Mumbai (fka Bombay) (fka Mumbai)

It depends on the age of the guide whether they refer to their city as Mumbai, or by its former name Bombay.  Our morning guide, who was about our age, continually said “Bombay.”  In the evening, the much younger guide, who has American siblings and spent several years living in Topeka, Kansas, referred to her city as Mumbai.  In 1995 the name was “changed” or “corrected” from the English mispronunciation of the original.

I continue to be astonished by the throngs of people here in India.  It’s Saturday and therefore supposedly a quiet day.  I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the white-clad dabbawalas delivering lunches, but because it’s not a weekday, I only see a few and don’t catch a photo.  If you’ve never heard about this amazing supply chain model, you should check out the movie Lunchbox.   Anyway, it’s Saturday and a quiet day does not mean a quiet night.   More on that later.

The morning begins with the triple checking of our paperwork by somber port officials.  Today our excursion is another panoramic bus ride.  On first glance it seems like, despite the 12+ million inhabitants, Mumbai is cleaner than the previous India ports.  Our guide is proud of that fact.  She tells us that the streets are swept every night-(probably by the untouchables.)  She’s proud to say that there are no longer any untouchables.  Everyone is equal. 

We drive by along Marine Drive for a view of the beach and the hazy skyline.  Swimming isn’t allowed, probably because of the public health hazard it would present.  Nonetheless, the beach is crowded and lively.  Some theaters and apartment buildings along Marine Drive are of the Art Deco style and date to the 1930’s.  Mumbai is second to Miami Beach in its number of Art Deco buildings. 

We stop at The Hanging Gardens which, aside from some animal topiary, isn’t much to look at.  They don’t appear to be hanging, but our guide explains that they are built over Mumbia’s reservoir to keep the reservoir free from contamination.  Not quite sure how that works.

Next we get to see another public laundry, this one on a much larger scale than the one in Cochin.  It’s right next to busy train tracks, so I don’t know how white the whites would be.

Every time we get off the bus, we are confronted by women selling bangles or other trinkets.  Also, young girls and women with babies are begging.  I’ve read, and we’ve been cautioned, not to give them anything.  Families lend out disabled children and intentionally disable them in order to appeal to the compassion of travelers. 

Next we visit Mani Bahvan, Ghandi’s home and headquarters from 1917 to 1934.  This is now a museum and tourist destination with his preserved library and study/bedroom. 

Heading back towards port we drive pass other prominent sites, ending with The Gateway to India, a structure at the seaside fashioned after the Arc de Triomphe.  I’m shooting photos through the bus windows, knowing that I’m falling short in capturing the feel of the city.

We have an evening excursion so we go back for a rest before heading out again.  

Because I’m a fan of “So You Think You Can Dance,” I talk Bob into this excursion.  It’s described as a scenic drive after sunset to admire the lights along Marine Drive, referred to as the Queen’s Necklace.  Following this is a Bollywood Dance performance and then dinner of northwestern Indian cuisine at Khyber Restaurant.  

It was very disappointing and a waste of money. 

We retraced Marine Drive, the same ground that we covered in the morning.  Had it been dark and “after sunset” as advertised, it probably would have been lovely.  Instead, it was a traffic jam, not just in one direction.  We had to do a U-turn and go back the way we came to go to the theater.  Not only was it not dark yet, but it was a Saturday night-not just any Saturday night, but cricket night.  An important rivalry between Cochin and Mumbai has brought the whole city out to Marine Drive.  Hundreds of thousands of people are lined up to enter a 50,000 seat capacity stadium.  The rest of the population is on the beach or in cars, scooters, and taxis on the way there.

Finally we get to the “theater.”  Our guide tells us that we can’t bring water in, can’t stand up, and will have to go through security to enter.  That’s understandable until we get there and realize we’re the only ones there.  The theater, attached to a larger performing arts center, holds just about our three buses.  This was obviously orchestrated just for us, just to suck the tourist dollar.  I can only describe it as LAME, canned music, mediocre dancers, no sets or scenery, just LAME.  Maybe it’s just me.  Some people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Back on the bus and a short drive to the restaurant for dinner.  Dinner was good, but not memorable enough to turn the evening around.

As I write this, it’s the next day.  We’re on our way to our next port, Muscat, Oman and the security team is “preparing the ship.”  I’m not sure what all this entails, but I’ve seen them rolling out barbed wire on Deck 2.

Goa

We didn't Goa Out.

Cochin (Kochi & the Queen of the Arabian Sea)

Thinking that we should try striking out on our own, I did some advance research and discovered Neem’a Kitchen, an Indian cooking school that looked intriguing.  Her website said that, in addition to running a Home-Stay (B & B), she runs cooking classes in the AM and PM for small groups.  I emailed Neema and she replied in great detail with directions, cost, and that she could take a group of four at 2:30 PM.  She couldn’t take us in the AM because she had already booked a group from the Sapphire Princess. 

Sapphire Princess

I regrettably had to say no, because it would be cutting it too close for sail away.  As it turns out we didn’t leave until about 8:30 PM, soon after we watched the Sapphire Princess do a 180 from the dock and sail away.   

Rumors abound as to what caused the delay.  It could be an accident involving passengers.  It could be a missing crew member.  It could be the Indian officials trying to illicit a bribe in connection with a missing crew member.  We’ll try to get to the bottom of this and report back.

