FAFFD: April 5

Tuesday April 5^th was a long and exciting day.  We were traveling from Mumbai to New Delhi to start our three-day tour of the Golden Triangle (New Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur).  

We woke up at 3:40 am, and six people did their best to dress without waking my husband, who, as the sole breadwinner of our small family, was staying home to work. I personally took the time to enjoy a nice bowl of Fruity Pebbles, brought all the way from Battle Creek courtesy of Auntie, but I think most people skipped breakfast.  Shortly after my delicious multi-colored breakfast was consumed we crammed seven people into our Honda (Mom, Auntie, Fez, Sister, Friend K, my driver, and myself) and were off to the airport.  The drive to the airport certainly wasn’t the most comfortable drive, but at least it was early in the day and traffic was at a minimum.  Poor Fez, though, was stuck in the front seat on Auntie’s lap, and found her face a bit too close to the windshield and the terrifying view of traffic it provided.  Needless to say, she didn’t enjoy her ride.

It was a rough ride for all of us- but at least we weren’t driving.  My poor driver had picked up Sister and Friend K very late last night.  He turned around and drove us to the airport at 4:30 am, and he then had to drive my husband to work at 8:00 am.  I’m glad he was okay doing it- I’d have been exhausted.

 The airport transfer went smoothly; we dropped our checked bags and headed to the money exchange for Friend K.  We had discovered earlier in the week that it was nearly impossible to exchange money outside of the airport.  We had tried, on Friday, to go to my bank and exchange Auntie and Mom’s money.   The bank, at 2:00 pm and full of people, insisted they were closed.  Saturday was the World Cup Game, and so banks were open only for a couple of hours.  We went to the bank first thing, before doing our drive around the neighborhood, and wound up staying for over an hour before finally have the money deposited (not exchanged) at an incredibly lousy rate.  So, at the airport, we were all relieved to find the money exchange booth open so early as it provided us an easy and quick transaction. 

We went through a fairly empty security line, though we thought we’d never get through it as flight attendants, at least ten of them, continuously appeared, one at a time or in pairs, right before it was our turn to walk through the metal detector, and of course got priority to go first. But eventually they stopped and we managed to pass through security successfully.  We were at the good terminal, so we walked up the stairs to the food court, and bought bottles of waters, Sister and Friend K testing out their new currencies.  We then headed to our flight, which was already boarding. 

I sat with Fez, and we both read until breakfast was served.    I had loaned her Chetan Bhagat’s Five Point Someone, which the movie 3 idiots is loosely based upon, and she was absorbed in the pages like a true bookworm.  I love seeing someone that engrossed in a good book.  Call me cheesy, but it really makes me happy.  While she was enjoying that, I was reading Scarlett, which was written as a sequel to Gone with the Wind.  The book is amazing, by the way.   The author does a good job of mimicking Margaret Mitchell’s writing style, and Scarlett’s harebrained ideas, although I do have to say that Scarlett is a bit more lovable of a character than she is in the first book.  Anyhow, back to the flight…

Breakfast was served, which had a lousy vegetable meal (that I had ordered), but the rumor was that the eggs were quite good.  But I was most disappointed that they didn’t serve us the juice box at the beginning of the flight.  Lately, it seems, most of the Indian flights that I have been on have give out this juice box that I find fairly nasty tasting, yet I always drink the whole thing and wish for more. Perplexing, isn’t it? But apparently Air India is the one airline that doesn’t pass them out, so my family never got to experience them. 

Very shortly we were leaving our plane and walking through the New Delhi airport.  It was only 8:00 am, but it was still India, and I had expected a busier airport.  It was nearly empty.  It felt odd to be alone when we are usually surrounded by so many people. Mom commented that it was eerily similar to the movie/book The Langoliers by Stephen King.

We stopped at the first restroom, and then headed to baggage claim.  I insisted upon purchasing bottled water (which came in a vending machine), and we put six or seven bottles in poor Friend K’s carry-on bag.  After a second and third bathroom break, we finally headed out of the airport to be greeted by our travel agent.  He was there, holding a sign with my name in one hand, and in the other a nice burlap bag with sturdy handles and the company logo printed on the side. 

He escorted us to our nice, air-conditioned van.  Once we arrived, they passed out white and orange flowered leis (or whatever you would call it in India, as that is a Hawaiian word).  They smelled wonderful.  They also passed out bottles of water, which was quite welcome.  We of course took the time to posed for our “we are in Delhi” photo, complete with an adorable stray dog that came up to sniff us. 

We met our two drivers, H and R.  Actually, only R drives.  H is a Watcher.  It seems quite silly, as we were driving main roads, but a Watcher we had.  He was nice, though, and told us about the things we passed, and opened the door for us.  It was very much like the History Channel show IRT: Deadliest Roads.  Not that we were in commercial goods trucks, driving through the Himalayas (you should really watch that show, it is scary as anything), but similar in that those drivers also had a Watcher.  The Watcher on the show made sure that you didn’t fall of the cliff on one side, nor hit the solid rock wall on the other.   I’m quite glad our drive would be much more benign. 

 Before leaving, I passed over a huge wad of cash to the travel agency representative.  “May I have a receipt, please?” I asked.  Not surprisingly, they didn’t have anything to record the fact that I had just passed over more money than both of our drivers would make in one month.  So we agreed for me to text the company representative that I’d been in e-mail contact with, and have him confirm payment via text message.  After being in India for 3.5 months, I find this perfectly normal, although I’m sure I would have vehemently refused had I been in this situation four months earlier.  

The money business taken care of, the representative passed over the burlap bag of goodies and left.  It had a map of India (with the cities very unhelpfully written in Hindi), a book with our hotel vouchers, and a copy of our itinerary.  I passed around the reading material and kept the bag for my gym shoes. 

As we pulled out of the airport, I was amazed at the difference between New Delhi 2011 and New Delhi 2009, which was the last time I’d been in the city. New Delhi airport 2009 was dirty.  Thousands of human beings were in the streets, sleeping.  It was grubby, and basically looked like the ride to the airport in Mumbai.   But now?  New Delhi airport 2011 was beautiful!  Not only was the airport new, but also the roads were new, and had bright green grasses and flowers as landscaping.  I stared in amazement, and confusion, until Watcher H told me everything was new for the recently held Commonwealth Games.   Oh, the Commonwealth Games.  I remember that disaster.  I’d heard that the housing was inadequate, some stadiums unbuilt, and many athletes refused to come to New Delhi because of the lousy air quality.  Well, I understood that for New Delhi 2009, but New Delhi 2011 was a completely different picture!  

Of course, eventually the peace was shattered by a huge traffic jam.  We sat in a standstill for 20 minutes, but I didn’t mind.  I was back to being entrapped in the post-civil war world of Scarlett O’Hara.  In fact, the book was so good; I never once napped for the long drive. 

Our first ‘stop’ was actually a quick get-a-picture and leave ‘stop’.  It was very close to the airport and traffic jam.  At the roadside were three large statues.  I tried to find some reading material on them, but Google Maps India pretty much stinks compared to Google Maps USA- I just kept finding information to purchase small statues rather than the actual information on the large roadside attractions.  I will admit I am not well versed in the Hindu Gods, so please bear with me and my descriptions, which I basically stole from Wikipedia and this website:

http://www.sanatansociety.org/hindu_gods_and_goddesses.htm

There are five ‘main’ Hindu Gods:  Shiva, Vishnu, Devi, Surya, and Ganesha. 

The main center statue was a cooper or bronze statue of Shiva, the Hindu God of destruction.  He is holding his weapon, a trident.  He is surrounded by smaller statues, one of a cow (we learned that only the female cow is holy, not the male bull) and a few other humanoid Gods.  I recognized Ganesha, at least. 

