Chase A. Wolf's

      By Chase A. Wolfe     

The original wing of the Taj Mahal Palace hotel (1904)

     Chase’s Log 3.14.2010.  As I was leaving my week-long R&R in the Maldives, I found a place that served beer near the Male airport – no easy feat, with teetotaling Muslims being in the majority there – and I spent a few final hours with my Singaporean shipmates from the Orion before we were to bid each other farewell, and I was to fly off into the darkness for Mumbai, India.  We talked about our recent swim with a teenage whale shark and how gentle and polite it was, allowing us to swim and eat plankton with it.  Nothing like those ill-mannered brutes – Bull Sharks – that someone’s always hauling up on their backyard dock in Florida where I live.

     We talked about the diving in the Maldives in general and what a great week it had been – trading remembrances large and small.  That’s the sweet sadness of travel – making friends, sharing adventures, and knowing all the time that you may – and probably won’t – see them again.  But then, I do have this blog, the Internet, email and Skype, so who knows?  Burton Holmes, eat your heart out.  But all things come to an end and I boarded my flight to Mumbai.    

Hindu God with Connections to the Travel Gods

     Home Office has been fretting about how my delicate, Western-style intestinal fortitude will hold up in India, and I’ve promised to make opulent offerings to every elephant-headed, six-armed deity I run across – hoping they can get a message to the Travel Gods of Intestinal Fortitude.  They’ve been quiet for a few weeks now, but it would be just like them to pay a little mischief with the Indian food – which I love – and send me hopping, skipping and sprinting the Bombay Two-Step for the nearest thunder closet.    

A Mumbai Laundry

     I arrived in Mumbai without incident, but during the drive from the airport I was saddened by the many hundreds of people sleeping on sidewalks.  Such poverty amid such richness of culture.  So many things we take for granted in the States - even simple clothes washing – has a different meaning here - it’s work.  I make a mental note to be more grateful for the little things about my country.        

Whip it!

     I arrived at the opulent, colonial-era Taj Mahal Palace & Tower Hotel – yes, the target of terrorists and, given the overwhelming display of police and soldiers, probably the safest place in India today – around 4:30 a.m.  I was given the choice of paying for a night’s rent or checking in after 9:00 am.  Frugal is my middle name, so I spent five hours snoozing in the lobby and business center before getting a very nice room later in the morning and crashing.     

A great first dinner - Indigo restaurant

     My table at the Indigo was on the roof of a two-story, warmly-decorated restaurant.  As I settled into my comfy seat, I pulled out a smoke to relax and read the menu. Before I could inhale once, I was rushed from three different directions – like Peyton Manning at the Super Bowl – and prevented from igniting my well-deserved death stick.  I was told that I’d have to go outside if I wanted to slowly kill myself.  Being on the roof deck, I replied:  “Ah ha!  I am outside and can slowly kill myself right here!”  Oddly, they were not persuaded by my logic.  Apparently, there are different types of “outside” in India.  Oh well.  At least the lamb shank (a special) was tender, moist and delicious and the service impeccable.  But I lit up on the way out and tipped my hat to the waiter.  I need to look into that new smokeless electronic cigarette Home Office was telling me about.

     I strolled back to the hotel, occasionally stopped by various people seeking either “donations” or to sell me something.  I was fortunate to get my clothes off before falling into a deep sleep.    

Poolside at the Taj Hotel

     Alarm Rooster went off on time the next morning and I awoke greatly refreshed and with plenty of time to get breakfast.  The hotel served an amazing buffet that also included fresh-made eggs (any style), waffles and pancakes.  Given that this meal was going to be at least breakfast and lunch and considering the generally outlandish prices of hotels, I grabbed three plates while calling out my egg orders and stoked the furnace for the full day of meetings ahead.

     As with the other countries I’ve been through these past weeks, I find the agents I’m meeting with for Global Shopping Adventures to be well-informed, professional and with good questions.  Everyone appears to be very interested in my new retail concept and several have been to America so they understand exactly what I’m talking about.    

