And then the monkey growled at me…
India can be a frustrating country. What a day. I have a very red face. Doxycycline has, I think, made my skin prone to burning. I foresee me being teased at work tomorrow for being a foreigner – the kind of foreigner who gets burnt skin.
An accounting intern from Singapore sits next to me at work. He went out of town this weekend, and he told me if I wanted to go to the caves at Elephanta Island, his girlfriend was going and I could go with her. I sent her a text message asking if she wanted to meet up. I told her she would recognize me at the train station because I would be the only white guy. She said her and her friend would be the only two Chinese girls. I thought, this is an interesting situation: my first time into Mumbai proper, my first time riding the infamous suburban railway (the most densely packed train system in the world, 3000 die a year), all spent with two Singaporean Chinese girls.
Jingyi (pronounced like Chingy)(l) Christine (r)
We rode the train into the city and went to the loading terminal at the Gateway of India, a big archway built by the British at the Port of Bombay, in celebration of some colonial wanker, as the Irish and Scottish would say. This was Sunday, and the trains were hot and crowded, but not that bad really. I’m feeling invincible now though, and I’ll ride the train any time, any day.
it got fuller than this a few minutes after the photo
You must take an hour boat ride to get to the caves at Elephanta Island. The caves were carved out of a mountain on an island by ancients, and inside the caves are statues of Shiva and Vishnu, plus one of Ganesh. There may have been other Ganeshes, but I was so freaking hot all day, I didn’t really care to look for more.
Ganesh in the caves
Three separate times today people asked if they could get their picture taken with the two Chinese girls and me. I’m not sure if people were intrigued by the combination of us or just by them. Walking on the causeway to the island from where the boat dropped us off, a guy was trying to walk next to the girls while another guy walked backward to take his picture. Jingyi said to me that this guy probably wanted to get a picture with her. Her and Christine (and some others who didn’t come with us today) toured South India before their internships started, and Jingyi said she was pretty used to people asking to get their picture taken with her and that people had tried to do it surreptitiously too. She said, “Sometimes at the tourist attractions, we’re the tourist attraction too.”
It was hot today, and I got sunburned on my face and arms, even though I put on sunscreen. I probably sweat it all off, and tonight I found my sweat proof sunscreen in my suitcase. What a good idea that would have been. I also bought handkerchiefs yesterday to wipe the sweat from my face. Another great idea – too bad I left them at home. I sweat and sweat today. This heat and humidity makes me feel so sluggish, and the caves really weren’t that cool and required a lot of uphill walking.
We’d been seeing monkeys all day, and after the first few, we were over it. Monkeys are one of my top-5 least favorite animals. They throw poo, and I’m worried one will jump on my face or scratch me or bite me. I don’t trust the wily bastards. So on top of the mountain, Jingyi, Christine, and I sat on the exposed roots of a tree. It was hot, man, and we’d been walking a lot, and under the tree was shade. And this damn monkey was all up on us. He was real close, and I was thinking he would just let me be. He crept closer, and I was like, ok, that’s close enough, so I stood up and gave us some distance.
A man walked by carrying a bottle of water in a plastic bag. I saw this monkey run and jump and grab the bag, ripping it open and sending the bottle flying down the hill. I thought to myself, water, what a good idea. So I pulled the water bottle from my bag and drank and then I held it in my hand, forgetting about that little asshole monkey, who had crept up behind me. I heard the asshole growling. My fear of having a monkey jump on my face almost came true. I put the bottle in my bag, and walked away, and then these three Indian guys wanted their picture taken with me and my Asian girls. (This reminds me of the time I was at a bar in Paris with a half Chinese girl and a drunk Frenchman whispered in my ear, “I’ll trade you my wife for your Chinese friend.”) (This also reminds me of when I was in Chicago with four ballerinas, and I told a guy in the subway, “Please don’t talk to the ballerinas.”)
these weren't the troublesome monkeys
I saw more white people today than I’ve seen my whole time here. Almost all of them embarrassed me because they were dressed dorkily or where fat or a combination. Then I saw two white guys wearing board shorts and athletic sunglasses. They looked like real pricks and were being carried up the steps to the caves (there were a lot, a lot of steps) sitting on chairs being carried on poles by four guys. These carrying guys really looked like they were struggling. In this heat, that’s hard work.
I had a Kingfisher beer with lunch, maybe not a smart plan, and fell asleep on the boat on the way back to Mumbai. The sea was real rough, and I noticed there was an occupancy-limit sign posed on the boat. There are two different occupancies. One for the “fair season” and one for the “foul season.” Foul season – the monsoon season – is just getting ready to begin. While I was sleeping I was sprayed repeatedly by the choppy water sloshing into the boat, and ended up with salt all on my arms and in my ears.