To the left and right of the main, large Shiva statues are two pairs of statues (also large) of Vishnu and his consort, Lakshmi, but they are depicted as reincarnations of them.  So one pair is actually Krishna and Radha, the other pair is Rama and Sita.    Vishnu is the preserver of universe, and has four arms, at least in some of his depictions.  He is everywhere, and sounds a lot like the ether that early scientists used to think must exist to hold the moon in place.   He is the essence of everything- past and future. He also has the coolest weapon; a sudarshana chakra: a spinning, disk-like super weapon with 108 serrated edges. Lakshmi, his consort, is the perfect woman, goddess of wealth, courage, grace, wisdom, fertility, and charm.  Basically the Goddess of all the good stuff. She uplifts mankind. Wikipedia didn’t give her a weapon, but she does get to ride both elephants and owls, so that is pretty cool.  

Facing the main Shiva statue, the pair on the left of him were Krishna, in silver (paint?) accompanied by Radha (in bronze/copper), although Google told me Krishna had 16100 wives, plus a few consorts, so I’m not entirely sure it was her, though she was apparently his favorite.  She seems like the jealous type, though, because she took away his flute since she didn’t want him breathing his prana into it (I think that is basically the spirit- breath/life force). 

Okay, quick diversion: Who out there is a Dune fan? I love how those books pull so many great religious elements into them!  Prana-bindu training of the Bene Gesserit!

But back to Krishna.  Krishna’s weapon is apparently a discus but he is always depicted playing a flute.  I believe he is the Hindu God of love.  He must be pretty good at it to have that many wives!

To the right of the large Shiva Statue was a statue of Rama.  I am honestly not sure it was him, as it is my guess, rather than being told, but I do remember from Slumdog Millionaire that Rama has a bow and arrows…. And this silver statue has a bow and arrows.  The statue next to it also holds its hand up like that creepy kid in the movie.  Rama stands next to a female, who must be Sita.  Sita sets wifely and womanly virtues for women.  It sounds like her life was hard, though.  She lived in exile with her husband, was kidnapped for a year, and despite remaining true to her husband during that year, was later kicked out of her own home because she had (as a captive) live with another man.  Her own husband kicked her out, because he bowed to peer pressure.  There is an age-old lesson for ya.  She also walks/jumps on hot coals and fire at some point.  She raises her kids (from her husband) alone, and when he finally accepts the kids as his own, the earth splits open and she leaves the world.  I guess it doesn’t surprise me that I’ve met a lot more women named Lakshmi than Sita.  Okay, really only 2:0, but you see many things in Mumbai named Lakshmi, and the only thing I’ve seen named Sita is the travel agency. 

 Every statue was either gold/bronze/copper or silver in appearance, though I believe the colors were paint, not actually precious metals.   Such a long description for such a short stop!  But I thought the stories were interesting, and help to explain the pictures.   We soon got back into our nice air-conditioned van and continued on our merry way.   

Shiva

Krishna & Radha

Rama & Sita

Before we left, my driver (in Mumbai) reminded me that any place we stop pays our drivers (in New Delhi) a commission to bring people into their stores, so we should be wary of prices.  We stopped for a bathroom break at the same place we stopped in my 2009 tour.  First order of business, naturally, was the bathroom break.   10 rupees.  My goodness the price has gone up in the past two years!  It used to be 2 rupees.  The drivers had wanted a short break, so bored, we wandered around the gift shop, looking at prices.  We found the same items we had bought two days before, at Elephanta Island in Mumbai, but for 3x the price.   Happy with my Mumbai driver and his bargaining skills, we all gloated internally at our luck to have an inside man.  

I was busy eyeing the green-canned Pringles (I think it is sour cream and chive, but I just know I like the green can) when we got sick of the sales pitches and decided to wait on the porch.  Of course, the minute we stood on the porch a man started planning music and a little girl started dancing, asking for money.  After nearly four months in India, I have become immune to this sort of thing, and I just turned away, though everyone else still watched out of the corner of their eyes. 

I have to say, I am also getting better at my bargaining skills.  While we were standing around, a second group of tourists came up and made conversation with us.  They were from South Africa, and in New Delhi being honored for something (I feel like it was a good bridge he had built, but I don’t quite remember).   But the guy in the group started asking about the prices of items.  He said he wanted some water, but wanted to confirm what each bill was worth.  Now, I have no idea how to convert between whatever the South African currency is to rupees, but I know the cost of water in India.  And it sure as heck isn’t 100 rupees for one liter of water.  It should be about 15 rupees.  So I went with the guy to bargain.  

Now, I have to say, in the past, or in 2009, I would have meekly paid the 100 rupees (about $2) just to be done with it. But I’m sick of being taken advantage of, so I went right up and started arguing.  “How much for the water?” I asked, being careful not to smile.  “100 rupees,” was the answer.  “15” I offered, which is the real price.  I know you should start lower than the real price, but it is hard to get much lower than 15 for anything.   “No, no, no.  I give you 50”.  “No, 15,” I insist.  At this point, a second employee comes up and insists, “Fixed price, no bargain”.  I am pretty sure I snorted at that point, and admonished him, “yes bargain, he already offered me 50.  No fixed price.  You lie to me.”  He grins sheepishly and says, “okay, okay, 50”.   I shook my head, no, and went back to 15.  “No, no.  40” is the next offer.    Urgh.  I go up, despite knowing it is wrong, “25”.   “No, no, no”.   I do my best Indian head bob and say no, walking back to the exit.  The South African dude follows my lead.  “Wait!  30,” they shout.   “Okay, okay,” I say.   Still paying double the price, but at least it isn’t too ridiculous.  A fancy hotel or restaurant might charge that much.    “How many do you want?” I asked the South African.   He looks confused, and answered two.  I ask him for the sixty rupees, but he pulls his wallet out and has no idea what is in it.  I swear, I don’t understand how he could have managed to get the money and not even look at it.  I pull out a red bill (red is the color of the 50 rupee bill), but it turns out it was South African money.  I finally just pay for the water and give it to the guy.  I was quite happy with myself.  I might not have gotten the perfect bargain, but at least I tried, and I did get it down to a better price.    So I was quite satisfied, and if I were a cat, I would have been purring at my little conquest.  

We hopped back into the van and continued on our drive to Agra, which, Watcher H told me, is the birthplace of Krishna.  A quick Google check confirmed that the birthplace was within 50 km of the Agra airport.      

As we neared Agra, we picked up an extra person.   In each city, we had tour guides appointed to lead us around and tell us the history and significance of all the buildings.   Our guide then rode with us to our first real tourist stop.  We went to Sikandra, an Agra suburb, which is home to the tomb of the absolutely fascinating character, Akbar the Great (1542-1605).  He apparently commissioned the tomb himself, as our guide told us he thought his son was too lazy to do it.   But his son did a good job of finishing it.   Now, a quick little history lesson (mostly courtesy of Wikipedia again).

Akbar the Great was part of the Mughal dynasty, which, in its heyday, covered central and northern India, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, and Pakistan.  In their prime, the Mughals (which can be spelled in a wide variety of ways) were primarily Muslim, but Akbar especially sought to unite all of the faiths and had big think-tank-like philosophical groups comprised of people from each religion.  He even founded his own, apparently short-lived religion, to unite everyone.     

Anyhow, Akbar was thirteen and probably a Sunni Muslim when he took the throne, and over two decades he consolidated all of the power in Northern and Central India.  He tried to keep good relations, though, by marrying a Hindu princess and keeping their families in the loop.  Before him, the princesses were considered lost to their Hindu families and had no standing.  But Akbar let them keep their religion.   Rumor has it he had at least three (main) wives- one from each religion: Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity.  But our tour guide said that it wasn’t proven if he had a Christian wife or not.  It is all rather confusing.  Akbar died from dysentery at the age of 63.  

Anyhow, we were about to stop and see Akbar’s tomb.  

Later in the day we would visit Agra Fort, and the next day, we would visit (after the Taj Mahal) Fatehpur Sikri (another Fort/City).   Agra Fort had changed hands very frequently in the years before Akbar (his father was both crowned and defeated there), but it was Akbar who repossessed it and rebuilt it as it stands today.  It took eight years to rebuild it.  Now, Akbar built with red sandstones.   But his grandson, Shah Jahan preferred marble.   So some parts of the interior were destroyed and re-done by this grandson.   Ironically enough, some of the pretty marble parts became Shah Jahan’s own prison, because his son, Aurangzeb, overthrew his own father and imprisoned him in a tower.  The tower overlooks the Taj Mahal.  

