The end of our movie careers and life as tourists

Our second day in Mumbai, we took a break from our new careers as actors and watched a movie instead. After wasting two hours of our lives on the horrible "Must Love Dogs" (Dave loved it) we walked around the Colaba area of Mumbai.





The Taj Hotel, near the Mumbai Harbour



The Gateway to India

Another building in Colaba (a college of science or something)
Dave had his hair cut (note the dot on his forehead-walking past the Gateway to India, a man tried to "bless" us, I said "no, we don't have any money, don't bless us!" he insisted that there was no charge, quickly dotting our heads and wrapping our wrists with string, before demanding a donation.) That night we ate dinner at a bougy bouge cafe, full of Mumbai yuppie princesses. We could overhear the girls at the table next to us, their conversation went something like this;

"Oh my god, I am so full, I ate sooo much yesterday"

"Oh my god are you serious? What did you eat?"

"Uhhh like 5 pieces of lettuce and a carrot",

"Oh wow, you must be sooo full, what does your boyfriend think about you eating soooo much?"

etc. This isn't just our made up conversation either, they spoke to each other in English!

The next day we resumed our acting careers in a new movie, Random Access ONE!!!! Starring the Indian movie hero, Shahrukh Khan and Corrina Kapur, also a huge deal in India. I didn't like her at all. She kept us waiting all day. I was wearing these awful heels that hurt my feet and a costume that was beyond tight and short AND gave me a rash that still hasn't gone away. The scene was supposed to be a funeral in London, so there was fake rain pouring on us all day, and we were dressed as if it was cold, when in fact, it was about 45 degrees. After this awful experience, we decided to give up our acting careers and return to life as a regular tourist. Regular tourists who meet other tourists and eat dinner with them, as we did that night. Not a blog worthy event, save the fact that walking home, a woman (unprovoked) threw a huge rock at us, narrowly missing my arm.

The next day, being tourists, we did what tourists do in Mumbai and went to Elephanta Island to see the ancient caves and Hindu images carved into the rock. It was really spectacular. Some people think the caves were carved out, others believe they are natural- either way, they were huge and very cool.

The next day we took a train to Jaipur, the capital of Rajastan. It was a 17 hour, overnight train ride, but it felt like 10 minutes (for me anyway, since I can sleep anywhere, Dave, meanwhile, the delicate flower that he is, felt every one of the 17 hours). We arrived early in the morning, tired, grumpy and disoriented. We fought through the tuk-tuk drivers, rickshaws and touts to a hotel not so near the train station. The owners were amazing, probably the nicest hotel owners we've met so far, they served us breakfast and let us lie down and use a shower while we waited for a room to be cleaned.

Intending to visit "Jantar Mantar" (a collection of giant old instruments used by one of the maharaja to tell time) we set out for the Old City of Jaipur. However, the clever, smooth talking touts of the city had other plans for us. Around every corner we were greeted with cries of "look! look! just looking, looking is free!"- cries we're able to ignore or turn down. What we weren't able to turn down was the plea, "why are tourists so rude? why don't they talk to real Indian people, why do they only follow their guide book, never taking the time to learn about real Indian culture?" Feeling like we at least owed the guy a few minutes of our time, we agreed to have chai with him. We spent a pleasant hour sitting, talking and drinking chai, before our "friend" suggested we visit the Elephant house, drive past the Amber Fort and Water Palace, and visit a factory to see how block printed fabrics are made. He offered to arrange a tuk-tuk for the "local price" and we agreed... why not right? The elephants were great, the Fort and the Palace, beautiful. The factory? A scam we think. We were under the illusion that we were getting great deals, since we were shopping at the source- however, in hindsight, our money probably paid many people along the scam chain. Lesson learned, nobody is your friend, nobody actually wants to practice their English, and if they call you a rude tourist, just agree. The same guy offered to meet us the next day, to take us to the Monkey Temple. He didn't show, which we can only assume means he got his cut and didn't need us anymore.

Tonight we are taking another train to Chandigar, sometime we'll write about the other things we did in Jaipur.

Yesterday we were killed by terrorists. Welcome to India.

We're dead.

