Walking through Mumbai
Today we are walking the city. I was expecting Mumbai and it’s traffic to be much more chaotic. Don’t get me wrong, crossing the street is still a bit scary but it’s no where as bad as in other big Asian cities like Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City.
The architecture is simply gorgeous; British colonial, Victorian with touches of exotic.
We check out the Maidan Oval, a long oval shaped park. Being Saturday, it is packed with cricket players garbed in their whites. I am concerned about being hit with a cricket ball and keep instinctively throwing my hands over my head. After making two medical claims for bizarre accidents on our last trip, I worry that if I claim for being hit with an errant cricket ball, they’ll revoke my insurance.
John decides to walk us back one more time through the Oval. I briefly wonder if he is trying to obtain a quieter retirement.
Wandering along, every way I turn my head I find something else to admire. We pass Mumbai University, Rajabai Clock Tower which is fashioned after Big Ben (access to the top is closed due to people jumping), the High Court, the old Telegraph Office (no way they could have much business these days) and take a quick break to admire the Flora Fountain.
The architecture is simply gorgeous; British colonial, Victorian with touches of exotic.
We check out the Maidan Oval, a long oval shaped park. Being Saturday, it is packed with cricket players garbed in their whites. I am concerned about being hit with a cricket ball and keep instinctively throwing my hands over my head. After making two medical claims for bizarre accidents on our last trip, I worry that if I claim for being hit with an errant cricket ball, they’ll revoke my insurance.
John decides to walk us back one more time through the Oval. I briefly wonder if he is trying to obtain a quieter retirement.
Wandering along, every way I turn my head I find something else to admire. We pass Mumbai University, Rajabai Clock Tower which is fashioned after Big Ben (access to the top is closed due to people jumping), the High Court, the old Telegraph Office (no way they could have much business these days) and take a quick break to admire the Flora Fountain.
We walk past all manner of street vendors and shops, taking our life into our hands every time we cross the street. I revise my opinion of Mumbai’s traffic being less chaotic.
It’s getting hot out so we make our way to Horniman Circle Gardens. For some reason we have to go through a security check point to get into the park…I don’t know why, it looks like an attractive but ordinary park to me. Once again, security has a men’s and women’s entrance. After having bags checked, men are patted down in the open and women in a curtained little cubicle.
Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus
My feet are getting tired but we continue walking through busy traffic and areas under construction (they’re building new subways) covering many blocks. Then I see what I think is a
stunningly, beautiful fairytale palace only to find that it is a railway station…the most gorgeous railway station that I’ve ever seen.
It’s the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus known as CST. Not surprisingly, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site. We have to go in and it’s just as gorgeous inside as out.
My feet are getting tired but we continue walking through busy traffic and areas under construction (they’re building new subways) covering many blocks. Then I see what I think is a
stunningly, beautiful fairytale palace only to find that it is a railway station…the most gorgeous railway station that I’ve ever seen.It’s the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus known as CST. Not surprisingly, it is a UNESCO World Heritage site. We have to go in and it’s just as gorgeous inside as out.
Shopping and the Crawford Market
Leaving the station, we walk many blocks until I discover an area of textile and clothing stalls. John isn’t looking pleased but stays patient as I check a few out.
I see another pair of light-weight pants that interests me. The salesman looks at me and demonstrates how wide he can stretch the waistline. Really? What is it with these guys assessments of my waist? I don’t make a purchase.
By this time we are almost at Crawford Market. The area is smelling rather fishy. I’m totally petrified as John grabs my hand and we cross the insane traffic.
John and I are still trying to figure out if it’s socially acceptable to hold hands in public. In some cultures it isn’t and we want to be respectful but we’ve seen young couples doing it so I hope we are ok.
As soon as we get into the market an older man attaches himself to us and decides he’s going to be our guide. He is friendly and promises that he doesn’t want any money from us. We try to politely get rid of him but he sticks like a burr.
He first takes us to the bird/pet section of the market. There is a different mind set towards animals here. I am disturbed seeing all these creatures in small cages.
I start walking in another direction and the man stops me by pointing out that I’m going towards the meat market and it will probably upset me. I take his word for it.
Instead, he takes us to the spice area. The stall we go to is called Spice King and they deal in organic,
hand processed and very fresh spices and teas. The merchant has me sniff his wares…so robust, wonderful. The cook in me rejoices. I negotiate and purchase Garam Masala and Tandoori Masala for $4.50 CAD each. I want more but realizing I have limited baggage space and that we are at the beginning of the trip, I resist. I’m certain I’ve paid more than the locals but I did bargain and compared to Canadian prices its a good deal. I’m sure that our self appointed guide also got a kick back from my purchase.