The other site we would see, an hour outside of Agra, Fatehpur Sikri, is a red sandstone city built by Akbar, but it was abandoned very soon after being built, because the water wells dried up.

So what about the Taj Mahal, also located in this same region?  The Taj Mahal was built by Akbar’s grandson, Shah Jahan, the same guy imprisoned in Agra Fort.  Everyone got it?

Okay, after that second history lesson of the day, we can move on to our visit of Akbar’s tomb.  The gateway to the tomb is beautiful.  Tombs are required to have four entrances- one each pointing north, south, east, and west.  That way, the spirit can leave in any direction. Everyone enters through the fancy southern gateway- the rest weren’t really functional.   Muslims face west to pray, and in Akbar’s tomb, the feet of the body point south, and the head is turned to face the west.   We were wowed simply by the gateway, however, before even seeing the tomb! The tomb entryway had a beautiful, ornate ceiling, covered with gold embellishments and painted blue.  Our tour guide told us when it was restored- I believe it was around 100 years ago.   The tomb itself had six levels, with a huge dome hidden within the structure.  

Southern Gateway to Akbar's Tomb

Beautiful Ceiling at Akbar's Tomb

Once we passed through the entrance of the tomb, we were amazed at the beauty of the yard.  Apparently it had been turned into a wildlife preserve, and ungulates peacefully grazed on the grass, oblivious to the human intruders. 

When we entered the tomb, of course removing our shoes and paying the shoe guy to protect them, we learned that the men are buried with a ‘pen box’ on top of their tomb, and the women with a ‘slate’.   Basically, the male tombs have a small decorative raised surface, like cutting a cylinder in half the long way, and the females have a small decorative flat surface.  It is bad to step on a grave, so the bodies are buried beneath the earth, but the space directly above the body has a casket placed over it, so people can’t step on it.  In fact, if a building is made with multiple floors, then a replica casket is placed on each level, so that you never step directly on the body, regardless of how many feet you are above the ground level.  Although I’m sure airplanes, at some point, must point directly above these sites, just on accident, right?  So at some level, it sure seems like they’ve been stepped upon.  But I guess tombs built hundreds of years before flight can’t really prepare for such things. Akbar’s tomb was very bare, with no decorations.   But in smaller side rooms, where his daughters, I believe, are buried, there are pretty mosaic floors. 

We left the Akbar’s Tomb and headed to our van. Of course, first the hawkers swarmed us, wanting us to purchase scarves and soapstone boxes and other things we had no desire to own.  We crawled in to our van, and our guide hopped on with us.  He grabbed the necklaces that one vendor was selling, and held it up high.  “Does anyone want to buy this stuff?” he asked, bored.  We all answered “no” and our guide sent them on their way.   But he repeated this at other stops, too, which we really didn’t appreciate.  

We drove off, with plans to check-in at our hotel, grab a very quick and late lunch, and then head back out to Agra Fort.  Along the way, Driver R apparently got in the wrong lane (I didn’t know such thing was even possible in India) to make a turn.  I still don’t quite understand how it happened, but it really makes me question the usefulness of Watcher H.  Wasn’t it his job to spot such problems and prevent it?  Anyhow, a traffic cop saw the violation, and came up and knocked on Driver R’s window.  I, of course, had been engrossed in Scarlett, and didn’t see the cop.  I just saw our driver hop out of his door.  Yes, we were still on the road, in the far left lane.  While our tour guide and Watcher H attempted to explain what had happened, I naturally assumed we’d get to watch our first bribe in action.  Driver H and the cop walked across the street, and soon accumulated an audience as they fought.  We couldn’t hear what was going on, of course, but watched the clock tick down.  Who’d have thought a bribe would take so long?  I guess they just have to bargain, just like with the water purchase.   Ten or fifteen minutes later, our driver hopped back in the van and proudly exclaimed he didn’t pay a bribe at all!  We cheered, still not entirely clear as to what happened, but glad to be moving again.  

Check-in at the hotel wasn’t too bad; they collected our passports and processed our rooms while we waited on brown leather ottomans.  The hotel has a modern appearance, with clean lines and fun yellow sofas surrounded by glass vases with yellow flowers.  Due to the traffic violation, we didn’t have much time to eat.  Restaurants in India are incredibly slow, despite the fast pace of life, so we decided to order pizza.   

I went to the concierge and asked to be connected to pizza hut.  Now, I’m great on the phone with Baskin Robbins, but the Dominos in Mumbai can’t understand a word of what I say.  The Agra Pizza Hut wasn’t any better.   Not having a menu, I just wanted to randomly order two pizzas (one pepperoni, one sausage and mushroom).  But of course, that is much easier said than done.    The first thing you do on any food phone call is to give your telephone number, so I naturally gave it to the Pizza Hut guy.  Then he repeated it, twice.  I told him I was at the hotel.  He repeated that, twice.   He asked for my room number.  I said I didn’t have one yet.  He said he couldn’t take my order without it.  I asked to give the order, and then give the room number after. No, no, no.  I sat there, waiting, until the front desk assigned me a room.  I gratefully thanked them, and then resumed my conversation.  Yes, I’d like to order these two pizzas.  He messed up my order, repeated it, then repeated my phone number, and then re-repeated the order.  Wrong.  Sighing, I corrected him.  “Okay, and would you like breadsticks with that?”  Sure, sure.  Whatever.  I’m in a hurry, please just place the order!  “Okay, one order of breadsticks, one pepperoni pizza, one mushroom and chicken sausage pizza. Do you want soda with that?”  “NO!  Please, please, please just place my order!”.  After a few more questions, all very slowly asked, he finally hung up.  

We walked to our rooms; fervently hoping the pizza actually arrived before we had to leave to see Agra Fort.   All of our rooms were on the ground level.  Fez and I were staying together, and our room smelled awful.  But Mom/Auntie and Sister/Friend K said their rooms smelled just fine.  Their rooms looked out at the road, but had windows covered with thick flowering vines.  Our window overlooked the pool.  It looked very inviting. 

The room itself was simple, with two beds covered in thin white blankets.  The walls were white, with a pink/yellow/purple themed wallpaper border and a rug to match.  Yellow curtains and a yellow couch completed the room.  The bathrooms were quite nice, with green stone covering every surface.  We later learned, however, that the shower door wasn’t too efficient, and the floor was permanently soaked after showers.

Within the thirty minutes, our pizza had arrived and we chowed down in our smelly room. Fez hoped the cleaning supply smell would be replaced by a delicious pizza odor, but when we returned later that night it still smelled of the Pine-sol or whatever it was that had originally stunk it up.  I have never actually used Pine-sol, but based on the happiness of that woman in the commercials, I think Pine-sol must smell a lot better than our room. 

We finished our pizza and headed to the lobby to meet our tour guide.

After a short drive, we arrived at Agra Fort.  A woman, with a huge bag of cut grasses balancing on her head, was exiting the fort as we were entering.  Our guide told us the grass was for her cows.  I guess the Fort is multi-purpose!  As at every place we have visited and will visit, hawkers selling their wares instantly swarmed us.   Doing our best to ignore the bangles and booklets shoved in our faces, we proceeded up with walkway. 

Imposing sandstone walls greeted us.  The entrance was build to thwart intruders, and gently twisted and curved about.   We first crossed an empty moat that stank of sewage and once held crocodiles; then we passed through a huge pair of doors.  We walked up a ramp that can be drizzled with boiling oil when enemies invade, and opened into a huge courtyard.   

Entrance to Agra Fort

View of Jahan's Location of House Arrest

Some of the Marble Work

On the Left is the 'Good' Daughter's Marble Home.  On the Right is the 'Bad' Daughter's Plaster Home.