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus - Train station

     Have some time to work on emails and some other stuff before I have a little to eat at the café by the pool.  I was able to find an Aikido dojo with a class starting at 6:45 p.m.  His Royal Highness, the doorman, helped me with instructions and a taxi and we were off to find the dojo.  I’d been told it was an hour drive due to traffic, so I allowed 1.5 hours.  An hour later the taxi driver was still asking directions from random people on the street.  Dejectedly, I told him to just go back to the hotel.  On the bright side, I got a three-hour tour of Mumbai by cab for only $10 dollars.    

Inside the Jain temple (a branch of Hindu)

     In all fairness, the traffic in Mumbai is some of the worst I’ve ever seen in all my travels.  I think this is partly due to the fact that the infrastructure is lacking in, well, both infra and structure.  Very few causeways, fly-overs and boulevards; but loads of cars and buses frantically trying to make headway through antiquated streets and roads that come together from multiple directions.  I made a mental note as to how much time I may need to get to the airport when I leave.

     Once again in my room, I set up for my Skype call with Home Office.  We went over the numerous changes to the Global Shopping Adventures presentation necessitated by the comments I have received thus far.  It appears that the Internet connection here in Mumbai is less than optimal, so it was a very painful process – I would fade in and out on the computer, my webcam image stuttering like Max Headroom on Coke (how about that for an 80s “pop” reference?) – and just before I lost the connection for good I could hear Home Office banging on their computer and calling it names that would make a sailor blush.  Home Office needs to get out more – I make a mental note of that.

     Decided to call it an early night and left most of the next day open for a tour of the city.    

Gateway to India

     Next morning, I met my private tour guide and uniformed driver for my five-hour tour of the city.  We started off at the Gateway to India, which is across the street from my hotel.  You can also see how easy it must have been for terrorists to slip into the docks and onto the streets unnoticed – until it was too late.

     The tour guide told me that my hotel (The Taj Palace) was built by the Tata family back in 1904.  That’s the same family that is gaining renown for building the very cheap Nano car.  It seems that many of today’s wealthy Indian families are the product of dynasties.  Oh, Tata built the hotel surreptitiously because he had been ejected from a well-to-do restaurant due to his color, so he created the poshest hotel in Bombay where he could not be denied admittance.    

Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya - Museum

     Our next stop was the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya, formerly known as the Prince of Wales Museum.  And alas, no, my Western tongue is not equal to the task of pronouncing the new name.  The building was designed by British architect George Wittet in 1909, in the Indo-Saracenic Revival style – a style popular with British architects of the time that combined elements of Indian architecture with the Gothic revival style that was popular in Victorian Britain.  Quite a smashing success – wot!  Some might disagree, but the British were geniuses at blending the best of their culture with the best of the Indian culture of the time – at least in buildings.  And they got tea in return – what Brit could ever give that up?

      We visited the hanging gardens built next to the Zorastan burial “grounds.”  Actually, they worship the earth and Mother Nature so the dead are presented on a hill side for the vultures to consume and the bones are then thrown into a lime pit.  Pretty efficient and ecologically sound – but I’m still opting a flaming burial at sea like the one Kirk Douglas got at the end of The Vikings.  Which reminds me to light a candle for Odin while I’m here – he won’t mind.

      Most of the “ancient” buildings we tour are from the British Colonial period and were built in the late 1800’s.  I am told that there are many really ancient structures but they are in other parts of India.  Home Office knows all about such things.  Maybe on my next trip.     

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi's room - just the basics

     Our last stop was the house where Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi spent his time when in Bombay.  It has been turned into a museum with many pictures from his life.  I have always greatly admired him for both his devotion to his beliefs and his amazing courage.  I think he might be disappointed with today’s India, whose independence has allowed a number of Indians to achieve wealth, while also being host to unbelievable poverty.  A core belief for him was a leveling of society.  A lover of peace, he would have liked swimming with whale sharks in the Maldives too. Amazing how he looked just like Ben Kingsley.

Ben Kingsley...?

     I told the concierge, Satish Gaikwad, who I learned is a very good judge of what Mumbai has to offer, that I wanted to dine at an Indian restaurant, but I would like something special, not the standard street fare.  Hey, I made supplications to the Travel Gods of Intestinal Fortitude, but I suspect they only protect those that aren’t idiots.  Satish directed me to a restaurant called Trishna – it looked easy to walk to on the map – and after a number of wrong turns on small side streets, I finally found it. 

