Mumbai day 1

Well, we made it to Mumbai. This is still sinking in for us. Only four days before we were to leave we suddenly learned that Razelle just might not be allowed out of Israel because of a prior formality she hadn’t gone through with her employer (the IDF). At Ben-Gurion airport we breezed through all the stations without this issue ever coming up. It helped that Razelle was escorted all the way through because of her "disabled" status. We got on the plane and headed for Amman. The view out the window was breath-taking. The Jordan River below us was clearly visible along with all the terrain on either side of it. As we crossed this river and entered Jordanian airspace I remarked that this trip was real. No turning back. We were going around the world. The flight was less than an hour. We flew beyond Amman to circle back and descend for the landing. We couldn't help but notice how vastly empty and under-developed the hinterland looked east of Amman. Nowhere in Israel is there a place so starkly barren. It said something about Jordan's national priorities. The airport in Amman also seemed a bit "bare-boned" in appearance. We got off the plane after most of the other passengers, walked down the ramp and got on a shuttle bus. Inside the terminal we found a wheelchair and someone nodded consent that Razelle take advantage of it. Good thing, too. Once again we found ourselves being sent to the head of each line because of this. No problems, no waiting. We were "expedited in Amman." We checked out the duty free area and decided to buy a small stuffed toy as a souvenir of Jordan.


Maayan suggested we have such a toy appear in all our photographs throughout the trip. We are doing this, per her suggestion. It looks like a cute little organ-grinder's monkey. Getting on our plane out of Amman was an ordeal for Razelle. No elevator! Instead there were two and a half steep flights of stairs to descend, another shuttle bus and another ramp to climb to get into the body of the plane. We took off from Amman in the dark and flew through the night. We reached Mumbai by 4:15 A.M. local time and again got priority treatment because of Razelle's status. Our hotel (the Regal Enclave on 4th Road in Khar West) was supposed to send a car to collect us, but there was no sign (no hand-held placard) of it, when we exited the airport into the humid air outside the terminal building. Razelle's wheelchair attendant stayed with us until that was resolved. India from this moment forward is going to be remembered as the land of the gratuity [tip]. The money changer wouldn't change the large denomination rupee bills we brought with us into smaller ones. I had to buy some bottled water to get bills that were small enough to hand out left and right to our ever-helpful wheelchair attendant, to the expeditious shuttle driver, to the eager un-packer of our shuttle at the hotel and to the energetic porter who brought the bags up to our room. Another enterprising staff member came afterwards to set up our air-conditioner and show us how to use our room safe and tell us what our combination would be. He also tarried overlong for a tip, but by now I had run out of the small bills I had distributed like party favors to everyone else. I apologized to him and he left, embarrassed by the awkwardness of the moment.

We rested in our room for a couple of hours until it was time for breakfast. We came down from our room at 7:30 on the dot. The dining room staff hopped into serving mode and made an omelet and toast for Razelle, poured her coffee, brought me tea in milk and poured us orange juice. I chose to eat two different kinds of semolina. One was sweet and plain; the other was lightly salted and seasoned with some peppery and musty herbs and spices. I had seconds of this fancy farina. None of the other hotel's guests materialized the whole time we were dining. We had the entire dining-room staff to ourselves. They watched every fork-and-spoonful of food we ate so that they could clear away the empty plate without delay. Razelle had to literally hold onto her plate to prevent its removal once because she was waiting for a second piece of toast. The tall-hatted toast and omelet chef looked crest-fallen when I declined to have an omelet, thereby denying him the opportunity to demonstrate his skills. We were a little embarrassed by all this attention. Had we misunderstood what time breakfast was served and come down too early? I asked, "Where are all the other guests?" The response was a wordless gesture of tilted head with cheek pressed against hands joined to represent a pillow. (Everyone else was still abed).