The courtyard was full of now-short green grass, and a huge stone bathtub so big it required steps both inside and out.  Apparently the King considered it portable, and used manpower to move the tub to a different desired location at his whim. 

Tantalizing views of the Taj Mahal peeked from various corners of the building, teasing us about our next day’s adventures.  Ornately carved sandstone had elephant heads as structural supports.   The earlier portions of the fort were of red sandstone, but beautiful marble, done during Akbar’s grandson’s reign (Shah Jahan) was also visible.   Remember, Shah Jahan was imprisoned in this fort during his later years.   He was stuck in a beautiful marble corner, over-looking the Taj Mahal.   When Shah Jahan was rebuilding, he built two homes within the fort for his two daughters (I think he MUST have had more than two daughters, but maybe these two were special).  One daughter, a rebel, who eventually supported the son who overthrew Jahan’s reign, was given a house of plaster.  But the favored daughter was given a house of marble.  

We saw the seat where Akbar and others would sit, his chief minister below him, and the people in the courtyard, ready to give their concerns and have their voices heard.  The women, of course, could not be seen, much less heard, and the King’s sitting room had two walls that were carved marble fences, which the wives could peek through and shout their opinions if the king so wanted to hear them.

We learned how portraits of the women were made.  Of course one would want paintings of their wife- but no man can see the women to paint her.  So how were they done?  Apparently, mirrors were set up, and the woman would sit behind a curtain, only her reflection visible, and the artist would draw her reflection.

We also learned that the fort had a stray cannon ball during the struggle for independence.   We re-traced its trajectory and saw by the huge hole in some of the marble that it bounced much further than any of us thought possible. 

The fort was full of so many things.  Not only was it for defense, but it was also their home.  Children were taught there, laws were made, harems danced, and village markets thrived.  But it is empty now. 

It had been a long day.    As we left Agra Fort, the smell of smoke reached our noses.  I’m getting used to random burnings, of garbage, tires, or whatever else, but the combination of the day’s exhaustion with the smoke exhaust was enough to make my eyes feel incredibly painful and tear up.  We reached our hotel by 7:00 pm and I gratefully took a shower and conked out by 8:00 pm.  Fez did her best to sit by the pool and read, but the mosquitoes got the better of her, and she was in bed quite early as well.   Mom, Auntie, Sister, and Friend K were the partiers of the group and checked out the hotel bar before sleeping by 10:00 pm.   

The next day we were going to see the Taj Mahal!

FAFFD: April 4

Just as a warning, this one is pretty boring.  

Monday, April 4^th was destined to be a long day stretching into a long night.  In the end, our itinerary became a visit to an art museum in the morning, a walk at Juhu Beach, and then a late night trip to the airport to pick up my sister and her boyfriend, who I’ll call Friend K.  After a very quick turnaround at the airport, we had to head back out at 4:30 am on the 5^th for our trip to the Taj Mahal. 

Our first order of business was to head to the art museum.  In Mumbai, most museums are closed on Mondays, so I was excited to find a place that was open for the day.  It is called the Jehangir Art Gallery, and I’d heard good things about it.  We took the hour drive down, parked, and went inside.  It wasn’t exactly what we expected.  I guess we took it for granted that it would be a museum, but it was, as the name suggests, just a gallery.    Two hallways with recent modern paintings.  Some of which was really weird.   One room was devoted to paintings of bicycles.  Another room was full of artwork that looked like it was done by Napoleon Dynamite.  Remember his liger drawings?  Yep….  

So I was very disappointed.  The gallery has rave reviews online, and is apparently nationally famous.  But I was doubly disappointed because I knew it was Monday, and the rest of the museums in the neighborhood would be closed, and thus we had basically driven an hour downtown for nothing. 

We left, unsure what to do next.  The daily plans were slowly unraveling, and I was unsettled.  But we decided to walk around the museum grounds as they were shaded and fairly empty, being closed.  We admired the beautiful buildings, wishing it wasn’t Monday.  All too soon, our lap was over and we headed back to our car.  

I think we were all a bit sleepy, because we decided to just head back home and have lunch with my husband, who was just starting a new case and available for the day.  We swung by our apartment, picked him up, making it six people in the car, and stopped at a restaurant we’ve always wanted to try.  It was just off Carter road, and actually within walking distance of our house. 

We walked down a set of stairs to the indoor seating.  It was completely empty, except for a bartender who looked extremely bored.  We pushed two tables together, sat, and looked around.  The restaurant smelled awful, like cleaning supplies, but it seems like all of the restaurants in Bandra smell like that, so I quickly forgot about the odor.  It had a wooden theme, and the walls and table were made of wood.    

I had been very excited to try the restaurant because it had pumpkin ravioli on the menu.   But I was disappointed with the results.  The amount of pumpkin was tiny, and it was smothered in a heavy cream sauce that masked the taste of the ravioli.  Boooo.    

It was just a so-so sort of day so far.   I think we were all tired from heat exposure, Mom and Auntie were probably a bit jet-lagged, and we all knew we’d have to be up very early the next day.  So we decided to head home, finish watching 3 idiots, which half of us slept through the night before, and try our luck outdoors in the evening when it was cooler.  

The plan went well, and, sleepy, but eager to go out, we decided to drive to Juhu, another northern neighborhood of Mumbai, and check out the beach.  Along the way, my driver drove us past his neighborhood, and tried to point out his front door.   It turns out he is on the first floor (which is one level above the ground floor).  It looked like a small crowded apartment building, but it is really hard to judge the interior of a building by the exterior.  I wish we could have stopped and gone inside, but I also don’t know if I want to see it, since it will probably make me sad.  I know he has pet sharks, though.   So that might be fun to see.

We reached the beach and were wowed.  Despite the large number of people, it was somehow calming.  It was so beautiful.  The tide was down, and people took advantage of the extra beach space to set up endless cricket games.  

The ever-present vendors sold new items- flying toy planes, large parachute men who actually flied like a kite, and, my personal favorite, balloons that are twisted into the shape of monkeys.  Flying monkeys!  So cute.   

We walked along, enjoying the sunset and eying even more sights.  Women constantly approached us, asking if we wanted henna stamps.   A man with a monkey on the leash asked us if we’d like to pay to watch his monkey dance.   He assured us that the monkey danced,  “just like Michael Jackson!”  My driver told us he just stood with a stick over his shoulders.  I secretly watched when someone else paid.   It definitely wasn’t dancing, much less Michael Jackson dancing!  

As we walked, we noticed a woman sitting on a blanket.  Next to her was a young girl, maybe just a teenager.   The young girl was whimpering as the women held her hand and pointed a piece of metal over her skin.  My driver told us she was getting a tattoo.  A real tattoo.  On a blanket on the beach.  Now I really have seen everything.

We watched a small Ferris wheel, and realized it was powered by man!  Two people stood on either side, and pushed it for the six people riding.   Next to it was a round, elevated wooden board with a few plastic big wheel cars fastened to it.  It too, was being spun by manpower. 

Mom took pity on the beggar kids and handed out gum.  Now, I’ve given my driver American gum before, and he said it was too sweet for him.  So I curiously watched the kids’ reactions.  Sure enough, they unwrapped it, tossed the wrapper to the ground, popped the gum in their mouths, chewed, and promptly spit it out on to the sand. 

All in all, we peacefully walked up and down the beach, watched a gorgeous sunset, and decided to head home to have a quick break and dinner of leftovers before going to pick up Sister and Friend K. 

Fez and I went to the airport while Mom and Auntie got ready for bed.  I will admit I am becoming sick of the drive to the airport, but the worst was that we’d just have to turn around in a few hours and head back!  Tonight was exciting, though, because there was a huge fight right outside our apartment building!  Our driver was very excited, but the crowd was too big for us to actually see anything.

