Mumbai

I'm on the night train to Goa, waiting for the train to leave Mubai CST. I'll need to recap on the last few days but, before I do, I want to describe what's happening right now...



There is a big, crazy, bald man who says he lives in Australia but from his accent and manner of speech is almost certainly an English ex-pat. He is absolutely larger than life. He has the top berth across the corridor from us but seems happier sitting in our section talking incessantly at us. When he boarded the train he threw his bags down, huffing and puffing, and started punting them under the seat of the poor Canadian girl who has the misfortune of occupying the berth below his. He has spent the last twenty minutes talking at me about his adventures in India. I've been nodding politely and making positive noises whilst he expounds loudly. After half an hour I felt my duty done, clambered to the sanctuary of my top bunk, put my headphones in and started to write. He is currently bending the ears of Alice and the Canadian girl.

Mumbai was excellent. I wish we'd made the effort to see more of it. It turns out that the autos and the cabs - awesome retro fiats in yellow and black - are legally required to use the meter. This is A Good Thing, and makes getting about easy and dispenses with that feeling that you're getting ripped off for being a tourist.
We drove around a bit on the first day and went to a shopping mall - somewhere I'd usually avoid but strangely comforting - and visited Marine Drive on the second. This feels a bit lame and I feel bad until I remember the journey from Udaipur.
We took a 9 hour train to Ahmenabad, which was 2AC. Here's a picture of me squeezed into my sleeper berth...

Unfortunately, the fan in our compartment sounded like an outboard motor and I barely slept. We then had a couple of hours to wait for our next train. Our tickets said "class 1, FC". I had dreams of a cabin all to ourselves - my romantic dream of a  first class journey on an Indian train was about to be made real. Beautiful, restful sleep awaited, in our own cabin. I would be free of the perils of tiny sleeper berths, lights being turned on and off in the middle of the night, and intermittently being sat on or used as a luggage rack.
When the train arrived, it quickly became apparent that our car did not have the sealed windows that indicated air conditioning. It had a couple of antique fans on the ceiling and an open window. There was one bench seat and a fold-out sleeper shelf above it. Unlike the 2 and 3AC cars we'd become accustomed to, seat reservations seemed to be ignored and at every stop 5 or so people would cram themselves into every inch of available room. This leg was nine hours long. On the one hand, having the open window made me feel more in touch with the scenery. On the other hand, it was hot, sweaty and cramped.

We got off the train at Dadar station and took a pre-pay taxi from the stand to our hostel. Our driver had to stop and ask directions a few times - this was to be a common theme - but we eventually found the Anjali Inn by using the McDonalds across the road as a reference point. Thank you, American cultural imperialism.

...

I should mention at this point that crazy bald guy is very noisily trying to climb into his top berth. Both Alice and the Canadian girl have offered their lower bunks in exchange but he has resolutely stuck to his allotted seat and is giving a running commentary on his ascent that I can hear over my music.

...

Mumbai feels like a big, cosmopolitan city, more so than Delhi. Lots of Indian people here conversing and, surprisingly, swearing in English. I hear the word "fuck" more time in 2 days here than the whole of the trip to this point.

We spent most of our last day chilling on Marine Drive, a long road that runs along the coast. We take an auto from the hostel to Andheri station and then get on a suburban train. These are more modern than the national trains and feel a bit like riding a European tram or an exclusively overground version of London's tube, albeit with a less confusing mess of lines and stations.

We had some lunch, which include bacon and watched the sun set over the bay later on. I have a strange conversation with an old man about IT services and pre-marital sex. He also asks where we are going and I discover that Mumbai CST is not the same as Mumbai Central Station. This crucial piece of information prevents us from missing our train to Goa.

I'm sad to be leaving Mumbai so soon and would have appreciated a few more day, and especially nights, to look around. Still, it is expensive here and my wallet breathed a sigh of relief as the train pulled out of the station.

I hear the shouts of "chai, chai, garam chai" coming towards me. Inhaling the spicy steam from the cup in my hand, I contemplate the end of this first leg of our journey through India with mixed feelings. I'm glad to have reached the end of our pre-booked itinerary. We've learned some important lessons about how to approach this travelling thing. I also feel that perhaps we haven't given North India as much as she deserved.

I look forward to South India and the next stage of our trip.