Mumbai

We decided to forego the 26-hour train trip and fly this time.  Traffic in this city of 18 million people was crazy, even at 10pm on a Saturday night.  The ride from the airport marked the first time I ever had to tell the taxi driver to hurry it up, as I wanted to get there literally the same day.  I should have known when he struck a luggage cart leaving the curb…  At least the Punjabi place around the corner from the hotel was open after midnight for great chicken pullao and naan.

The cost of lodging reflected the approaching holidays in a cosmopolitan location, but otherwise this was a fine city.  It’s India’s financial heart and home of Bollywood.  Every other vehicle was the ubiquitous black and yellow taxi.  There is affluence and this reflected in a self-assuredness – of course a sizable number of others live in vast slums. 

We walked around the fort area with its many colonial buildings and parks.  One could hardly tell the horrible massacre that took place less than a month ago, as the strangely Gothic Victoria Terminus, Asia’s largest train terminal, bustled and radiated.  Leopold Café in Colaba was open and packed with foreigners and curious Indians.  The beautiful Taj Hotel was still cordoned off, but welcomed the first returning guests.  It was Sunday and cricket was in evidence everywhere – every park, field, and patch of dirt, even in the streets, young batsmen protected their wickets from the sharp aim of the opposing bowlers.  The air was thick and the sun shone brightly.

 Colaba, where many travelers stay, had its share of inviting eateries.  The aloo gobi was good and the tandoori chicken put a welcome end to the 5 days of vegetarian diet.  The gelato nice, but the internet agonizingly slow.