At the airport, Fez and I stood with the masses of people, waiting to see Sister and Friend K.  Eventually they arrived, and my sister pretended to not see us.  We goofed around until she ‘saw’ us and headed to the exit.  There was an accident at the airport, so we had to wait nearly 20 minutes until the accident was cleared enough for my driver to pull up.   We drove home.   We joked, and told Sister and Friend K how we were naming all of the dogs. They seemed less amused than Fez, my driver, and myself.  Near my house, my driver said, “make sure you get your camera ready!”  Confused, I wondered what the heck he was stopping for, photo-wise, in the dark.  But we pulled up next to the abandoned kiddie ride that my mom loved and insisted on taking way too many photos of the first night!   Fez and I laughed, but I think Sister and Friend K were just confused.

We got home, made a nice bed (on the floor, I ran out of beds and couches) for sister and Friend K, and I got a second round of gifts!  Cadbury crème eggs, plenty of oatmeal, and Clearasil.  I love having visitors!   We took turns showering, and headed off to bed for three hours of sleep before we flew to Delhi the next morning.  

FAFFD: April 3

Sunday, April 3^rd was our first day of being real tourists.  Our plan was to go to Elephanta Island.   The name comes from a huge stone elephant that was found on the island, but has since been moved to stand in front of a building somewhere or other in Mumbai.  I’d heard good things about the island, which is full of caves with ancient stone carvings, and we were all excited to see it.

To reach the island, we first had to drive south for about an hour to the Gateway of India.   The Gateway of India is a big structure located on the water, and it is where the British ceremoniously left India.    Next to the gateway are ferryboats that take us on a one-hour boat ride to the island.  

Of course, before we left, we had to enjoy a wonderful breakfast of poha.  Poha is, I think, flattened rice.  Little white pieces about the shape and size of your pinky fingernail, you can make it savory or sweet (as they say here in India).  For breakfast, we made it savory, and my cook had added onions, potatoes, curry flavorings, etc to it.  We ate leisurely, as Mom, Auntie, and Fez had been up for hours, watching the birds from the porch, as was their morning tradition.  

After finishing breakfast, we came down to the car to meet my driver.  He is a pretty emotional and honest guy.  He tells me about each time he cries, for example.   But I guess it is good he is being honest.  Of course, he also tells me about when he is lying to other people.  So who knows what is truth or not.  But, I do have to say that we were all in hysterics with his story that morning.

Last night, of course, India won the Cricket World Cup, right here in Mumbai.   Needless to say, the city was pretty ecstatic.   Fireworks had been set off all night, and we were going to ask my driver if he’d been enjoying the revelry.   But he beat us to it.  

“How was your night?” we asked him.   “Oh, very bad,” he replied.  Apparently, he WAS out enjoying the partying, but enjoyed it a bit too much.  His wife (who, by the way was sick, and on a liquid diet for the week, and probably extra grumpy because of it) kept calling him, asking him to come home.  But he was out, having fun with his friends, and kept saying no to the repeated phone calls.   Eventually, she just locked the door on him and went to bed!  “So I came here to sleep in the car,” he concluded his story.   We were all mixed with pity and laughter. 

So yes, my driver slept in the car.  Later Auntie pointed out that his t-shirt (it is weird, but Indians iron their t-shirts here) was much wrinkly-er than it had been the day before!  But the poor guy hasn’t had food since the previous evening.  We kept asking if he wanted to stop and grab something, but “no, no, no, let’s go” was the answer.   I just hope he wasn’t too hung over.

We drove south, pointing out Ambani’s crazy fantastic house along the way.  There are several super rich people in India.  The most famous (at least, by my reckoning) is a family named TATA.  I mean, talk about your fingers in every pie.  They sell cars, trucks, bottled water, internet connectivity, gas, jewelry, etc. Very different pies.  I mean, I know Kraft owns a ton of stuff in America, but I thought it was all food-related.   TATA is all over the board.  Anyhow, after TATA, Ambani is pretty famous.   The school I worked at was named after him.  He has a huge energy and textiles industry.   Well, the original Ambani died, so I think this must be one of his sons.   Anyhow, his house…. Well, I googled a picture of it if you are interested…(scroll to the bottom) http://bharatlines.com/mukesh-ambani-his-wife-nita-ambani-to-their-new-house-building-antilia-in-mumbai-photos-pics/.  The stories I heard about it are actually less impressive than the truth.  It is apparently 27 floors, not the 17 I’ve been told.    I’ve also heard that only 7 people live in it.  Anyhow, it is quite a house, so we made sure to point it out before continuing our drive.

We next stopped at Nariman Point.   It is home to my husband’s office, but it is also the end of a beautiful walkway called Marine Drive.   You can walk for a good hour along this drive (which we didn’t do that day), just enjoying a good breeze and the Arabian Sea.  However, we didn’t stop for a walk; stopped at the Point to take photos of where the terrorists stormed onto Indian land in 2008, via small speedboats.  I actually had never heard this level of detail before, and I couldn’t find confirmation or denial that this is where they actually landed.  But it is where my driver told me they landed.   It is so weird to stand there, see all of the people, see the beautiful water, and imagine how scary those days must have been.  We did get in trouble, though, because (naturally) we smiled in the photos, and my driver told us that for that location, it was inappropriate. 

The point is full of 4-pointed (stars, according to my driver) cement water breaks.  They sort of look like the pieces from that old game jacks, where you bounce the ball and pick up the jack pieces.  They are kind of pretty, the way they all stack up against each other in the water.   So many Indian tourists were at the Point, enjoying the day.  There was a vendor selling street food, which Mom really wanted to try.  So my driver bought it for us (so we didn’t have to pay the white-person price), and we snacked on it.  It was sort of boring tasting.  I expected more flavor from an Indian dish.   When we had our fill of the Point, we drove to the Gateway of India and looked for parking.

Parking was difficult. We’d forgotten that the Cricket World Cup had been held the day before, and apparently the team was staying, and partying, in a hotel next to the Gateway.  So we drove around, looked at some beautiful British era buildings (I know it is terrible to say, but the only beautiful buildings in Mumbai are British era buildings.  The rest of the stuff, unless it serves a religious purpose or is a hotel, is incredibly ugly).  Eventually parking was found and we walked to the Gateway for tickets.  

I am so glad our driver was with us.  It was a complete madhouse, full of people waiting for the ferries, mixed with the news reporters, news vans, and fans hoping to get a glimpse of the world championship team (from India, of course!).  Actually, I like of liked it.  They weren’t staring at us for a change.  But it was chaotic.  But our driver, having never been to the island himself, at least understood the language, and after a few words, he ran up to the proper ticket booth, and found us the correct line to wait in for the Elephanta Island ferry. 

It is a good thing we had him to tell us the proper line, because on our way back, our boat and another boat looked like they would collide! It was pretty scary, actually.  Both were doing turning maneuvers to stop the collision, and there wasn’t a safety talk when we entered the boat.  If there were life vests, they were well hidden, and I’m guessing someone that fell in would have to make-do with the rubber tires tied to the boats as a life preserver.   But never fear, we didn’t quite collide- in fact we stopped, and took on a passenger from the other boat.  Apparently the guy had gotten on the wrong ferry, and he needed our boat to take him back to shore.  So, like I said, I’m glad we had our driver to get us on the right boat!

We waited in the long ferry line, which fortunately had a few cops/men in uniform next to it, keeping us in line and not cutting.   Very shortly, we boarded our ferry.   This thing was ancient.  My driver, who was going with us to the island, joked that it was a British-era boat.   I think it might be true, though!   We paid an extra 10 rupees (about a quarter) to sit on the top level.  

The ride was supposed to take an hour, but the boat was a bit slow.  We stopped counting how many ferries passed us, and instead started applying extra sun block, to the amusement of the Indian tourists on board. But we didn’t care; we didn’t need to burn up there.  My driver started complaining about the heat.   He still hadn’t eaten anything for the day!

My driver, I do have to say, has an obsession with drinking sugar cane water.  He does it each morning.  He tells me it is good for his health.  I always ask him how it is for his teeth, but he says his teeth are great.   The front ones are okay.  The back teeth are orange, though.  Anyhow, the point of this is that no, he still hasn’t had food yet.  But he did stop, while we were walking to the Gateway, to get his morning glass of sugar cane.   Can you imagine how awful you would feel at noon after having partied all night, with no food in your system but sugar cane water?   Especially with the sun beating down on your forehead.

