could not trick me into paying triple the amount listed on the wall to use her toilet paperless public squat toilet, I stepped into the bathroom and attempted to queue for one of the stalls. I keep forgetting that this is a stupid idea, so immediately, three Indian women walked in, shoved me out of the way and positioned themselves directly in front of the stalls smirking at me with that "I know you won't challenge me, you sissified Western strumpet" look on their faces. Innocently believing that my place in line for the poop covered squat toilet was probably not worth a fist fight, I attempted to swallow my pride, waited for them to use the stalls and then edged right in front of the stall so no one else would shove me out of the way. But then, as the lady came out of the stall, she put her hands out and tried to football blocked me, shuffling to either side as I moved to walk past her, so that her other friend standing behind me could get into the stall before me. Never have I seen such devotion.
Oh, also, I forgot to mention, I'm pretty sure Mumbai is the place that Hitchcock's The Birds takes place. The places is infested with psycho crows, the only creatures that stared at us more than the people trying to take our picture and stare at us while we slept.
I'm headed to Ellora this weekend, so more adventures to come.
Before I get into a detailed description of all the things that contributed to the color of my boogers on my magical trip to Mumbai last weekend, I want to celebrate the fact that India has finally decided to bless me with an actual schedule of classes -- and only three weeks after classes began at that! I also must say a few solemn words about my awesome hot pink bicycle, may it rest in peace, as after I got the blown out tire and the chain "fixed" for "very good deal just for you, madam! (overpriced by only 200 rupees this time)" so the chain started coming off twice as often (so I looked like I had leprosy for most of last week because of the permanent bike oil stains on my hands combined with the faded henna). He also realigned the wheels so the bike kept tilting to the right, which wouldn't be that bad, except Indians drive on the left, meaning my bike kept veering into oncoming traffic. Anyway, I sadly had to trade it in for another little girls' hot pink bicycle (I named it Awesome Hot Pink Bicycle 2), and it has Wicked Witch of the West handlebars, so devasted as I am, at least there is that for comfort. And now some quick Hindi language facts: The plural form of you in Hindi is "ham log" (try to stifle your giggles), which translates to "you people," resulting in Indian people often saying things like "I don't understand how you people handle our climate" and "You people are quite offended by silly things. Also, I met a boy from Jew Town, Kerala yesterday. Jew Town (he explained to me why this is not an off color joke, in India, but I still find the lost in translation bit pretty funny).
On to Mumbai! The trip began after we jammed 12 girls with luggage into the back of a taxi to Nampally Train Station. At the station, we discovered that our tickets had not been confirmed, so Kate (the organizer and soccer mom who continuously saved the day whipping peanut butter sandwiches, toilet paper, inflatable lifeboats, and anything else we needed from her bag all weekend), while the rest of us tried to ignore perhaps the three millionth beggar who ignored every other person in the entire area and immediately started circling the pack of white girls like a shark, shouting, poking, us and sticking their hand in our faces (I don't know how to describe it without sounding like a horrible entitled jerk, so I'm a horrible entitled jerk. Beggars single out Westerners, exploit Western guilt, invade your personal space, follow you, yell at you, sometimes hit you, and if you do give them money, others immediately swarm you. But, honestly, I’m still a jerk.) Anyway, with two minutes before the train is schedule to leave, the whole train station (which was already staring at us) got the added attraction of watching the gaggle of white girls sprinting down the track and leaping onto the train, which wouldn’t be leaving for another 20 minutes anyway because it runs on India time.
The train itself was glorious. We took a 16 hour sleeper train overnight. I was under the impression that we would have a separate compartment, perhaps even with a door, as this is what we booked. Silly thought. The train had open alcoves with benches for 6 people (so 12 people) and with another bench facing the alcoves for people with unconfirmed tickets (us). Then each bench had two layers of benches that folded out so you could sit on them if you crouched and tilted your head. So we were all separated into the end benches of various different alcoves, giving the entire compartments a stage at which to unblinkingly stare (not exaggerating) for the next 16 hours. But I had a really fun compartment. After the intial first hour of staring, I started playing card games with them and discovered they were a group of 97 students from University of Mumbai traveling with their professors. They got me snacks and even a place to sleep (and also took my picture only 10 times instead of the usually thousand times.) A few other girls and I attempted some of our limited Hindi and they actually erupted into cheering. (The other girls weren't so lucky. Pretty much everyone but me woke up at some point in the night to several men who had standing over them staring at them while they slept. I think people tend to be less creepy once you talk to them for a little while. I'm still figuring it out.)
