India - The beginning, Mumbai

India's been fairly intense to say the least. A lot has happened and I'm finding it difficult to set aside the time to write things up properly, I think China was particularly rushed, so I'm just going to break things into stages. This is the beginning, just the first couple of days in Mumbai. Also, I'm skipping Japan for now, I'm enjoying writing things up as they happen more, hopefully I'll have time to slot it in when I'm in Europe somewhere.

About 4 hours before my flight to India I ordered one more Long Island Ice Tea. 3 hours before my flight I decided to have a quick 30 minute nap. 2 hours before my flight I woke up, cursing my stupid alarm, finished packing and dashed out the door. 1 hour before my flight I boarded the train for the 1 hour journey into the airport. As my flight left, I woke up on the train to see the front 3 carriages splitting off towards the airport while I was shuttled into the countryside of Osaka. 1 hour after my flight left I finally arrived at the airport. I must say this was incredibly stressful, particularly the fitful sleep on the train to the airport. Fortunately there was no problem changing my flight to the next day, so India lost yet another day.

The flight over started with a young Indian couple just straight out stealing my window seat, then offering little more than a shrug, a smile and a point at the aisle seat when I told them to vacate. I grumbled most of the flight, particularly when they pulled the shutter down during the sunset. It was more than just my mind that was grumbling by the end of the flight though. I started my anti-malarial treatment - Doxycyclin while on the plane. I waited for meal time, then swallowed the pill with my coke. After about an hour I started feeling something strange in my chest, I couldn't quite place it but it felt slightly familiar. It gradually got worse and by the 2nd hour if I took a deep breath it hurt. After 3 hours I was getting worried as my normal breathing was impacted. I was manically reading the documentation in the packet, and ensured that I had it well placed in my pocket so that when I fell unconscious they'd be able to find a reason. 4 hours down we were approaching Mumbai and each breath was difficult, I was thinking I was having an anaphylactic response to the drugs and needed adrenaline, so tried to bring about a natural release somehow. I think I failed, the only real way I could think of was to scare myself, but I was already pretty panicky! When I finally decided I really needed to see a doctor, the seat belt signs were all on and all the attendants were seated for landing. At least we were close to Mumbai. I was watching extremely intently on the screen as the little plane closed in on the city. 4 minutes to go .. 3, 2, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 ... the plane slowly turned around and it reset to 10 minutes again. Urgh. I tried to remain calm as all the passengers crammed their way to the exit, then immediately informed one of the ground staff that I was having difficulty breathing and wanted to see a doctor. They took about 10 minutes to arrive, during which I thought perhaps it would have been pertinent to inform someone before we landed. The Cathay staff seemed to be arguing with the doctor afterwards about the length of time it took to arrive. The doctor takes a look at me (now seated in a wheel chair)

Doc: "You're not having difficulty breathing"

Me: "Ahh, yes I am, I can't take a deep breath without being in serious pain"

Doc: "No, you're not, if you were you wouldn't be able to speak"

Me: "Look, I just took this medication and it says here if I have difficulty breathing to see a doctor."

Doc: "You're not having difficulty breathing. You just read that and are imagining it, you've made yourself have difficulty breathing."

I got extremely annoyed that he would call me out as someone that panicked and invented their own symptoms, and became genuinely worried that he was just going to tell me to go home.

Me: "The reason I started reading this sheet was because I was having difficulty breathing, and serious pains in my chest."

Doc: "I've been in this business for 20 years, I know what I'm talking about. You're fine, you're a fit young boy, you have nothing to worry about."

At this stage he'd at least started to examine me, and I think he began to sense that I was getting seriously pissed off, so he told me he'd examine me anyway. When they determined my heart rate, blood pressure and pupil dilation were all normal, they gave me some Zantec or something, a re-hydrating drink and said I'd be fine. I asked if they thought it was my oesophagus, as this was another side-effect, ulceration caused by not remaining upright, and he said yes. So I was wheeled through customs, then all the way outside to the thick humidity and madness of India. A mini riot began a few hundred metres from me. I stood off the chair and realised I'd missed all the tourist information back in the airport. I tried to re-enter but wasn't allowed. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Bending over to pick up my pack caused a huge stabbing pain. Any effort above walking caused my heart to pound against the ulcers. I slumped onto the street, considering a trip to a fancy hotel for just a night until I could think and act properly. But I decided to push through, dragged out my book, got some change and started phoning hotels. Eventually I found one, then struggled through to the pre-paid taxi counter to get a taxi there. A few bright eyed porters showed me to the taxi, then tried to get money for the 20 metre journey. I shot him a look that showed the pain I was in and he quickly scuttered away. The taxi ride seemed to be going alright, although I noticed a lot of heat coming from the front. I wondered if he seriously had a heater on. After about 15 minutes a cloud of smoke erupted from the source of the heat as the engine blew up. The driver fiddled with it for about 10 minutes while a pack of scabby dogs attacked each other just 5 metres from my door. I hate random, crazy, aggressive dogs, they scare the willies out of me. Nothing really seemed to matter though, I was in constant pain. The driver was pretty nice in the end, he hailed another taxi and paid for me to get the rest of the way. Unfortunately this driver had no idea where to go though, so we spent a while asking people on the street before I eventually directed him using the map in my book. I had shown him the map multiple times, but he didn't seem to understand it at all.

The walk up the 4 flights of stairs to the hotel nearly killed me. I got to my room, lay down and contemplated the pain. It was so bad now that any breath longer than a short one and every beat of my heart sent a wave of pain through my chest. Laying on my back accentuated it and caused a constant stream of pain. I turned the lights off (as specifically instructed when going to bed) then realised that the lights were linked to the fan. So I lay on my side (only the left side too, as my right shoulder is still mangled from the bike accident, I was told sleeping on it would make it worse, which is consistant with the pain I get in the morning if I do) and tried to sleep through the pain and heat. I rate it as one of the worst nights sleep of my life.