The boat dropped us off at the Passenger Terminal at the Port of Mumbai, wasn’t where we embarked. The port smells, and we took a taxi out of there. On the way out, we smelled lots of awful smells, saw an endless pile of fetid trash on the side of the road, saw hundreds of squalid shacks, and lots of barefoot kids playing in the pools of brown standing water on the road. (One way to tell if a kid is a slum kid – and thus, to avoid him, cause he’ll try to hit you up for money – is whether he’s dirty and barefoot in the street). Riding in the taxi, I was thinking to myself how it’s almost amazing that these old hunks of junk run at all. They seem to be barely glued together. Shortly there after, we drove fast (of course) over a speed bump, and a problem occurred that sounded and felt like a flat tire. We got out and examined. There were no flat tires. We kept driving and the huge knocking thud continued. We said, “This is fine, drop us off here.” We were bear enough to the Gateway to not be too lost anymore.
And we went to Mumbai’s most sumptuous, old-world hotel, the Taj Mahal (click here), which is right next to the Gateway. We washed our filthy selves in the bathroom, and man, when I come back to Mumbai, this is where I’ll stay. Rooms start at $250 a night, which for this kind of luxury is cheap by U.S. standards.
Taj and Gateway
We chilled in the lobby, saw white people and rich Indians, then left and walked to Barista, a fancier Starbucks clone, and chilled for a few hours. I had an American drip coffee, and man, do I miss that, which is surprising considering how toward the end of last semester I dreaded having to pour one more cup of coffee down my throat.
These girls talk in an accent and sometimes I had to ask them to repeat. This is a little surprising considering English is practically their first language, but I got to chatting them up. I think they really liked it when I sang the Backstreet Boys – this kind of generic music, and of course two Bryan Adams’ songs, one played three times, is what was played at Barista. They invited me to go to dinner next weekend and to an Indian wedding. I’m probably gonna show them how we do it in the U.S.A. (do what, I don’t know – be cool I guess). To impress them I told them I was going to jump off the moving train when we got to Bandra station. This is the way the locals do it, but some guy was blocking the door to my stylish dismount. I’ll do it next time, and they’ll be really impressed.
I went home and washed my underwear in pales of water. This is easier than taking it all out to a launder, and I’m thinking the launder wouldn’t understand me anyway. I tried to order delivery food tonight, and nobody at the place could understand when I told them I lived at “Rosita Apartments.” “Ronsetta?” “Risetta?” And then a new guy would get on the phone, “Yes sir.” And he couldn’t understand me, and then a new guy, “Yes sir.” Finally, someone said he had my order. Two minutes later, a call back, “Which building sir?” “Rose – ee – ta.” I eventually hot hung up on, so I had peanut butter, a chocolate bar, and an apple for dinner.
It’s frustrating to do the little things here, like order delivery food or walk outside.
An accounting intern from Singapore sits next to me at work. He went out of town this weekend, and he told me if I wanted to go to the caves at Elephanta Island, his girlfriend was going and I could go with her. I sent her a text message asking if she wanted to meet up. I told her she would recognize me at the train station because I would be the only white guy. She said her and her friend would be the only two Chinese girls. I thought, this is an interesting situation: my first time into Mumbai proper, my first time riding the infamous suburban railway (the most densely packed train system in the world, 3000 die a year), all spent with two Singaporean Chinese girls.
Jingyi (pronounced like Chingy)(l) Christine (r)
We rode the train into the city and went to the loading terminal at the Gateway of India, a big archway built by the British at the Port of Bombay, in celebration of some colonial wanker, as the Irish and Scottish would say. This was Sunday, and the trains were hot and crowded, but not that bad really. I’m feeling invincible now though, and I’ll ride the train any time, any day.
it got fuller than this a few minutes after the photo
You must take an hour boat ride to get to the caves at Elephanta Island. The caves were carved out of a mountain on an island by ancients, and inside the caves are statues of Shiva and Vishnu, plus one of Ganesh. There may have been other Ganeshes, but I was so freaking hot all day, I didn’t really care to look for more.
Ganesh in the caves
Three separate times today people asked if they could get their picture taken with the two Chinese girls and me. I’m not sure if people were intrigued by the combination of us or just by them. Walking on the causeway to the island from where the boat dropped us off, a guy was trying to walk next to the girls while another guy walked backward to take his picture. Jingyi said to me that this guy probably wanted to get a picture with her. Her and Christine (and some others who didn’t come with us today) toured South India before their internships started, and Jingyi said she was pretty used to people asking to get their picture taken with her and that people had tried to do it surreptitiously too. She said, “Sometimes at the tourist attractions, we’re the tourist attraction too.”
It was hot today, and I got sunburned on my face and arms, even though I put on sunscreen. I probably sweat it all off, and tonight I found my sweat proof sunscreen in my suitcase. What a good idea that would have been. I also bought handkerchiefs yesterday to wipe the sweat from my face. Another great idea – too bad I left them at home. I sweat and sweat today. This heat and humidity makes me feel so sluggish, and the caves really weren’t that cool and required a lot of uphill walking.
We’d been seeing monkeys all day, and after the first few, we were over it. Monkeys are one of my top-5 least favorite animals. They throw poo, and I’m worried one will jump on my face or scratch me or bite me. I don’t trust the wily bastards. So on top of the mountain, Jingyi, Christine, and I sat on the exposed roots of a tree. It was hot, man, and we’d been walking a lot, and under the tree was shade. And this damn monkey was all up on us. He was real close, and I was thinking he would just let me be. He crept closer, and I was like, ok, that’s close enough, so I stood up and gave us some distance.