 |
| And the white girl said, "Apke se hai?" And there was much rejoicing. |
The train doors every few alcoves weren't actually doors. They were open doorways (with puddles of urine in them), and we stopped every half hour or so and hawkers and beggars would make their way down the aisle several times before leaving the train, repeatedly shouting whatever it was they were selling or demanding. I started having fun with this after a while, as hawkers would stop in front of us, stick something in our face (a plastic toy, a 6 day old omlet they were selling, bangles, etc.) and yell "Chaichaichaichaichaichai!!!" so I started shouting things back into their faces, which they seemed to find highly amusing. I also got to experience the excitement of using a squat toilet on a moving train (squat toilet being a hole in the bottom of the train revealing the tracks flying by beneath you)! The way back was less fun. We had to close the metal slabs over the windows. Someone nochalantly mentioned to us that people throw rocks at the trains and sometimes come on and loot them in this part of town. We also passed through several train stations that smelled so bad that I actually vomited. At one point when when I was attempting to pull my camera out of my bag to take a retaliatory picture at someone who was staring at me, the string got stuck and set off my rape alarm, an alarm designed to be so loud that you can't think. Naturally, it jammed so I couldn't turn it off, so I decided to take the advice of every person with a mile radius of me, all of whom were now freaking out and yelling "Make it stop! Dear God! Throw it out the window!" (This is one effective rape alarm). So I panicked and chucked it out the window. (I'm pretty sad. This the second alarm I've lost this year. My first was in a bag that got stolen with my decoy wallet full of expired coupons and a note about the the rudeness of stealing. But at least now the thief will have higher moral standards and safety from wayward men). Anyway, at least we had our own compartment this time.
Upon arriving in Mumbai we headed to Gates of India, where we were scandalized to discover that some women exposed their knees and shoulders in this somewhat westernized city. I was excited, because I assumed this would mean that people would be used to Westerners and not photograph us as much. How wrong I was. There are currently about 300 pictures of me taken by strangers circulating Mumbai, by people who really like taking pictures of American tourists. We can categorize these picture takers into three different areas. 1. People who ask where you are from and make conversation before asking for your picture. 2. People who blatantly stare at you and take your picture, sometimes saying "PICTURE?! PICTURE?! ONE PICTURE MADAM!?" and 3. My personal favorite, people who try to surruptiously take your picture by pretending to take a picture of something right next to you and then quickly averting their eyes while innocently whistling and hiding the camera when you cross your eyes and stick your tongue out at them. The Gates were especially bad because it's already a huge tourist attraction, so getting your picture taken with the white girls becomes part of the tourist attraction. I've started taking pictures back at people in retaliation, so now my camera is full of strangers, too.
Kate had a friend who lived in Mumbai that took us to this beautiful super classy bar on a rooftop with a rooftop pool full of lillypads and a view of the sunset over the Arabian Sea (so I have many pictures of my unwashed hair fresh off the pee smelling sleepr train at the classiest place in the universe.) Then her mother, the nicest lady ever, took us to this amazing restaurant and order all this really good food and haggled the price down for us. Then we returned to our hostel. We were very lucky to receive a 12 person room with 2 bathrooms. However, the bathrooms did not have a roof and there we had a pigeon living in the rafters (This might bother some, but I was pretty excited to have a hostel pet. I named him Herman). Also, the lack of consistent water flow resulted in an exciting shower adventure in which I ended up scraping shampoo out of my hair with a comb.
We took a boat to visit Elephanta Island which despite being a giant tourist trap was amazing. We got see these beautiful Shiva Caves, have our picture taken by several hundred more people (two guys followed us all the way down the mountain with their cameras), attempt to avoid more hawkers attempting to sell us things for quadruple their value (more fun then it sounds), and best of all, watch the wild monkeys that infested the island steal crap from tourists less vigilant than ourselves. I saw one jump on this ladies back, steal her bag, and run away eating the banana inside it while hissing at her in a matter of 3 seconds. Then a guard chased it up a tree.) When we got back we went to the Hanging Gardens (most beautiful place in the entire unvierse), this Jain Temple I'd been dying to see all day (most beautiful place in the universe), and we got up then next morning int time to see the university, the courthouse, St. Thomas's Cathedral, and Victoria Terminus (more most-beautiful-place-in-the-universes. I'll post some pictures).
 |
| Shameless product placement |
 |
| We also ventured into the Taj Hotel, which happens to contain a water fall in the lobby, a Titanic staircase complete with chandeliers, and several designer purse and perfume stores. But I would never trade my pet pigeon Herman in for any of that stupid crap. |
 |
| One of several glorious buildings |
 |
| Part of the Hanging Gardens |
But now let me get to the best and most exciting part of the trip: my attempt to use the restroom in the train station. I was furious at the time, but this is actually hilarious. After informing the bathroom attendant that she could not trick me into paying triple the amount listed on the wall to use her toilet paperless public squat toilet, I stepped into the bathroom and attempted to queue for one of the stalls. I keep forgetting that this is a stupid idea, so immediately, three Indian women walked in, shoved me out of the way and positioned themselves directly in front of the stalls smirking at me with that "I know you won't challenge me, you sissified Western strumpet" look on their faces. Innocently believing that my place in line for the poop covered squat toilet was probably not worth a fist fight, I attempted to swallow my pride, waited for them to use the stalls and then edged right in front of the stall so no one else would shove me out of the way. But then, as the lady came out of the stall, she put her hands out and tried to football blocked me, shuffling to either side as I moved to walk past her, so that her other friend standing behind me could get into the stall before me. Never have I seen such devotion.
Oh, also, I forgot to mention, I'm pretty sure Mumbai is the place that Hitchcock's The Birds takes place. The places is infested with psycho crows, the only creatures that stared at us more than the people trying to take our picture and stare at us while we slept.
 |
| Not a friend of Herman. |
I'm headed to Ellora this weekend, so more adventures to come.
 |
| This mustach is suprisingly stylish in Mumbai. Not kidding. |
No comments:
Post a Comment