As my driver had pointed out, the boat was old.  The two level boat had a crooked wooden cross at the top, and there were seats for 50 or so around the edge of the boat on the upper deck.   The upper deck seats, made of red plastic faded to a pink, had upholstery that had long since disintegrated, and left bits of dirt and foam cushioning on our backsides when we got up.  Especially Fez’s.  I’m sure it was much to the amusement of the rest of the boat that we brushed her off, but you really can’t go walking around with those years of grime stuck to your backside. 

When we exited the boat, we were in for a real surprise.  Rather than docking on, say, a dock, our ferry instead tied up to another ferry.   That ferry was tied to a staircase.  The whole process was odd.  So we had to step, over the open water, from one swaying boat, to another swaying boat. We then, to get off of that boat, had to step on some rubber tires and then step up onto the staircase.  At least we were tall.  I think it would have been very difficult for a little kid.  Or a parent with the little kid in their arms.   On the staircase when we returned, I actually tripped, fell, and scratched my sunglasses.  So it is dangerous! 

Regardless, we finally walked up and were on the island.  I immediately bought everyone a bottle of water.  The pricing was honest, which made me happy.  I also bought a little guidebook, but it was completely worthless, as we came to find out.   There really isn’t much to see on the island.    

The tide was high (it is really fun to live someplace where I actually get to see the changing tides, I’ve never noticed things like that before), so we looked at some submerged poles and speculated whether or not they were shipwrecked boats.  We walked along, the food vendors not too difficult to ignore.  Of course, the fancy hat vendor was temping, especially for a nice ridiculous pink hat, but we saved our money and walked on along the narrow cement path, surrounded on both sides by swampy waters.  

We soon came upon a tiny little train.  It is even smaller than the one that drives around Cedar Point.  It sort of looked like a train you’d see set up at the county fair for little kids.  The engine car was painted in bright colors, a mix of pinks, greens, and blues or something like that, unlike an American engine that would be plain black, red, or maybe yellow.  “You want to ride the train?” our driver asked eagerly.   We looked at it.  The ending point, the end of the narrow walkway, wasn’t too far away.   It’d be faster to walk….  But what the heck, you are only here once.  We paid the fare (10 rupees, round trip), and waited to hop on board. 

The seats were just wooden benches, painted black, and fit 2 or 3 people per row.  I was seated next to the edge of the pathway, and I wondered how many times people fell off and got stuck between the wall and the train.  Very, very shortly, our train ride was done and we entered upon the next pathway.  

The next pathway was a huge set of stairs.   Well over 100 steps, I am sure.  Before we were allowed on the stairs, we stopped and paid a government tax of 5 rupees.   I, eternally hungry, also stopped for an ear of corn that was roasted over an open fire.  Yum!   I ate it as we walked toward the open stairwell.   The pathway had widened to a comfortable distance, and on either side were vendors with typical touristy items, like statue elephants and jewelry.   Of course, we weren’t just sharing our pathway with humans.  Cows were there, too!   And cows like corn….   

At first, the cows were just moseying about; doing whatever it is cows do on a cement slab.   But then they noticed my ear of corn, and very determinedly walked towards me.  “Hide it!” shouted my driver.   I put it behind my back, but not before taking another bite.  It was good!   He went and stood in front of the first cow, and managed to distract it and let me slip past it.  Then the next.  And the next…. The cows weren’t aggressive, but one definitely gave me a nudge on my backside.   They were cute, but I wasn’t giving up my corn.   Once I finished my corn the cows stopped following and we had reached the beginning of the staircase.

The staircase was huge.  It was wide, build of cement, and extended up for as far as the eyes could see.  It was outdoors, and on either side of the stairwell were vendors hawking items.  Beyond the stairs were scattered trees, cows, dogs, and small huts.  The entire thing was fortunately covered with blue tarps, so at least the sun was kept off of your back as you hiked up it.  

And on every side, monkeys pranced about!  They were on top of the blue tarp; they were running up both sides of the stairwell.  Some would run across, blocking your path.  Some were aggressive, hissing at us.  Many were nursing mothers.  Others just wanted our food.  I will admit to screaming a few times when they got too close.  The fun cows were instantly forgotten.    Our driver was braver (or stupider, your pick) than us, and went straight up to the monkeys and would harass them.  He would get close, make some monkey hissing sound, and then use his elbow as a point to get them to back off.  It seemed to work, but I don’t quite understand the whole elbow thing.  Regardless, we enjoyed watching him play with the monkeys.  He gave them some pass-pass, which is the Indian equivalent of an after dinner mint.  I love that stuff; it is all minty and fresh in your mouth.  It looks like the monkeys liked it, too.

We walked up the stairs, slowly huffing in the muggy air, looking at all of the items up for sale, noting their locations for our way back down.   When we finally reached the top, it opened into the island admission.  It is so odd- so far we’ve paid for the ferry ride, a train ride, and a tax, but despite being on the island for an hour, we haven’t actually paid for admission to the caves.  I wondered if people took the ferry the whole way there just to shop.

We stood in line, and listened to people probably similar to me argue that they should be able to pay the Indian rate, because they lived in India.  But their skin was white, and they were refused.   The Indian rate is always much, much cheaper than the foreigner rate.    I mean, it does make sense, right?  Some places in America (state parks, even museums) have different rates. If you are already from the city and already pay the city taxes, then you get a discount.  This woman already lived in India, and paid its taxes. But she was white, so she still doesn’t get the discount.   My husband and I actually have to carry around these little blue books stating as much, but I’ve only had it honored once, so I stopped carrying it around.  

We finally pay our admission to the caves, and walk to the first cave.  It is a very short walk, just a minute or two.   We are on an island, now at a relatively higher elevation, so there is a good breeze, and a fair amount of shade.   The wily monkeys are still running about, cows wandering around, and the ever present, well-behaved dog just sits patiently waiting for food scraps.   I know I mention the stray dogs in nearly every blog, but they are SO well-behaved.  I mean, these monkeys are awful, and harassing people, taking food. The cows try to bully for it. But the feral dog?  It just sits there, enjoying the human company.   Weird.  But I like it. 

Anyhow, we walked up to the main cave, which is the largest.   You walked not down, but straight into the cave.  Unlike most caves, it was still quite hot.  The walls had huge carvings of people, bulls, and gods.   The dates of the carvings are unknown, but old (I’ve heard anywhere between 2nd century and 8th century), and most were worn down and nearly all of the women had at least one breast missing. 

I will be honest.  I was pretty disappointed.  I had heard that the caves were not well kept, but they were awful.   Have you ever been to a miniature golf course, and it has big ‘landscaping rocks’ scattered about?  Maybe one of the rocks even has a waterfall?   When you look closely at the ‘rocks’, they are very obviously made of concrete or plastic….  This is what the cave looked like.  It was all fake material.  Most of it was so old; it had the steel re-enforcement beams showing.  At one point, I even noticed a small ‘door’ in the ‘rock’ that was the electricity outlet.  The whole thing looked like a hokey movie set from the 1960’s TV show Lost in Space.  When you look at a picture of the cave entrance, it is obvious where they put in huge reinforcements.  But even inside, you’ll be looking at something you think is real, and realize it is in fact new.    So I don’t really know what was real or not inside.   I mean, I know some of the carvings must have been legit, but overall, there is so much repair work, it is hard to really enjoy it.  At least from a geologist’s prospective.   Other people didn’t seem as horrified as I was. 

We took a few fuzzy photos, and wandered off to the next cave.  I still enjoyed myself, despite being disappointed in the caves.  It is easy to have fun when surrounded with family and friends and a good breeze!   The first cave was by far the most detailed and best.  The rest had just a couple carvings, or just square holes, or a rounded half-pill shape thing that was apparently an alter of some sort that people left flowers and money upon.