Fully fed and feted, Razelle and I returned to our room. I tried to surf the net but found that the signal could only be unblocked for a not-so-small fee (good for only 24 hours, but renewable). With neither wireless nor data signal available to me, I couldn't access anything sent to me earlier by email. And I couldn't update my blog. I needed to make an important call to the Jewish Community Centre to confirm our interest in being guided tomorrow (21 June) around the historic lower end of Mumbai, with special emphasis on Jewish landmarks. I went through some printed notes I had and found a useful number and made the call. Everything is now set for a day tour of Mumbai's best tomorrow, so I left Razelle in the room to relax and set forth on foot to size up the neighborhood (and search for lunch – either dining out or carrying in).

I was told by the helpful desk clerks that a vegetarian restaurant was a short walk away. I went to find it. The humidity outside is so thick that leaving the air-conditioned hotel caused my glasses to fog up and not clear for several minutes. I took in Mumbai's sounds and smells and sultriness while I waited for my sight to return. Little tuk-tuk cabs noisily putted by, honking their horns as often as needed to avoid each other. A pleasant fragrance of slow-burning exotic wood was in the air from food stands down at the corner where I turned to find the restaurant I was told about. I noted that most of the pedestrians walked in the street rather than on the sidewalk (a misnamed entity in this neighborhood). I tried to get a feel for the flow of vehicular traffic but on the side street I was on traffic knew no pattern. 

At the corner was the landmark that would serve me well in homing in on my hotel when I was done exploring: a huge pigeon coop in the middle of the intersection bursting with pigeons fed by members of a Krishna sect.









I passed the train station (Khar Station) and noted the crowd and the large red buses. It reminded me of scenes out of movies representing the historic Raj period of British rule. After this initial foray into the tight little streets of these quarters of Mumbai I returned to the hotel (turning right at the aforementioned pigeon coop) with some packets of soup mix, a supply of bottled water and a small bunch of bananas. These cost 125 rupees in total (about US$ 3). We dined well in our room.

Later in the day I went out again, this time in the opposite direction along broad boulevards with flowing traffic that was better organized but still very noisy with horn-honking and putt-putting. I passed large academies and reached a more modern looking train station. On one street I found a large assemblage of yellow school buses being watched over by a policeman wielding a bamboo truncheon. I looked into the shade trees to identify the ones I could. High over head I saw coconuts. I image they fall when ripe, so I moved on.

A solitary cow was munching on the plants atop the low wall of the median strip so I took her picture as traffic whizzed passed her. Finally, as I circled back, I once again located the pigeon coop and returned to the hotel, with a new supply of bottled water.

To complete our experience this first day in Mumbai, Razelle and I took a tuk-tuk after dark to a restaurant tomorrow's guide especially called us to recommend. I'd already watched how they drive but not yet been driven in one. I knew what to expect. Razelle, however, was in for the ride of her life. Her hands ached from holding onto the bar in front of her as our driver deftly weaved and dodged into and out of lanes that only he perceived, seemingly heedless of oncoming hazards. He had a vague idea where to take us but didn't know for sure. He spoke no English. He encouraged us with words I didn't understand to ask others caught in the same traffic jam in similar tuk-tuks where our sought-after restaurant might be. Finally a motorcyclist who was jammed up beside us explained to our driver where to go and by the sideways wagging of our driver's head we understood that he now understood how to get us there. He dropped us off in a huge crowd of homebound beachgoers near the Ramada Hotel, nowhere near our stated destination. We paid our fare and piled out as new passengers piled in. We shrugged and decided to just eat at the Ramada. This is one of those hotels globetrotting businessmen eat in. We certainly qualified as globe trotters by now so we trotted in. The same attention by wait-staff met us inside. The food was good. I had a vegetarian rice dish, Razelle had a vegetarian pizza with lots of toppings. It cost a great deal more that lunch had.

We took a taxi back to our hotel. The turbaned doorman found a tariff sheet so we knew exactly what to pay our taxi driver. He knew about where we were staying but not quite. Because I'd walked the streets earlier I recognized where we were when we were close. I directed him to the pigeon coop, we turned left and went home to our hotel.

All in all, it was an eventful day in Mumbai.