Our guide now takes us across some incredibly frightening traffic to a place that sells saris and ethnic dress, (I consider hiring him for a day just to navigate crossing the streets). I see nothing that tempts me. Our guide disappears as quickly as he appeared and true to his word, he did not ask for money.
Leaving the station, we walk many blocks until I discover an area of textile and clothing stalls. John isn’t looking pleased but stays patient as I check a few out.
I see another pair of light-weight pants that interests me. The salesman looks at me and demonstrates how wide he can stretch the waistline. Really? What is it with these guys assessments of my waist? I don’t make a purchase.
By this time we are almost at Crawford Market. The area is smelling rather fishy. I’m totally petrified as John grabs my hand and we cross the insane traffic.
John and I are still trying to figure out if it’s socially acceptable to hold hands in public. In some cultures it isn’t and we want to be respectful but we’ve seen young couples doing it so I hope we are ok.
As soon as we get into the market an older man attaches himself to us and decides he’s going to be our guide. He is friendly and promises that he doesn’t want any money from us. We try to politely get rid of him but he sticks like a burr.
He first takes us to the bird/pet section of the market. There is a different mind set towards animals here. I am disturbed seeing all these creatures in small cages.
I start walking in another direction and the man stops me by pointing out that I’m going towards the meat market and it will probably upset me. I take his word for it.
Instead, he takes us to the spice area. The stall we go to is called Spice King and they deal in organic,
hand processed and very fresh spices and teas. The merchant has me sniff his wares…so robust, wonderful. The cook in me rejoices. I negotiate and purchase Garam Masala and Tandoori Masala for $4.50 CAD each. I want more but realizing I have limited baggage space and that we are at the beginning of the trip, I resist. I’m certain I’ve paid more than the locals but I did bargain and compared to Canadian prices its a good deal. I’m sure that our self appointed guide also got a kick back from my purchase.Our guide now takes us across some incredibly frightening traffic to a place that sells saris and ethnic dress, (I consider hiring him for a day just to navigate crossing the streets). I see nothing that tempts me. Our guide disappears as quickly as he appeared and true to his word, he did not ask for money.
Where is the Meter?
John and I decide that the safest way to cross a street is to attach ourselves to locals who are also crossing…they are more experienced than us and drivers are less likely to hit a large group of people.
A taxi driver asks if we need a cab. We ask if he has a meter. He says yes and we get in. He asks where we are going. We say “The former Prince of Wales Museum” which is easier to say than it’s present name (Chhatrapati Shvaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya).
He replies “It will be 100 rupees”.We say “Where is your meter?”
He answers, “There isn’t one”.
I say that I’m going to get out and he apologizes. He drives through a mix of pedestrians, bikes, motorcycles, scooters autos etc. No one is even coming close to staying in their lanes. We barely move but eventually get to the museum. John confirmed with his phone map that he took the direct route. The meter fare was 80 Rs, so with tip he got his 100 Rs after all. He apologizes again for lying to us.
Chhatrapati Shvaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya Museum AKA The Prince of Wales Museum
The museum is an oasis of peace compared to the street. I go in the gift shop and get into conversation with a British women. I learn that the phrase “whole nine yards” comes from India.
Saris are made from nine yards of material. If you are a small person, you do not need as much material but if you’re a larger person, you need the whole nine yards.
Before visiting the exhibits, we take a break at the museum cafeteria where I order something Indian that is totally delish. There are not enough tables for everyone so we share one with a lovely, retired couple from Britain who also just arrived in Mumbai.
The museum is an oasis of peace compared to the street. I go in the gift shop and get into conversation with a British women. I learn that the phrase “whole nine yards” comes from India.
Saris are made from nine yards of material. If you are a small person, you do not need as much material but if you’re a larger person, you need the whole nine yards.
Before visiting the exhibits, we take a break at the museum cafeteria where I order something Indian that is totally delish. There are not enough tables for everyone so we share one with a lovely, retired couple from Britain who also just arrived in Mumbai.
John and I go through the museum in an hour and a half. We could stay longer but we are pooped.
At one point, while visiting, I need to use the facilities and am horrified to find that the first two stalls are squat toilets. I am about to hold it and leave when another lady points out that the next stall has a toilet with a seat.
On our way back to our hotel we pass a guy who is violently throwing up at the side of the road…Delhi Belly? It isn’t just the large quantity and projectile properties of the vomit (reminiscent of the Exorcist) that freak me out, but the loud retching that reverberates over the beeping horns. I’ve never heard anyone retch that loud! Desperate to get away, I nearly run into the oncoming traffic.
The night ended quietly in our room…or almost quietly. The person next door had their tv on at high volume. Finally at one in the morning, I call the front desk and within minutes things were quiet.