Taking the tours - Day 3

I awoke 9.30, Wednesday morning in our lavish hotel room. Realising the time, and feeling a bit hungry, I got dressed and headed to Ian's room. Breakfast was to be finished in 30 minutes. A waft of curry hit me as we entered the dining room. Its a strange smell first thing in the morning. Its funny when you are programmed to think one way that it can be hard to break the mold. Eating curry at that time of the morning is the last thing to cross my mind. Perhaps this will change with time. After munching some miniature bananas, toast and coffee we headed back up to wake the boys for our 12 o'clock checkout. I stopped at the reception desk to ask was it alright to leave our bags there for the day, as we were catching the train to Goa tonight. The man was amazingly helpful, offering us a room to how a shower in upon our return, if one was available. We awoke the lads, packed our gear, paid our bills and left for the Elephanta Island Caves.

When we arrived at the Gate of India, the sweat was pouring off me. The square was a lot more packed than before. Traders were approaching us from all sides. Selling giant balloons, postcards, coloured balls, nuts, hashish and the lot. As we approached the island ferry a small round Indian man came towards us to tell us about the islands. He explained that the best time to view the caves was 9.30 in the morning and the round journey would take up to 4 hours. We agreed amongst ourselves we'd do something a bit different. Totally unaware to me, the same helpful man proceeded to offer us a guided tour of some of the best features of the island. At a mere, 500rps a head. We offered 200rps a piece, explaining the value of taking a group of five. The usual haggling began, so in the mid-day heat we began to walk away. The man continued his bartering with Aidan offering to show the air-con car we'd be brought around in. The vehicle we were shown was a clean silver modern looking jeep. We realised that there was probably no better faster way to see Mumbai. The final price we agreed on was 1600rps.

We all jumped in and began our first journey to the Washing Laundry. The heat in the jeep was stifling and poor Aidan stuck in the back was not feeling any benefit of the a/c. Sweat flowing off his face as we drove through the manic city. We arrived 20 mins later at Asia’s largest open air laundry. It was located in one of the poorer parts of Mumbai. Aidan nearly collapsed out of the back of the jeep. His t-shirt clinging to his body. Entering the outdoor laundry is like walking back in time. A matrix of concrete basins, with men smashing the wet clothes into the flat surfaces. Lifting the clothes and squeezing them. Rows of clothes hoisted on lines hanging high in the air surrounded the complex. Our guide explained that only the poor people clothes are now washed here as the wealthy people all have washing machines. 200 people are employed to work from 4.30am to 3pm. The clothes are collected, washed, dried and then delivered. As we stood, being informed of all of this, we were getting looks from the washers. It was only afterwards I thought what it would look like if a group of tourists came and watched you as you toiled away in the heat of the day. One of the washers called to us and asked us if we wanted to give it a go. No one offered :) We were told that this was the last generation of washers. The money being made was being used to educate the next generation. 10 feet from where we stood behind us, through bars, we could see a class of young school kids in uniform sitting at desks working away and staring out the foreigners staring in at them. The usual array of white smiles and bright eyes were beaming back at us from the small room. As we left I remember noticing some rather harsher looks from some men on our right. I smiled in greeting and no return was given this time. Understandable when you think of what I said above.