     When I arrived at the restaurant, stomach rumbling in anticipation, I was told that there is no way I can get a table without a 45-minute wait.  Oh really?  I drop the hotel’s name and after a bit of arm waving and head shaking, I get a nice table with an admonishment that the Taj should make reservations.  Duly noted,  says I.         

Proful and I

     In all fairness, the restaurant was packed – mostly with Indians – a sign that the food meets with local, and not just tourist, approval.  The menu is decidedly Indian and I, not being an expert in Indian cuisine beyond loving Chicken Tikka Masala and a few other dishes, chose the jumbo prawns in the three preparations suggested by the server.  One was amazingly spicy – ouch – and the other two were tolerably spiced.  Remembering my flaming mouth from New Mexico, I asked for some honey.  For those who may not know, honey and similar sweets totally cuts the burn of spicy food.  True story!   They brought me honey, but it was fresh with the crunch from the hive still there – awesome.  They wanted to know why I had asked for this and were delighted to learn this fact – maybe they would scare off fewer westerners.  All in all, a great meal.

     Later, back at the hotel, I notice that my visage had become a bit scraggy during my travels and decided in needed a good coiffing to avoid being flagged on Interpol databases during the rest of my trip – if for no other reason for not being well-groomed.  The hotel boasted a wonderful grooming place – sort of a hair/face/foot solon – Indian-style.  It’s actually quite good and, as long as you don’t agree to the head massage.  I turned this down on general principal because the fellow looked like he might enjoy crunching my gleaming melon with his knobby rookers a bit too much.    

Last Night - Tepenyaki at the Taj

     After a number of Global Shopping Adventures meetings on my last day, I packed up my stuff yet again.  I was allowed a 4:00 pm room check-out, and then I dined at the hotel’s Japanese restaurant.  They import everything from Japan and the Sashimi showed this to be true – it was delightful.  

     My flight to Istanbul via Amman, Jordan didn’t leave until the wee hours of the morning, so I checked my bags at the front desk and headed to the business center to write and dispatch this post.  That being done I dragged my bleary self to the front door of the hotel at 3:30 a.m. to get a cab to the airport. 

     The driver left tire tracks as we headed out of the driveway.  His nose seemed to be running, so I guess I need to watch out for the flu or – wait!  Is this what the Travel Gods have been waiting to spring on me?  Some sort of sinus malady to plague me for the rest of my trip?  Plus, I think the taxi driver had been watching too many reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard and I clung to the seats for my life.  The normal drive time with no traffic is about 45 minutes and we arrived in about 25 minutes.  I crawled out of the taxi and kissed the curb.  Flying would be no problem now.    

Jain temple altar

     But no, my taxi ride was a mere appetizer for the Travel Gods – the entrée was the trip to Istanbul.  First, they lulled me into a false sense of security on the connection to Jordan – no problems, except the plane was about the size of a medium-sized Subaru and I swear I heard a goat in the back somewhere, but couldn’t turn around because my face was plastered against the seat in front of me.  But at least it was a jet, not prop job. 

     En route to Istanbul, The Gods of Travel were in rare spirits and played me like marionette.  The flight was horrendous with the plane swooping and bouncing in all directions – I swear I looked outside the window once and saw some hairy beast jumping up and down on the wing like William Shatner saw in that Twilight Zone episode – but we eventually landed safely in Istanbul at about 1:00 a.m.  Thanks to my recent manicure, I had no fingernails to bite during the flight.  Luckily, I didn’t choose the pedicure so I was able to gnaw on my toenails.  My yogi back home, Julie, will be proud that I’ve developed new postures for the nervous air traveler.

     I hurled myself into a cab and headed for the Istanbul Intercontinental Hotel and braced myself – I already knew the traffic would be terrible – I’ve been here before.  I think they drive on the wrong side too, but after two months on the road in twelve countries, I’m not sure which side of the road is the correct one anymore.    

     Home Office says that it’s always the side that doesn’t kill me.  They may be onto something.

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