Mumbai

Sam had visions of a Wes Andersen Indian train experience, so I shed my thrifty student skin and agreed to let him buy 1st class AC tickets on the Mumbai Express for our overnight journey to Mumbai. And I have to admit—the 3-4 classes in between 1AC and my beloved Sleeper cabins definitely make a difference. We arrived in Mumbai at the Victoria Terminus Station—a massive structure which I would have mistaken for a palace from the outside. I have a friend, Ashish, who lives in Mumbai who graciously offered to take us out for lunch and help us plan an itinerary for our day in the city, so we hopped a cab to his place where we met him, dropped our things off and were escorted to the Wellington Country Club, of which he is a member, to freshen up. Stepping inside the club was an experience I didn’t expect to have while studying abroad; to say we were taken aback would be an understatement. The Club is one of the only two in India of its caliber, with a membership restricted to bloodlines and elites willing to fork out millions; the establishment stopped admitting new members 80 years ago, has no guest rooms and is strictly off-limits to media, so that the Bollywood stars who frequent the poolside can breathe easy. Its grounds have everything—from salons to squash courts to a golf course to the swimming pool we had our fresh lime sodas next to. And the dining area—good Lord—was exactly what you see in the films: high arches and ceilings of dark oak with clusters of white and paisley-cushioned chairs around small oak tables—all overlooking a sprawling green garden framed with hanging lights draped in the trees. Ashish rang a little bell to signal the waiter, and we ordered a variety of dosas, chaat, tandoori chicken, and a dish named after Ashish’s family for lunch while he told us stories about coming to the club as a boy. He also gave us great advice on how to maneuver our way around the city so we could see as much as possible.

The touristy parts of Mumbai were surprisingly easy to navigate—we found the Gateway to India, the Taj Hotel, a local artist art gallery called Jehangir Art Gallery and wandered down the Kala Ghoda till we found a place for dinner recommended by Ashish for its incredible Thalis. A Thali is a meal served on a large silver platter with 7-8 smaller bowls lining the edges, all filled with different curries, chutneys, sambars and rasams. In the middle of the platter, they heap rice, chapattis, and any appetizers they serve. Sounds manageable, right? The trick is, the watchful waiter takes it upon himself to make sure none of the bowls are ever empty, and you have to insist three times when you want them to stop refilling your plate. By the time you get to the salty digestive drinks and accompanying fried-thing-soaked-in-syrup for dessert, you have no idea you’ve actually eaten enough for the next three days—because your plate is still full. The Thali experience is a beautiful thing.

here's a thali visual so you can see why I get so excited by them...

a tad european, right?

me in front of the Taj Hotel

yeah, I posed this--I admit. But it worked--a Britisher in front of the Gateway to India...ooh the symbolism... :)

boats in the bay facing the Gateway

Mumbai itself is a beautiful city—reminding me a little of a crumbling, moist downtown Paris. Dark-stained stone buildings and streets with actual signage and a method to their madness made Mumbai a little less stressful than trudging through the Muslim masses of Hyderabad. We found a cozy little icebox for a break from the (intense!) humidity and were up early for our 7am train to Goa.