06-03-2010

A short hop up the Konkan Coast of west India and we were in Mandva, a tiny village perched on reclaimed sand boasting a ferry port with regular sailings to Bombay. Ah, no vehicles allowed, bugger! A touch of s leuthing later we discovered there was another port on an equally barren sandbank 15km away that would carry both riders and bikes alike, this would only become of use should we be able to find a cargo ship to take lock, stock and 1 smoking biker from Bombay to Dubai. Finding accommodation was not as easy however and getting hotter and stickier by the minute we were turned away with, “MTDC” or, “IRS1600” (basically meaning, “go to the Gov. Tourist Hotel” and, “rip-off.”) We pioneered on and heading back down the main road stumbled across a palm tree lined garden enclosing a huge colonial house run by Mamma, a vibrant, welcoming lady, wife of the ex-police commissioner of Bombay, who allowed us to stay in her beautifully kept home and sample her wonderful cooking. The following day, Caf’s birthday, we decided to get up early and catch the 8-o’clock bus, (an experience in it’s own right, imagine rush hour on a clapped out old banger so full there were people hanging out the door) to the port and hop on the ferry to The Gateway of India, Bombay’s very own Marble Arch. We first happened upon the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower, pretty impressive architecture but nothing like the one south of Delhi (well, apparently, we haven’t visited it yet!) There were tourists everywhere but we were still considered exotic enough to get paparazzied in the domestic’s family album. Turning round the corner we were surprised to find wide tree-lined avenues with 6-storey Victorian houses AND PAVEMENTS either side, these went on for several blocks and as we’d arrived before the street sellers had set up their stalls and the real traffic had started, the scene was reminiscent of Kensington in London on an easy like Sunday morning. Stomachs-a-rumbling, breakfast was next on the agenda and we dived into Leopold’s, a Bombay café institution full of westerners and memorabilia, for some egg n’ chips and they even sold Time-Out magazine. After leaving the café we had regained some strength, enough for a spot of shopping, and stormed the streets dodging old Hillman taxis with not an auto-rickshaw in sight as they have been banned, happy, happy, joy, joy. Admiring this home from home we clocked quite a few trendy bars and restaurants and noticed the prices too, ouch, but it was well worth it, draught beer, burgers and steak, enough light in the drinking establishments you could actually read and…champagne, mmm. We had been warned not to miss the last ferry or it was a 4hr bus ride back to our digs, luckily it was only a mere stagger to the ticket booth and even moderately easy to find our ferry as it departed from where it had docked in the morning, phew. Happy birthday to me!