Visiting the caves is a straight-ish line path, so we started skipping a few of them, making a beeline toward the restroom.  The restrooms were hilarious.   There were three stalls (well, I can only speak for the ladies room).   The middle stall’s door wouldn’t shut, and only the far right stall was a western toilet.  Mom and Auntie waited for that one, while I just used the squat toilet that at least had a working door.   When Mom and Auntie left, they asked me what the little buckets were for.

Most Indian bathrooms have a hose to spray yourself with, or a faucet and bucket on the floor.   You fill the bucket up with water, and use that water to clean yourself.   I always carry toilet paper, personally.  I don’t know what you are supposed to do after the bucket.  You are still wet.   So I guess that is why women’s pants are always covered with a long top?  I don’t know.  Anyhow, Mom and Auntie still had a bucket in their stall, despite it being a western toilet.    So since neither of them could figure out how to flush it, they used the bucket to fill it with water as the flush!  Very ingenious.  It might even be right, I don’t know. 

So we finished with the bathrooms and we walked back to the ferry, along the way checking out the rest of the caves that we had earlier skipped.   Fez and I went up to one that the rest of the group passed upon.  There was a dead frog floating in a small pond on the left side of the cave, and NEON yellow water floating on the right.  Ew.   But that was our favorite cave, because it had this square window to climb into and take a photo.    No, that isn’t why it was our favorite….  It is everyone’s favorite because Fez couldn’t find her way down!   LOL, the cave itself was maybe five feet above the walkway path.  So everyone climbs up a small hill of rock to reach it.  She and I were fine going up.  I went down first (it was super easy) and then she couldn’t get down!  People passed her and went down before her; other people started up the path, and so she couldn’t go down it as they were going up.  We were all cracking up at her poor expense.  She got down eventually, as my driver came up to her and tried to help, which embarrassed her enough to finally go down on her own; but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of her struggling to get down that tiny little rock!

We grew tired of the caves, and made our way back down the stairs to our boat. Mom was way nicer than the rest of us, and stopped to pose for pictures. Mom also stopped and bought fancy pens for her staff.  Auntie bought an elephant for her future-daughter-in-law; I bought a pair of guns (actually lighters) for my Dad’s birthday.  Fortunately, with our driver, we got real prices rather than the foreigner prices.  Our trick was to walk past something we like, and then get him to deal for it while we waited in the wings to pay.  We stopped and got pop and chips at a vendor, and my driver (who still hadn’t eaten anything!) saved most of his chips for the monkeys.  

When we reached the toy train, Auntie and I raced the others, by walking rather than riding.  We won by a landslide.  We sat, waiting for the others, looking at the water.  The tide had gone out, and the skeletal remains were in fact a ship.  Hum…  there were lots of canoes and boats, once submerged, now visible in the swampy land surrounding the walkway.   

We got on our ferry, deciding to sit on the bottom, out of the sun.   Rather than tossing their water bottles out in the ocean (well, we still saw one kid do it while on the ride), most people stuck their water bottles in the rafters of the boat.  I wondered how old the bottles were.  We were on a newer ferry, and this ride was much faster, and we were soon off the boat and back on solid land again.

Our first order of business was to find a restroom, which we found in a bakery restaurant.  We also got some bread to munch on, and finally convinced our driver to eat a bit.  

Our next order of business was to shop along the Colaba Causeway.  It is basically a huge string of vendors.  Fortunately, it was covered, but unfortunately, it was crowded.  Mom got some scarves, and I slipped into a bookstore and bought more books.   But we were soon done (it is hard to enjoy yourself with that many people pushing against you), and back in the car.  

We drove down Marine Drive, stopping for a quick photo of my husband’s office building; and had a longer stop at a small hole-in-the wall ice cream shop across from the Chowpatty Beach.   We had to stop so my family could try the green chili ice cream.  I don’t like spicy things, but it is so weird- it is smooth and cold like ice cream, but still burns going down like a chili.    After the ice cream, we walked back to the car. 

Suddenly, there were loud screams and shouts.  What was going on?  Just then, a bus whizzed past us.  People started chanting, “India, India!”.  We looked at the bus.  It was the Indian Cricket Team!  They were on their way back to the hotel for their celebratory party.  Of course, mildly excited as we were, for the Indians on the street it was nothing short of a miracle. They lost control of their cars while gawking at the bus, and the next thing we heard were cars rear-ending each other.  

We stared for a minute, but then focused on our goal of crossing the street to get to our car.  We were terrible at it.   Traffic, held back for the bus, was released and came in streams.  My usual goal is to find and an Indian, and cross at the same time, but even the Indians couldn’t get across.   We eventually made it halfway, and my driver, taking pity on us, crossed his side, met us in the middle, and showed us how to cross to the other side.  

Along the way home, we stopped to rent the movie 3 idiots, which I really like, and hoped Mom, Auntie, and Fez would like as well.    I think they liked it, but the day’s exhaustion was too much, and only half of us managed to stay awake for the entire movie.  

FAFFD: April 2

Well, day 2 (isn’t it nice that day 2 happens on April 2?  It makes the accounting much easier) of Family and Friends Fun Days started off early.   As I mentioned in the day 1 entry, the car wash guy really likes to be paid.  Early.   Despite my bedroom being furthest from the front door, I was the only one to hear the persistent doorbell ringer.   My husband stayed sound asleep, and if Mom and Auntie woke, they stayed safely behind their door.   Fez, on our couch, was quite close to the door, but still sound asleep. 

Groggily I got up and opened our door.  We actually have two doors.  One is a big solid affair with a bolt longer than my hand.   The second is bright blue with a little trying-to-be artistic window that opens so you can hand money, food, etc through the door without actually opening the entire door.   Anyhow, I opened the first door, the big wooden door, and then the little window.  It was the car guy, of course.   He is short and squat and wanted his money.   500 rupees.  I handed it over.  He taps the towel on his shoulder.  “50 more, for towel”.   Humph.  I’m sure he is just cheating me on that, but I go back to my bedroom and grab a 50 (about $1.11) to hand over in addition to the 500.   Easier to give it and go back to bed, in my opinion.   But no, he wants to continue talking.  Sigh.   “Advance?”  He asks, “3000?”.    Yeah right.  That is a six-month advance.   He kept talking, but apparently ‘car’ and ‘advance’ are the only English words he knows, because he reverted to Hindi for the remainder of the conversation.   Out of his mouth I only recognized the Hindi word for ‘boy’, so I guess he wanted the money for his kid.  Whatever.  He wanted the money because I am a foreigner and as soon as you see white skin it is a sign to beg for money.  I’m sick of it.   But I’m starting to become immune to it, because I just patiently listened for a minute or two and told him no. 

I used to be terrible at saying no, bargaining, and being impolite. I’m still fairly awful at bargaining, but I am getting much better at being impolite.   In fact, I’m getting quite good at being a jerk now that I live here.  It is a survival mechanism.   I just hope I can revert back to my normal self once I’m out of here.   I’d hate to be this way forever.   But I might as well live it up and enjoy being rude while I can.  

I was up, though, because I’m a terrible sleeper.  I tried going back to bed, but very shortly everyone (sans my husband) was wide-awake.   I walked into my living room and looked around.  I knew I had heard voices… and where the heck did all of my chairs go?  Turns out they were sitting in a row on the porch, munching on toast, drinking coffee, and enjoying the early morning sights of the city.   

When my maid/cook (Lady S) arrived, I asked her what she thought of my guests.   She told me my Mom smiled too much to be a principal!  She didn’t look serious enough!  I think that is a good thing.  