Alice lay on the floor, her back against a refrigerator, the door slightly ajar. She wore a layered, yellow polyester nightmare of a dress - stained red with BLOOD. A large wound below her heart, soiling the purity of her usual innocence and beauty. I was being held hostage in the next room, unable to see her and not knowing of her tragic fate, an AK-47 in my back. Beside me on the floor an Indian woman, my maid, lay dead in a pool of blood beside a broken mirror. I was forcefully shoved with the tip of the gun into the room where Alice lay, dead as a Kandian dog. As I passed through the door way I was shot several times in the back, deafened by the sound before I realized I was falling. Before I hit the ground I was caught by a Muslim taxi driver, with one leg, wielding a sword. In a slow dance, we spun, as I became a human shield used to defend him against the still rainy bullets from the AK. The terrorist fell behind me, catching the Muslim's sword in the arm, sending him tumbling up the stairs where he made his escape (a mystery as to why he had to escape when he had the more powerful weapon - rock beats paper, AK-47 beats wooden sword - 10 out of 10). The taxi driver seeing the destruction around him, and feeling my lifeless body cried out, "BAHEN CHOD!!" in a tortured tone.



Human shield



Alice is dead!

Don't worry. We're still alive. It was only Bollywood.



Kidding!



Me



The star fixing his makeup

We hadn't been in India for more than 7 hours before we were recruited to participate in a Bollywood film shoot.

After 19 hours of travel from Dinesh's village, to Colombo, to Chennai, to Mumbai, we finally arrived at the Salvation Army hostel in Colaba at 1am. For the most part the journey was uneventful and we got on swimmingly. I ought to publicly congratulate Ms. Alice on her spectacular punctuality in departing Sri Lanka. We arrived at the airport exactly 2 hours before our flight was 'scheduled' to depart. Of course it was delayed, BUT we were on time! I said to Alice, "Way to go. Of all the countries we've left together that was your best performance." To which she said, "What about Canada?" ... I reminded her that in fact departing Canada was her least spectacular performance as we were supposed to leave Prince George TOGETHER on the 1st of July, but she wasn't ready to leave PG until the 4th!!

The only other event of note was the taxi ride from the Mumbai airport to Colaba (which I found interesting enough to merit blog worthy - but Ms. Alice, ever unfeeling and just "so over it", doesn't think it was anything out of the ordinary and that nobody will care to read about it - prove her wrong in comments?)... SO, let me tell you about what I consider one of the greatest cab rides of my life. I'll start by setting the context...WE'RE IN INDIA WOOP WOOP, OMFG! This may be the root of my excitement. I've wanted to come here since I tasted the sweet, sweet breads and masalas of this fine, fine land. I digress... la la la... umm yeah.


(a Mumbai taxi)

So we're in a cab. It is like a clown car from the 50s. It could barely fit Alice and I plus baggage, but we crammed ourselves, gear and two well bagged Israelis inside. The bags were placed in the trunk by a man who tried make it seem like there is an extra fee for trunking bags, but we're well wise and traveled now so we told him to slag off. The bags were spilling out of the trunk like the midsection roll of a heavy set Indian woman between her sari top and bottom. Fortunately a STRING was available to keep all of our worldly possession from tumbling onto the highways of Mumbai - never to be seen again. On the trip to Colaba, we had to stop the cab 4 times. All but one of the stops was to ensure that our bags were still our bags and not the possessions of the slumdogs of Mumbai. Thankfully, the string held and our future seems safe enough for the time being. The fourth stop, mid highway, was due to an engine failure necessitating the hood to be popped, and the jack of all trades taxi driver to spend a few minutes tinkering under the hood. After a false start we were on our way again... We made it to our intended accommodation the YWCA, but opted not to spend the $60 a night and found the cheaper Salvation Army Red Shield House after wandering the streets with our bags, the Israelis, and a local heroin addict with the scariest eyes I have seen in a while.

That's it. That's my story. Having written it, I now realize that I just get excited when I arrive places. And that I should take a lesson from Alice's cold hearted book, and "just fucking calm down" - quote, my dear friend Alice. In hindsight, when considering the post after the Jakarta arrival, I would do well to not blog about ever taxi ride from the airport as if it were interesting.

The end. Love you.