The next morning wasn't much better, it took a full 24 hours before I was anywhere near normality. I spent the day wandering around Mumbai and organising my train ticket to Goa. I was approached on the street by a man who claimed to own a jewellery shop in Mumbai and was opening a new shop in London. Apparently the Indian government take 70% of any rupees taken outside of the country. As he needed money to set up the shop in London, there was only one 'legit' way he could take it out, travellers cheques banked at his store. He proposed that he would give me a stack of cash which I could take into the bank and convert to cheques. I would then take these cheques and 'buy' things from his store in Mumbai. Of course I wouldn't really be buying anything, just effectively giving him the money back. He in turn would give me 20% of all of the money. He said there was a Brazilian couple that were coming back later that day to do it again who I could meet and talk to if I wanted. I was really unsure, told him I thought it sounded strange and needed to think about it. He was cool with that and we arranged to meet up the next day at 4pm. Unfortunately it never happened as I got wrapped up in a full day tour with Ashok.

I was originally planning to spend the next day at the Elephanta caves on an island off Mumbai. On my way there I was approached by a tourist guide, Ashok, who sweet talked his way into taking me on a full day tour and avoiding the caves. They were nowhere near as good as Ellora (which I was visiting later in my trip) anyway he said, which I could believe. I'd also had someone try to sell me the full day tour just the day before and it had tempted me. Ashok's tour sounded even better as it included "the real Mumbai - slums and prositution". He had loads of useful information for me about Goa and travelling around in general that I was appreciative of already, so I decided what the hell. He wanted about $60 for the tour, then lowered it to $50 when I balked. I said $30 was the max I would spend, which he eventually agreed on, but said if I enjoyed the tour, perhaps I could give him more. To be honest, the tour was a bit of a let down. The Jain temple he had been so obsessed about, particularly as it was a festival day, was ok, there were a lot of solid silver doors and gem encrusted shrines, but I think I was expecting some sort of festivities to go along with the festival, more than just the sight of the odd holy man rubbing a statue's nipples with milk. These shrines are all marble, with real gold, diamonds and the like.



Gandhi's residence was very interesting though, and I did find out about the Parsis, a religious group of people from Iran originally. We passed a "tower of silence" where the Parsis dispose of their dead. They put them out on a small platform 3x2 metres and watch as the vultures pick the flesh from their bones. Apparently it's all over in under half an hour. Unfortunately only Parsis are allowed inside the complex. The slums were just slums, nothing special, or particularly worse than the odd slummy area I'd seen already just walking the streets, and the prostitution I think I'd already had enough of already. Although it was interesting to see the street lined with girls, booze selling joints, cinemas and doctors specialising in skin disorders and VDs. Ashok said the standard modus operandi was to get drunk, watch a sexy flick, then live it out with a prositute, shortly followed by a visit to the doctor. The tour finished with a trip to his school friend's jewellery store of course. I was somehow suckered into buying some useless gems and ripped off, his addition was terrible and I can't believe I didn't crack it with him.

Once the tour was finished though, Ashok offered to take me back to his place where he'd cook me a chicken masala dish. This I was genuinely interested in, and it also meant I had an easy way to kill time before my train at 11pm, particularly given I'd checked out and was dragging my huge backpack with me everywhere. Unfortunately it required shelling out another $10 in taxi fees to get out there, we could drink in the taxi though he assured me. Booze was extremely expensive, I never found out if this was because he was ripping me off or it was genuinely expensive in Mumbai. I did appear to be funding a small bottle of whiskey for each beer I was consuming though. He also offered to sell me some hash, minimum purchase of $50 for 5 grams or so, looks like, as almost everyone in India does, he has connections to most industries. And so we wound our way through the crazy traffic towards Ahok's house while he told me his life story. Wife died several years ago, 3 children. Became an alcoholic, lost his house, was rescued by a lady from Sydney who he used to deal with. She bought him a new house. It was nearly an hour out to "New Mumbai" where Ashok lived, a fair way out of the city. We stopped by a chicken shop to buy a couple for our meal. Fresh chickens was the only way to go apparently. It was a little distressing watching them killed and skinned, but I was intrigued at the technique.



Ashok told me many foreigners come and stay at his house and tell him it's really lovely. It was nice to see, and meet his children. But by the time we cracked open the 2nd round of alcohol, I realised I'd found the real Ashok, a drunkard. He began slurring his words, kept holding me and telling me we were great friends, and didn't I have a wonderful time today? He spilt my beer all over the place, then started telling unlikely stories like the time he took Shane Warne for a tour around Mumbai. I was beginning to get really suspicious of the whole thing, particularly when he began to encourage me to have a sleep upstairs. Then the money had to change hands, he'd already asked me for 1000 rupees for the taxi ride, which I'd noted was only 400. I was angry with being ripped off by his friend already, and dubious as to the 200 rupees he was charging for the beers, but figured it was nice to see his house and try his cooking (or his daughters' cooking). So I offered him another 1000, taking the total to 1600 effectively for his tour, which was more than he'd offered originally, but less than his starting price. He said at first "you can give me 1 rupee and I'd be happy" Then later looked really pissed off when I offered him the extra 1k. I told him the taxi was only 400, and I'd already bought him 2 bottles of whiskey and a free taxi ride home. He kinda begged for another 100, which I thought was pathetic, but I'd already made this judgement after watching him denegrate into the slobbering mess he had become by the start of the night. He even spat inside his own house, all over the floor. I felt kinda sorry for his kids. Eventually I left and took a train in to the magnificent Victoria Terminus in Mumbai.