A man walked by carrying a bottle of water in a plastic bag. I saw this monkey run and jump and grab the bag, ripping it open and sending the bottle flying down the hill. I thought to myself, water, what a good idea. So I pulled the water bottle from my bag and drank and then I held it in my hand, forgetting about that little asshole monkey, who had crept up behind me. I heard the asshole growling. My fear of having a monkey jump on my face almost came true. I put the bottle in my bag, and walked away, and then these three Indian guys wanted their picture taken with me and my Asian girls. (This reminds me of the time I was at a bar in Paris with a half Chinese girl and a drunk Frenchman whispered in my ear, “I’ll trade you my wife for your Chinese friend.”) (This also reminds me of when I was in Chicago with four ballerinas, and I told a guy in the subway, “Please don’t talk to the ballerinas.”)
these weren't the troublesome monkeys
I saw more white people today than I’ve seen my whole time here. Almost all of them embarrassed me because they were dressed dorkily or where fat or a combination. Then I saw two white guys wearing board shorts and athletic sunglasses. They looked like real pricks and were being carried up the steps to the caves (there were a lot, a lot of steps) sitting on chairs being carried on poles by four guys. These carrying guys really looked like they were struggling. In this heat, that’s hard work.
I had a Kingfisher beer with lunch, maybe not a smart plan, and fell asleep on the boat on the way back to Mumbai. The sea was real rough, and I noticed there was an occupancy-limit sign posed on the boat. There are two different occupancies. One for the “fair season” and one for the “foul season.” Foul season – the monsoon season – is just getting ready to begin. While I was sleeping I was sprayed repeatedly by the choppy water sloshing into the boat, and ended up with salt all on my arms and in my ears.
The boat dropped us off at the Passenger Terminal at the Port of Mumbai, wasn’t where we embarked. The port smells, and we took a taxi out of there. On the way out, we smelled lots of awful smells, saw an endless pile of fetid trash on the side of the road, saw hundreds of squalid shacks, and lots of barefoot kids playing in the pools of brown standing water on the road. (One way to tell if a kid is a slum kid – and thus, to avoid him, cause he’ll try to hit you up for money – is whether he’s dirty and barefoot in the street). Riding in the taxi, I was thinking to myself how it’s almost amazing that these old hunks of junk run at all. They seem to be barely glued together. Shortly there after, we drove fast (of course) over a speed bump, and a problem occurred that sounded and felt like a flat tire. We got out and examined. There were no flat tires. We kept driving and the huge knocking thud continued. We said, “This is fine, drop us off here.” We were bear enough to the Gateway to not be too lost anymore.
And we went to Mumbai’s most sumptuous, old-world hotel, the Taj Mahal (click here), which is right next to the Gateway. We washed our filthy selves in the bathroom, and man, when I come back to Mumbai, this is where I’ll stay. Rooms start at $250 a night, which for this kind of luxury is cheap by U.S. standards.
Taj and Gateway
We chilled in the lobby, saw white people and rich Indians, then left and walked to Barista, a fancier Starbucks clone, and chilled for a few hours. I had an American drip coffee, and man, do I miss that, which is surprising considering how toward the end of last semester I dreaded having to pour one more cup of coffee down my throat.
These girls talk in an accent and sometimes I had to ask them to repeat. This is a little surprising considering English is practically their first language, but I got to chatting them up. I think they really liked it when I sang the Backstreet Boys – this kind of generic music, and of course two Bryan Adams’ songs, one played three times, is what was played at Barista. They invited me to go to dinner next weekend and to an Indian wedding. I’m probably gonna show them how we do it in the U.S.A. (do what, I don’t know – be cool I guess). To impress them I told them I was going to jump off the moving train when we got to Bandra station. This is the way the locals do it, but some guy was blocking the door to my stylish dismount. I’ll do it next time, and they’ll be really impressed.
I went home and washed my underwear in pales of water. This is easier than taking it all out to a launder, and I’m thinking the launder wouldn’t understand me anyway. I tried to order delivery food tonight, and nobody at the place could understand when I told them I lived at “Rosita Apartments.” “Ronsetta?” “Risetta?” And then a new guy would get on the phone, “Yes sir.” And he couldn’t understand me, and then a new guy, “Yes sir.” Finally, someone said he had my order. Two minutes later, a call back, “Which building sir?” “Rose – ee – ta.” I eventually hot hung up on, so I had peanut butter, a chocolate bar, and an apple for dinner.
It’s frustrating to do the little things here, like order delivery food or walk outside.
Comments
And those monkeys!!! Oh, my God! Now I know why the County Health Nurse said you should have a rabies immunization! Stay away from the filthy things! Don't you know the only rap singer in Cedar Rapids history died from a rabid bat bite? I don't want you to be the only libertarian, law/business student from St. Louis to die from a rabid monkey bite!! Even if it would make a good story at our DOUBLE FUNERAL!!!!!