We picked up 2 bottles of water and to cans of minerals at the shop at the entrance, 60rps. Just less than €1. Prices in India are really hard to pin down with tourist tax being placed on pretty much everything and varying all the time. Swapping places I took the back seat and Aidan jumped in the front. The heat was unbearable as we made the 30 minute journey to the 100 year old Jain Temple. Full silver temple dedicated to Lord Mahavira. We passed through the Marbella styled area of Mumbai. Quite a difference than the places we saw, the first night we arrived, on route from the airport. I was pretty much ready to pass out as I fell out of the back of the jeep when we arrived. Outside was a lot cooler than the swelter box. After removing our shoes we entered the temple. Some form of ceremony was in process as we entered. The first thing you notice is the vast array of colors. Painted walls and ceilings with religious stories and messages of how to live a spiritual life. The centre room was filled with people in the middle of some form of ritual with two priest enchanting prayers. Two video cameras with lights were recording the whole thing. Relatives and religious men stood watching. Upon advice we entered in a clockwise direction. A side chapels filled with religious iconography was the first room we entered. Gold, silver and painted ceramic statues of Mahavira were everywhere you turned. Indians were entering and saying prayers and leaving their offering in the slots provided. It was kind of unusual walking around the temple while a pre-wedding is happening. The doomed ceiling of the temple was beautiful. Adorned with colour paintings representing some form of cycle. In some way similar to the signs of the zodiac. A holy man, dressed in a white robe, nodded his head to Eoghan to go venture upstairs. As we trailed upstairs we noticed a man sitting on the ground preparing coconuts for some form of offering to Mahavira. Above him another stunning carved dome ceiling cut from rock. The main room overlooked the centre room below. As we studied the painting we noticed a symbol that looked very similar to the swastika. We pointed it out to each other and murmured under our breaths as to whether the symbol was a reflection of the swastika and remembering stories of where Hitler got the original symbol from. Kind of weird to think that a symbol used by a German dictator, was taken from one religion and then used to persecute and wipe out another religion. After spending another ten minutes looking around our guide had called us as we were running over time.

Our next stop was the Hanging Gardens over looking the whole city. A public park laid with lawns and small hedges edging the pathways. Quite pretty and nicely cooled by the numerous over hanging trees. Eoghan was asked by some teenagers to play some cricket as we entered. Delighted he pitched a few balls. The kids loved it and were laughing and asking to play more. Next we were approached by an Indian family that wanted to take a photo of us with there family. The usual stares followed us as we walked around. When we found the playground at the far end Eoghan was straight in, jumping onto a see-saw with a kid on the other end. The kids all loved it. Some crazy wild haired Cork guy with energy like them. Peter went and joint Eoghan as he climbed up the monkey bars. One little girl there stood staring in amazement. Next thing Peter came down on the big slide. Bewildered looks from parents as the boys left the under 10's playground. As we walked back through the park we came across a big two storey concrete shoe painted in yellow and red. People were taking photos of their kids as they climbed up and sat on the toe. And as you can imagine we were up next. One Indian man asked could he join us and he jumped up beside the five of us. At this stage a crowd had gathered, smiling and laughing, taking photos of this not too often sight. As we climbed back down our guide was waiting, look rather impatient that we had kept him waiting, again. C'est la vie.

Our next stop was one Mani Bhavan. The place where Gandhi started his “Quit India Movement”. On route we passed the pathway to the Tower of Silence, a route used by the Parsi Community who carried they're dead to tower at the top of the hill. There the vultures would pick the body clean and then the bones are collected and grinded to powder and place somewhere. Sorry I forgot this part. Ghandi house was real treat and a person that I have enormous heart for. A leader of passive means that moved a nation and changed events by holding a passionate and still heart. The collection of photos, letters and items owned and used by Ghandi is quite a thing to be in the presence of. From his early years to his death you can see the constant struggle this man endured. A role model for any. One thing in particular I noticed and took note of, sitting on the table, of his glassed in room, where the three monkey. A small carved bit of stone, of see no evil, speak no evil and hear no evil. I did a stop, just for a moment in front of his room.

As we were dropped back into the old town of Mumbai, our modern jeep had aged quickly. Now the brakes were gone, the air condition bust and the engine was over heating. The vehicle finally came to a halt and stopped right in the middle of the city, just before our last toured visit. We paid our driver/guide, thanked him and went on our way to find some food for our rumbling tummies. We witnessed some local police dragging two men into the back of a waiting wagon and only guessed as to what treatment they were about to receive as the resisted arrest both verbally and physically in a filled pubic street to smiling onlookers. We found a small Indian restaurant down a side street. We were ushered into the a/c room and we ordered a collection of delicious meals with lassi as our drinks. A group a men across from us were having a great laugh and chatting amongst themselves and looking over. It dawned on me as I ate with both hands that perhaps this was part of the amusement. I noticed as their meal was served the customary right handed eating with the left kept under the table. Note: eat with right in public places. After paying and walking around a little lost looking for the Thomas Cook office we headed for our hotel. Stopping in a bar on the way to have drink, in one of the few westernised bars near our place.