So, we took the included city tour, billed as church, beach, Chinese fishing nets, Dutch palace, and Jew Town.  

This city, in the state of Kearla, was first occupied by the Portuguese, then the Dutch and then the British.  At first glance, it seems more prosperous than Chennai.  The vendors’ colorful wares that line the streets lend a festive feel, as opposed to the dusty squalor of the previous port.

Our first “unscheduled” stop is at the dhobi khana laundries.  In my estimation, this was the best part of the day.  These public laundries were established to serve the British officers.  First we walk through a common area where laundry is piled in the middle and sorted according to some unapparent system.  On the perimeter of the common room are elderly men and women wielding 20 pound charcoal irons. 

Passing through here and into a courtyard, we see cement “pens” where men are beating wet clothing against rocks.  These laundry stalls are handed down through families, each cubicle with a water tank and washing stones.  Outside of the stalls is an open area where laundry is hung to dry.  Not a cloths pin in sight.

Our guide tells us that the moustache and the mundu are important to the Kerala male.  He’s right.  Rarely do I spot a clean shaven male and the mundu is ubiquitous either in its long form or knotted up for ease of scooter riding or to prevent it dragging in the dust.

Everywhere we stop are hawkers.  Everything they’re hawking is rich in color:  glittering ballpoint pens, sparkling umbrellas, shiny silk scarfs, and eye catching clothing.  At the St. Francis Church we fend off the hawkers before peeking inside.  Bob and I don’t bother going in. The shoe routine is getting old.  The highlight at the church is the elaborate fan system and the tomb of Vasco da Gama (no longer occupied.)

We walk from the church, along the vendor lined streets to the vendor lined beach to see the Chinese fishing nets.   Although they don’t seem to catch anything but garbage and tourists’ dollars, these cantilevered nets positioned on a base on the beach, are lowered into the water with counterweights and are pulled out by a team of fishermen, presumably loaded with the catch of the day.  The catch of the day is tourists paying to have their pictures taken helping to hoist the nets.  Discarded flip flops are also plentiful.

The most amazing site on the beach were two water buffalo wallowing in a pit of muddy water.  The pit was right next to the promenade (sidewalk) so it was probably dug and filled with water specifically for these creatures.  If you walked by fast, you wouldn’t even have noticed them.  The water was the same color as their hides.  Gross.

Besides the water buffalo, the street life was fascinating and odorous.

Bus to Mattancherry Palace, a Portuguese palace referred to as the Dutch Palace….  Pretty murals painted with vegetable dye depicting the landing of Vasco da Gama on the walls inside….  Can’t take pictures of the murals….  Could have skipped this for more time in Jew Town…. Walked past the colorful shops to the synagogue which was closed….Passover. 

Back on the docks, the Indian officials check, scan, double-check, stamp, and re-stamp our paperwork before we return to the ship.

On the scale of one to ten for Indian cities, Chennai is one and Cochin is two.  Tomorrow Goa, then Mumbai.

By the way, the heat is still oppressive.  Even when we’re at sea, the air is so heavy that I haven’t walked Deck 2 in days.  I can do laps in the bathwater temp pool, as long as I’m the only one in there.

Kamal and Ti Jo

A tribute to our wonderful room stewards who left us in Singapore.  They were great guys and we miss them. 

Chennai (formerly Madras)

I was considering not even getting off the ship in India.  Our neighbor in the next cabin has been on five world cruises and he’s not getting off.   On the other hand, his wife is going with a group that’s doing a six day overland excursion to the Taj Mahal. 

We had originally been scheduled for an excursion to Kanchipuram:  City of 1,000 temples.  The fact that it was a nine hour trip and that we'd had our fill of temples by this time led me to rethink the excursion and change it to a three hour city tour.  The city tour visited only one temple, two churches, and Fort Saint George museum. 

First we walked through the government building parking lot to Saint Mary’s Church, which we couldn’t enter because it’s Easter Sunday.  We passed these charming pay toilets on the way. 

Continuing on to the museum, we’re already wilting in the heat and humidity.  The most popular exhibit at the museum was the oscillating fan.  Lighting at the museum was dim.  The exhibits were grimy, uninspiring and riddled with typos.  One passenger pointed out that the cannon outside was made of plastic.  We all just wanted to get back in the bus air conditioning.

The bus took us past Marina Beach, a six kilometer beach where swimming is prohibited due to the rough conditions.  Nonetheless, the beach is wide and sandy and crowded with people (and garbage.)  The women are wrapped in colorful saris, really beautiful but all I can think is how hot they look. 

The next stop is Saint Thomas Basilica.  Who knew there were so many Catholics in India!  Doubting Thomas is alleged to be buried in the basement.  Again, we’re not allowed in the church but can enter the crypt below after removing shoes.  Shoes go missing.  I elected to stay on the bus. 

Next we visit the old Mylapore section of Chennai.  Those who wish can follow the guide on a walk to a temple while the bus circles to the pickup stop.  I, and a third of the group, stay on the bus.  I not only avoided the heat and garbage on the streets, but I got some good street views from the comfort of the bus. 

I saw cows roaming free on the streets but wasn’t quick enough to snap pictures.  Bob made the walk through garbage strewn alleys to the temple which was closed.

That’s it.  That’s the day.  By the way, the excursion as described in our Viking guidebook:

“…the marina, an elegant seaside promenade, to the tree-lined avenues of Mylapore….”