The spell is broken

I don't feel a jetlag, at least not so far. Maybe it's due to the layover in Singapore? Ok, I woke up two times at night, using the occasions for treating my foot with cream. But I had a good night's sleep and woke up eager for new adventures. I was very happy to find that my foot was much better and hardly presented any difficuties when walking at a moderate pace!

I still had in mind to go for a boat ride from the Gateway of India. A ride to Elephanta Island is a must, they say, but I had learned that it's closed on Monday. Therefore I dug out my other plan: Getting a better bag. I started the day slow, allowing for the shops along Crawford market to open, and I was lucky. By the time I got there exactly one store had started with the arrangement of their goods. After a pretty extensive search I finally found a shoulder bag I liked: Good zippers and big enough for everything along the way plus some eventual purchases. However, the strap was way too short, and the guys promised to extend it if I just waited 20 minutes. I showed them precisely and repeatedly how long I wanted the strap, just a bit longer than I needed it, and when I thought they finally understood I waited in the bar across the street where I ordered all sorts of fruit juices (after being assured they're all fruit and no water that is). Sure enough, the bag dangled around my knees when I hung it on my shoulder. "It's adjustable" the seller smiled. I finally made him open the seam and shorten the strap again... 1 hour gone. At 11 I eventually found a seat at the only internet place in the neighborhood and typed away for about 2 hours. After a meal I returned to my room. It was getting close to 2... What to do?

I didn't feel like walking around the city again, especially with this foot of mine. I read something about a certain Gorai beach, clean and somewhat secluded. It didn't look too hard too reach though. A nice train ride, a quick taxi transfer, laying on the beach until sunset. Sounds relaxing! I grabbed a cab to the train station and lined up for a return ticket that turned out to be some ludicrous 18 Rupee. Trains would basically go either North or South, fast or slow. That was an easy one, too. Waiting on the track I noticed that the trains didn't have doors, just plain wide openings that would fill up people sticking their heads in the breeze. My train rolled in, and I was getting ready to get on. A guy I was talking to pointed out I had a second class ticket, and I was gonna ask him something, but he ran off and jumped on. Everyone else jumped on. Basically the whole train was second class, so there wasn't a problem finding the right car. I was a bit baffled though what the turmoil was all about. People in Mumbai walk at a steady pace, they never run. They maybe get a bit pushy in traffic but in a cool kind of way. It turned out that a train stop in India is like a super sized musical chairs game! I didn't even think about getting a seat. I thought it was exciting to remain standing near the doorless entrance of the train, enjoying a bit of a blind passenger feeling. The train ride shouldn't take too long anyway. Before long however the train stopped again and another stampede broke out. All the seats were taken already and still people ran and pushed and stumbled. A tiny man next to me who had sat down and leaned against the wall (probably in order not to get everyone's elbows in his eyes) was told to get up already. And after a few more stops there came a station with another battalion people squeezed in. Some pushed into the crowd with huge bags. It was absurd. Finally my station arrived and I had to pretend I was was a salmon, flapping my fins hard and swimming against the current of people wanting to get on the train. The station was extremely crowded. Beggars asked for baksheesh, commuters flooded the overpass, in the middle of it all a couple leaned against a pillar, sleeping.