By the time we got back to the hotel I'd imagine we smelled quite a bit. After hours of walking and sweating our clothes were drenched. When we arrived in the hotel we were given a room to use to shower and relax before we had to leave. This was very welcomed by all and much needed. We changed and showered and generally relaxed. Aidan caught up on reading some email from four or five months ago. The rest of us took some well deserved time out. We went down to dinner just before nine. Collected some smaller notes and gave tips at reception, to the porters, the waiters and the doorman. They have some quantity of staff in the Godwin, to say the least.

We left the Hotels in a normal, to me anyway, rush to make our way to the CST train station. Eoghan standing at the reception desk arguing over the laundry losing his favourite t-shirt as we are being hoarded into two private taxis out the front. Porter and doormen smiling and helping us to carry our bags. A row of cars behind blocked, doing their usual beeping. After tipping left, right and centre and calling Eoghan we jumped into the waiting car. The usual haggle over the fair began. At this stage too tired and hot we agreed to 100 rupees for the journey. We got to train station with only four near misses and some fine gear grinding. The lads were in the car in front.

We disembarked into the bustling train station. It was 10.30pm and our train was due to leave in half an hour. People were sitting on benches and on the floor. Some people lay flat out asleep on the ground. We found an official train employee and showed him our ticket. He barely moved from his seat and pointed up at the red digital board displaying the departure times and platform numbers. Ours was platform 16. We began to making haste and headed for the far end of the large station. We were intercepted by a police officer and who told us to follow him. He turned smiling and explained we needed to scan our bags. As the bags came through the other side they were laughing at the jumble of contents of or bags. The three young police officers, two men and a lady, asked Eoghan about the guitar as he lifted his rucksack onto his back. He played them a few blues chords sweating, smiled and excused himself as we were running a bit late. We trudged with bags a bopping to platform sixteen. The usual array of gazes and turns and smiles, as the white foreigners walked, dripping with beads of sweat, through the station.

We approached the train with some anticipation, not sure of what we were about to experience. We had only being able to get Second Class AC sleepers. As we began our search walking down the carriages, some nervous looks were thrown between the boys. The first carriages were packed. Four people, sitting above four people, opposite another eight and eight more perpendicular to the sixteen. Cattle would have had more room. As we continued the walk little was said as we checked our ticket to see our carriage number, A1. We noticed our carriage as the next one down. As we got near the door, a man kneeling fixing a door closed stood up smiling. We began to ask and he said, “31, 32, 33,....” We looked at each other in surprise and laughed. He leaned out the door and showed us a white sheet pasted to the side of the train. Our names typed out in full with seat numbers and ages, there alongside all the other passengers in the carriage. I had begun to realise here that India may have a lot of poverty, nevertheless their appeared to be some intricate organised system underlying it all.

After entering and finding our seat numbers we were genuinely surprised at the quality. Lower and upper blue fold-down bunks with 2 white sheets, a pillow and brown blankets, neatly folded waiting for their passengers. A blue industrial fan spinning away ferociously and double strip lighting illuminating the compartment. We laughed in question if the fan was the air-con as myself and Ian lay down on the top bunk sweating like we had earlier in the day. Within minutes of packing away our bags we were being offered cold bottles of water by men walking through the carriages. 5 mins later a man came to take our order for breakfast, to be served at half eight. Our options were omelette, cheese sandwich or fried vegetables. The train moved off without as much as a bump, I didn't even notice it until the lads told me. In another five minutes the real air-con kicked in blowing chilled air all around us. My early estimations and presumption of Indian trains were left behind on the platform. The 13 and half hour journey to Goa seemed all that much closer. After so much initial excitement we began to settle. Within 30 mins, Ian was asleep, lulled by the music from his iPhone. Eoghan was strumming away on the guitar although looking tired and the other three of us were delving into another world as we turned the pages of our books. An hour later we were pretty much all asleep. I kept waking thinking about our bags and whether they would be safe when we were asleep. The tiredness prevented me from staying awake to long. Unaware to me, Aidan popped his head out from below and told me was heading off to bed, a couple of compartments down. I considered waking one of the sleeping boys to take turns in keeping one eye on the bag and then thought differently. I resided to do my best to stay aware and half asleep until the morning.