Mumbai is an intense place by any standards, but especially when you are trying to recover from flu (which resulted from a three-day whirlwind tour of Sicily with my brother, Edward, just before leaving for India). I was in Mumbai for 6 days. Some were OK, and I managed some sightseeing. On others, I could not even get out of bed.

Walking the streets here is full-on sensory overload. Apart from the incessant honking of horns, crowds, filth and physical obstacles, Indians must be the most determined salespeople in the world. Their onslaught is relentless, completely ignoring any negative response. The beggar children are even more persistent, and have all apparently been trained in reverse psychology; approaching with opening lines like, "Hi, what's your name?" and "I don't want your money." It is very difficult not to be unpleasant in the face of such repetitive pushiness.

A visit to the $400-per-night Taj Mahal Hotel provides a complete contrast to, and often welcome escape from, life on the streets surrounding it. A uniformed and deferential man opens the door for you with a greeting, the expansive and air-conditioned lobby plays quiet classical music. Rich people engage in thoughtful conversation, or sip cocktails in the lush pool area. View image
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The shops very quietly sell Louis Vuitton, Mont Blanc and Yves St Laurent. As I sat in the Lobby, the actor Malcolm McDowell entered and sat next to me on a couch. He was also taking a break from the anonymous explosion of attention on the street. We struck up a conversation. He said, "Out there, I tell you, it's harder than being famous!"

Most of the time, I was feeling vulnerable and alone. Not at all in "adventure" mode or travel mood. At first I was surprised that western tourists and travellers would not even greet each other, but later realised it was due to a mixture of big-city anonymity -- which I had also noticed while travelling in Africa -- and the fixed (but futile) scowl one develops to try and ward off any kind of solicitation. There is nothing more lonely than being surrounded by thousands of strangers who all want something from you, and no-one to offer sustenance or support.

Embarrassing touristic misinterpretations are part of the learning process. One occurred as I found an air-conditioned cafe serving real espresso coffee. Outside was a crowd of about 30 men, all peering in through the big windows. View image. This surprised me. So, as I ordered my cappucino, I commented to a member of the staff, asking if coffee drinking had become a spectator sport? He politely replied, "No sir, they are watching the cricket on our television set."

View image Cricket is a religion in India, and the Australian team is here for a long series of test matches. At one restaurant, a waiter very deferrentially asked for my autograph, thinking I was a member of the team. Later, while sitting with Mr McDowell at the Taj Mahal, the whole Aussie team returned to the hotel after the day's match. One of them was in fact tall, and did have a beard like mine. Puzzlingly, these very normal, unathletic-looking men are gods in India.

I found there is a Mumbai version of Time Out magazine. The cover story "North vs. South Mumbai: Which is Cooler?" India has a large rich, materialistic and style-conscious westernized community, with Mumbai as its center. Local rumor has it that real-estate here is among the most expensive in the world, but if that is the case, I argued, how is it that one of the more upmarket restaurants on the main street in Colaba, the flashiest district in town, only charges about $2 for a main course; it would be fifteen times more in Manhattan, for example...

On one of my more energetic nights, I found the courage to overcome my loneliness and approach a group of people in a restaurant, asking to join them at their table; an English/Indian guy, and two Canadians on a study exchange in nearby Pune. We ended up back at the empty family apartment of the guy, who normally lives in Glastonbury and deals in hippy relics from around the world. He turned out to be a complete pothead who has dabbled with every kind of spiritual path all over the world, and seems more lost than ever, a man without depth; even as he tries to impress and seduce with his years of spritual experience and knowledge. An architypical "Trustafarian". I left early, and was glad to be alone again, back in my hotel room. It was my first taste of a side of India of which I am wary, but which also holds a strange fascination for me.

The next day there was an Air Show over Mumbai, with MiG fighter jets and helicopters and aerobatics. View image , View image , View image. It was a good chance to watch people, as there were 350 thousand gathered in one place. It struck me how very different Indians are from each other. Castes, religions, ethnice backgrounds, and especially clothing. ranging from traditional bright colours and saris, to business suits and hipster fashions. View image , View image , View image
I later noticed the muster station was overrun with enthusiastic applicants hoping to join the military. This was also the day of counting votes for the state elections, so for some reason, it was a Dry Day, which means you can't buy alcohol anywhere.

After a couple of nights at the Lawrence Hotel, I moved to the Salvation Army hostel, which offers dorm beds for about $3 per night, compared to the $12 I was spending at the hotel. This turned out to be a false economy: the stress of sharing with 10 men, and the oversold bunk beds causing arguments in the middle of the night, made me get even more ill than I already was. The next morning staggered to another hotel, with a nice private room View image, and a view of the sea View image, for $8. Here I holed up and gathered enough strength to leave Mumbai.

Realizing that my original plan, to travel by train to Nepal and go trekking in the Himalayas, was not going to work while my health was so crap, I decided to head for the beaches of Goa, to relax and get fit again. There is also some unrest in Nepal (Maoist uprising and strikes), so it may be prudent to wait till the springtime for that area. Suggenly, I have too much baggage, including heavy hiking shoes, fleece jumper, etc. I packed up the excess stuff that I would not need in the hot south, and mailed it to myself at a guesthouse in Kathmandu (to be picked up in March). In order to send a package in India, it must be sealed in white cotton, which is sewn up expertly by a guy at the post office for $1. View image My load lightened, I began to feel more optimistic and engergetic about the next part of my travels.

I woke early the next morning feeling stronger, and so got a taxi to the central station View image, where I was very lucky to get the very last ticket for the sleeper train that evening, which would arrive in Goa the next morning. Total cost: $7. I was more hopeful, and very much looking forward to getting out of town.

At an internet cafe, I noticed the girl next to me was writing that she was taking the same train. I introduced myself, and she said she would be grateful for the company. She is Swiss-German and has been teaching in Rajastan for 6 months. Has just left her new boyfriend there, and suddenly finds it very hard to be travelling alone.

As we got to the station and looked at our tickets, we discovered that we had bunks over each other in the same compartment. It seemed like an incredible coincidence, until we found the compartment was full, with the only 6 western travellers on the train!

The girls were trying to kill cockroaches which were crawling all over the walls and beds, but I was able to tune them out, put in my ear plugs and go to sleep, feeling grateful for being able to stretch out completely.