While I am discovering many things in India, the gift of hindsight is not one of them
It is the start of the weekend and there is a special kind of hyperactivity in the air…. I am putting it down to the India vibe…. Although if I was to be entirely honest, I would say that it has come from the India ‘lollies’ we have just eaten which are kind of like diabetes in a bit sized piece. Rainbow colored and covered in edible silver foil, the first bite is a sweet combination of cookie dough, sugar and honey. It melts in your mouth and the sugar hit is almost instant and leaves a cloying taste in your mouth long after you have swallowed. While I am discovering many things in India, the gift of hindsight is not one of them….. In hindsight, we should not have eaten such sickly sweet food before an everlasting journey that comprised of buses, ferries and rickshaws.
The first leg of our epic weekend adventures begins on what could be called India’s answer to public transport. The big red buses that filled me with foreboding in previous tales have come back to haunt me first thing on Saturday morning….. India is not a place for queues and this becomes abundantly clear as every person waiting for the bus to Alibaug tries to jam themselves into the bus door without a second thought to other people’s appendages that may be getting twisted into unnatural angles in the fight for a seat.
After much shoving and swearing in Hindi, Marathi and English we are on the bus. But the sweet taste of success is far off as all three of us end up standing or more swaying for the hour long ride to Alibaug beach. Our bus driver is like a rally driver on speed and the familiar taste of those lollies are coming back to haunt me. We finally arrive at our destination only to find that the ferry we wanted had just left and we needed to wait an hour and a half for the next one. I have become somewhat accustomed to this sort of waiting in India, so we decide to take a rickshaw down to the actual ‘beachfront’ of Alibaug.
Golden sands, roaring blue waves and tangy salt air…… are not what Alibaug beach has to offer….jagged rocks, grayish water and dirty sand is what this beach consists of…. To complete the picture a horse so malnourished its ribs are showing slowly trots along to the cruel whip of the horseman who is trying to offer us a ride. A little dismayed we opt for ice-cream instead. In a packet marked with expiry: November 2009 is delicious chocolate so, I persuade the logical side of my brain that it must be a misprint.
Back for the next leg of our journey we are transported by bus to the ‘ferry’ which we are to catch to Elephanta Island. Ferry is a somewhat of a loose term, a more apt description would be planks of wood pieced together with nails and a motor in the middle. Nonetheless we survive the hour and a bit trip to Mumbai. Hapless travelers that we are, we have inadvertently managed to catch the ferry that took us to the gateway of India in Colaba harbor, Mumbai. Not directly to Elephanta island as we had hoped. We disembark from our boat and find another that will take us to Elephanta Island, fortuitously it leaves in just 15 minutes…. This is the fastest waiting time of the trip thus far. With just enough time to stroll around the gateway of India (a massive structure that sits ominously on the harbor front, next to the Taj Mahal hotel) we enjoy a bit of shameless tourist gawking before clambering the next boat that will take us to Elephanta Island. Finally.
It takes just under an hour to get to the island and by this point it is 4pm in the afternoon. We had left Pen at 10am. It is just the way it goes here, time seems to blend together in a nonfigurative way; it is the easiest and the worst place to loose yourself because if you’re not careful, you cannot make it back from the long fall down the dark passage of time. Luckily this time, we scramble out onto the dock of Elephanta Island only to be told that the final boat leaves at 5.30pm….. Without even a flicker of surprise we decide to power walk up the hundreds of steps so we can meander our way through the Buddhist caves.
They are beautiful and historic and we manage to complete our appropriate amazed expressions in record time. Leaving just enough time for me to hide behind Jax from the monkeys and complete one of my missions from Laura: ‘buy tacky tourist shit’ (I apologize in advance if you are on the receiving end of one of these gifts)
We are back in Mumbai in record time and manage to find vacancy in the second hotel we stumble across: Hotel Causeway. On a chaotic main street in Colaba that is a stones throw away from Leopold’s café we check in for one night. While the manager takes down our passport details, he makes conversation. ‘What are you doing in Pen?’ Jax, pipes up from behind a Hindi paper. ‘Worki--Ow!’ she receives a sharp kick from Tessa. Oh Jax, as a frog and monkey protector you are invaluable. As a stealthy volunteer on a tourist visa, you are not. Luckily the manager is oblivious to our exchange and hands as a room key. With three beds, a hot shower, TV and mini-bar it is paradise at $25 dollars each.
We refresh and head down to the infamous Leopold’s café for a drink and bite to eat (for those who have read shantaram: insert excitement here). Leopold’s is a world away from the description in Shantaram. I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that shantaram was written twenty or so years ago. But even so, it is somewhat gaudy and tasteless with tacky decorations and the waiters wearing matching shirts. With a pile of the actual books for sale on the counter, I can’t help but feel it is the café that has sold itself out. However, as you head up the muggy stairs into the darkness a dash of the deception and dark dealings that leap out at you from the book, could be envisaged taking place in the smoky corners and suspicious eyes that follow your movements. But mostly, the over the top music and blaring TV cuts through any visual representations you can invoke.
The next morning after a quick bite to eat we take a tour of Mumbai, several taxi rides later we have exhausted ourselves by swearing in Australian while being quizzed in Hindi, hysterical laughing at how lost we are, and gazing in absolute wonder at this city whose secrets and spirit are displayed in every sacred temple atop a rambling business district, black market amongst bazaars and twisted alleyways that house some of the worlds most concentrated poverty. We conclude our afternoon with the time honored tradition of shopping and after such an exhausting weekend in which people tried to sell us a car, a pet monkey and drugs we collapse on the bus in relief as we head back to what we think of as home in Pen.
The week has continued as normal as I delve more into my work at the Suhit Jevan trust I begin to fall more in love with what I am doing. I have decided to spend the rest of my time in India at this school for disabled children instead of moving to a larger school to help teach English. The last two days I have spent sitting cross legged on the floor with a little boy who smells like coconut oil in my lap. His name is Yogesh and from my previous tale he was the boy who continually pulled his pants off. I have spent two days massaging his arms and hands while he sits in my lap and stares at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen, And while I cannot feel my legs anymore I am enjoying spending time with him and realizing that at least while I am here he can spend the day in my lap, instead of tied to a chair.
The school closes for Christmas break as of today and I find myself somewhat sad that I will miss seeing all my kids until Monday but I am vastly excited about spending the Christmas period in Goa.
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