Lady S is from a fishing caste (drunken-husbands-or-fishing-caste), so she is quite the expert on cooking those sea critters.  Like the mani-pedis from day 1, I am also terrified of seafood.   They are just crawly, creepy, full ocean pollution, and smelly.  But at my guest’s request, I had Lady S create a lobster concoction that would be worthy of her own family.   The lobsters arrived just before we left for the day.   And let me tell you, you will never have lobsters as fresh as these!   She chopped them up while they were still alive!   She simply put them in a white bucket, and you could hear them scuttling about the bottom and sides, crawling over each other.   She pulled out a big knife, and place the first, still alive, lobster on the yellow cutting board.  CHOP!  Off go the skinny little right legs!  CHOP!  Off go the left legs!  Oh my goodness, it was heart wrenching to watch.  They were so crawly.  Occasionally, one would escape and shuffled about for a few minutes in my sink before she ruthlessly picked it up, placed it back on the yellow board, and chopped its legs off.    Fortunately, we left after only watching four or five lobsters get the chop.   It still gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.    Those long tentacles and scrawny little legs.  

 After a very yummy breakfast of puri with mango filling (which we fortunately ate before watching her chop off those poor little lobster appendages), we went for a drive around my neighborhood.  The day before, Mom had very much enjoyed taking photos of the various animals, so I wanted her to see all of the pigs and goats that I used to drive past on the way home from school.

We also took many, many, way too many photos of…. gas stations.  Well, petro stations, as they are known here.   Why?  Because Mom thinks they will be interesting to Gramps.  I guess the price of gas is in liters rather than gallons, but other than that, they look just like the US pumps.   My driver told me that here, some of the petrol attendants do their best to try and steal your money, since they pump the gas for you.  So rather than relax at the car, the car driver has to get out of the car, look directly at the pump, make sure it is zeroed, and then let them pump.   Otherwise they won’t zero it, and charge you for petrol that was pumped in the last car, and pocket the difference.  I’m getting sick of hearing stories like that.  Is honestly that hard? 

Traffic was pretty busy- the finals of the Cricket World Cup would be held later in the day- and I guess everyone was out and about finishing their work before the match started.   We drove through Bandra West to the Bandra Kurla Complex, and stopped to take photos at various spots that may or may not be interesting.  My driver insisted on stopping and taking photos at the location of the big fire (one-dark-night), which felt a bit awkward, especially as he chastised us for smiling in the photos when we should have been looking sad.   However, stopping for photos wasn’t very fun in any case.  Each time we stopped, we would very quickly be swarmed by groups of men who would get too close and gawk at us.  My driver insisted we were safe, but I decided to stay in the car for the last few shots.  It just wasn’t enjoyable.  

At one point, while viewing the pigs munching on trash, with five or six little kids gathering around us, begging to be in photos, a man in an auto rickshaw slowed down and shouted, “you are looking at 2 lakh housing!”.  Good English, but bad economics, as that would be a rent rate of about $4525 per month!   Although I guess he could have meant the entire cost of building the house….   the cost of building a slum house might be about that much, though it certainly seems a bit high.   My driver told me the rickshaw driver was probably high.  Great….  Tiny little open vehicles with drivers who are high.   

2 lakh housing

Once we were done driving around and taking entirely too many photos of adorable pigs, goats, and children, we headed to another shopping center, this one suggested by Lady S.  Along the way, Mom continued her game of ‘name that dog’.   The day before, she had taken to naming each stray dog that we passed.  This is quite a challenge, as there are as many stray dogs here as there are squirrels in Hickory Heights.  I really wish we had counted all of the names, but I guess it will remain a mystery.  Regardless, around this time she FINALLY found a dog to call Spot.  Most of the dogs are a scruffy sort of yellow color, and not able to claim this name.  So that was a very exciting moment for all of us.  My driver was especially excited and giggly over the game. 

We bought a dozen or so scarves as gifts for relatives and friends, and a few other odds and ends.  But we were burned out and incredibly hungry, so we headed home for lunch.

We pulled the lobster dish out of the refrigerator.   Wow.  What a smell.   And let me tell you, it was a disgusting smell for all of us, even the lobster lovers.  My heart sank- this was the most expensive meal I’ve ever done in my house, and it smells like sweat socks.    Looked about like them, too.  The lobsters were still in their shells and coated in gray gravy.   So gross looking.

Well, Auntie took pity on me and warmed it up so I didn’t have to go any nearer to it than necessary.   Mom, Auntie, and Fez dished some up and I made-do with leftovers.  The result?  They said it was very good!   I guess that is a relief, but it was a lot of work for them to eat because they had to shell the lobsters themselves.  

After lunch, Mom conked out for a jet-lagged nap, and Auntie, Fez and I went for an ice cream walk.  Along the way, we saw people picking mangos!  It was quite the process.  They had an extremely long stick, at least 12 feet in length, and attached to the end was a wire hook.  They would hook it around the fruit, pulled, and the mango would fall to the ground.  We clapped.   After our ice cream we went to the market, bought some pop (that’s soda to you non-Michiganders) and took an auto rickshaw home.

 After Mom woke, we headed to the elevators.  My building has three elevators, but at any given time, only two are functional.   Two elevators arrived on my floor at the same time, so Fez and I decided to race Mom and Auntie to the ground floor.   We jumped into our elevator and rapidly pushed the close door button.    We were prepping our stance for running out the door when we stopped on the 5^th floor.   No one got in, so giggling and worrying that Mom and Auntie would win, we kept pushing the close button.    But wait- was that voices?  Relieved, we realized Mom and Auntie’s elevator stopped on the 5^th floor as well…   and our door was already closing.    We’re gonna win!   Yes, we were just racing for pride.  But I’m competitive, what can I say?   When the door opened on the ground level Fez and I burst through the door and looked around.  No Mom and Auntie!  We won!   We stared at their elevator door…. And continued staring…where were they?  The elevator door finally opened…they weren’t on it…. Confused, we walked toward the exit.  Did they beat us so badly they had already left the building?   No….   wait…voices….  They were walking down the stairwell!  Apparently, when their elevator opened on the 5^th floor, they got out, thinking it was the ground level!  I guess it wasn’t a fair win, but it was a good one to giggle over.

We went to Carter Road, which is the wide street that runs along the Arabian Sea in Bandra.  We started south of it, looking at a beautiful, older than 100 years, Catholic Cathedral, which was Indian-ized by the vendors stationed next to it, selling wax statues of Mary and Jesus and plastic rosaries.  

After the cathedral we walked along the sea, watching the waves roll over the black basalt and enjoyed a beautiful sunset.  It was very peaceful and fun.   Cricket fever was starting to swell, and we headed home to watch the last few hours of the match.

Now, I have a partially-written blog explaining the rules of cricket and comparing it to baseball, but I have yet to actually post it (it is still rather boringly written, even for my standards), so those of you interested in the rules will have to look them up yourself or wait until I finally post it.   Regardless, the cricket match is LONG…. About 8 hours.   It is for the World Cup, and is being hosted in India.  More importantly, hosted in MUMBAI, which is where I live.  Hence the frenzy.  The match was India vs. Sri Lanka, for the championship.   It is huge.   Monstrously big.  Pepsi has been marking for the World Cup it for months, and the commercials are incredibly funny.  Sort of like the wax-on-wax-off process for Karate Kid (I guess I should update that to coat-on-coat-off for the new version of the movie), so I really liked watching all of the various TV ads.  I guess advertising does work, because the commercials made me want to watch cricket, although they didn’t convince me to buy any Pepsi.  

Anyhow, after our delightful walk, we came home, turned the game on and half-heartedly watched it while playing cribbage, and soon my driver came over with dinner.  He’d promised me to make his special Briyani, which is a ‘Muslim honor’, and we enjoyed a second great meal of the day.   It is basically rice with chicken (usually mutton, but I like chicken) and some flavoring that turns everything yellow.

After the match, which India won, we stood on my porch and watched the fireworks.   The fireworks, at least in my neighborhood, are just set off by random people on the street.  I’ve heard it is quite the time to be on the street with them- there are no safety regulations and you really have to watch out so you don’t get hit by one!  

We went to bed full of laughter as Mom threw away her toothbrush because she got tap water on it.  No worries, she brought three dollar-store toothbrushes with her!  One down…keep count in later entries how many others she will throw away!

 I'd like to add the disclaimer that I didn't take any of the photos on the FAFFD entries.  They are all from Mom, Auntie, or my sister and her boyfriend.