I made my way out and immediately found a few taxi drivers readily waiting. I opened my map again, trying to guess the distance in order to be get an idea what would be a fair fixed price. One of the drivers approached me and inquired about my destination, and whether I want to go by road or by ship. I was a bit confused by the question since my map indicated a street, straight as an arrow, heading West from the train station directly to Gorai beach, crossing an inlet of marshland by what I figured must be a bridge. The ferry must be further South, that would be a detour. Let's take the road! The driver, I'm gonna call him Saddam (he was Arab and had the features of the tyrant including the mustache), sat me in his car and explained he would bring me there using the meter but charge me the return fare, too. He would show me which bus to take for the way back. I agreed and we started the trip. - Something wasn't quite right. There were a lot of bends and telling by the position of the sun we were going North instead of West. I realized that we were going to encircle the inlet for some reason. The rush hour traffic was crazy, so I didn't dare to distract Saddam from squeezing between colorfully painted trucks and racing alongside with motorcycles. Finally there were less and less vehicles, the landscape and the street turned more rustic. I asked him about the direct connection. As I suspected by this point, the answer was "that's the boat"! - Crappy map. Soon we would find ourselves on a pothole stricken road meandering through a jungle in the light of the late afternoon. Every now and then a few huts along the street, a lonesome truck that seemed have lost its pack. Motorcycle boys doubling their brides came the other way. We reached a more populated village. The street was running between walls and suddenly opened to the beach. Saddam parked the car on the sand and turned to me with a conversion table that indicated the ride was 600 Rupee. - Less than I feared. It was 4:30. "Hmmm", i said, "since you are gonna ask the return fare anyway, how much would you ask to wait an hour so I could get back with you?" 200 Rupee and hour he replied. Sounded fair to me! I handed him 1200 Rupee. He stuck the money quickly in the glove box and said "This is finished now. When you return after an hour you give me 200 and then we use the meter for the way back." "Pardon me?" I made sure I understood right, then told him to his face that this was fraud! "You're gonna charge me the return fare twice!" In the end he reduced his claim to an overall 500, that meant half the return fare. I wasn't impressed with that kind of behavior, but I needed someone to watch over my bag, which wasn't only brand new but also filled with my valuables, so I agreed... There would simply be no tips for this guy.

I headed for the water. It was low tide and the beach very shallow, so I crossed a long stretch of wet, very regularly rippled sand. There were a few other people strewn across the beach or wading in the water, but at a fair distance. They all appeared to be local. So, in order not to offend the Indians I decided to wear my shorts, not just the speedo that I also wore underneath. I entered the warm water and kept wading until it was deep enough to swim. I kneeled down in it, and it was as if the water washed away my concerns. Enormous palm trees lined the horizon behind me, dark silhouettes of fisher boats rested off shore to the left. No combustion engines. As a part of nature I felt vulnerable and free. No worries about my attire, about 300 Rupees, about my bag. I was simply - here.

After a slow and relaxed swim I walked back across the beach. Standing for an hour in the train had caused the swelling of the ankle to slide down into the body of the foot and gave it babylike appearance. It slightly wobbled with every step. Back at the car I grabbed my camera and took some pictures of the scenery. Dogs. Boats. Birds looking for what was hiding in the sand until the sea would rise again. I approached a guy holding a horse. "Nice horsey" he said. "Ride?". "I'm sorry, I have to go." "Nice horsey" he said. I didn't want to stretch my time limit of an hour. But then Saddam came and lent me 50 Rupees for a quick stroll. - My first horsey ride!

On the way back I asked Saddam: "How long have you been driving a taxi?" - "25 years". - "How many cars?" - "Just one car. Is good." - "Ever had an accident?" - "No accident!" Wow, I thought to myself, 25 years of riding bumper cars without a contact! He turned the subject on religion, explaining he was Muslim. He was proud to tell me he held two apartments with one wife each. No wonder he wanted to charge me twice. But hey, I guess I'm lucky... He's allowed up to four spouses!

Dusk fell as we drew closer to the city. Before long we were in the middle of the honking and stinking traffic again. Our street would merge with the national highway to Delhi - without traffic lights. Saddam was slowly pushing into the stream coming from the right hand side. Finally there seemed to be an opportunity. Saddam went for it, and that's when, suddenly appearing from behind the car beside us, another taxi cut our way - Crash!

The impact had immediately stopped the passing lightweight car. The drivers got out of their vehicles and commenced a high energy dispute. The baffled face of a taxi client showed up in the window of the dented car door. Luckily nobody got injured or hurt, I for instance just bumped my head on the low car roof. Saddam opened the door to get some documents. "Not my fault" he claimed, as if I cared. I just found it amusing to watch on as the traffic grew even more impenetrable as it circled around the two cars blocking the intersection. - Finally they had exchanged their information, picked up some lost car parts from the street and got back into their vehicles. For the rest of the way to the train station I was somewhat unnerved... The car ballet had lost its magic, there was physical evidence that accidents do happen.

A fast train to Mumbai was already waiting on the track for me. There were no seats left for that matter. But after a few stops the seats were basically empty, so I even got to stick my boo boo foot up on the opposite chair. Once we reached the terminal station however, a wave of people flooded the car...