Mumbai was supposed to be our last Indian Eden, and it was a city we were looking forward to leaving dusty Ahmedabad for. While I didn't expect Mumbai to be any less chaotic or dirty than its siblings, I admit that I had lofty ideas of a glitzy Bollywood-type place, complete with roaming cows and dirty grounds of course.
If first impressions were anything to go by, then I'd say the clean and efficient Mumbai International Airport had us fooled. Here we are outside the terminal, foolishly blissful and optimistic about our week ahead.
My (sometimes outdated) Lonely Planet had us turning the corner from our hotel to Cafe Churchill, a cramped and unpretentious cafe popular with tourists and locals alike. We each had a quarter pounder burger with spicy mustard sauce, and I can still remember that first bite of beef after more than a month.
Shopping in Colaba, the tourist district hawking clothes, produce and bric-a-bracs. Here's the charming old man who tried to convince me that the pair of Chanel glasses in his cabinet were authentic. I wasn't sold, though Erwin did fork out some moolah for a pair of cool knock-off sunnies that would have cost him ten times the price if he bought them online.
Dinner was at Leopold Cafe & Bar, a traveler's hangout that was further popularized by Shantaram, a novel based loosely on the life of author and former Australian convict Gregory David Roberts. The food was barely passable but the poppadum-like nachos were very addictive.
We awoke 15 minutes past the last breakfast serving time, but we managed to wing the room service still. Here's a shot of Hotel Bentley's old-school breakfast of toast, butter, jam and hot coffee/tea served in tin pots. And that's Erwin rocking one of his two new sunnies.
You can't quite say you've been to India if you haven't experienced being stuck in a traffic jam on a sweltering summer evening. And no, the taxis aren't air-conditioned. By the time we got to West Bandra where there was supposedly good shopping and eats, we were sticky and very cranky. Enough to hop into another taxi 20 minutes later to good old Colaba.
We ended up in an unexplored lane, and we chanced upon Cafe Basilico, a chic deli that we later realized was recommended in Lonely Planet as well. Ahh, what would we do without Lonely Planet?
The beef and burger deprived me had a beef burger, again. Erwin ordered a fillet mignon which he really enjoyed and which we returned for two nights later.
We skipped the array of desserts at Basilico and instead crossed the street to Theobroma Patisserie & Chocolaterie which Erwin spotted the evening before. Wise choice, for my chocolate caramel shortcake (middle picture, ignore the vanilla ice-cream which we barely touched) was 60 rupees worth of sin. Yum. The menu said that the owners hoped that people would step in as customers and leave as friends. One taste of that chocolatey goodness was all it took to make me a best friend!
Unsurprisingly, we ended up back at Theobroma for brunch the very next day. The sandwich is Erwin's favourite Bacon Butty, while the gooey mess is quite possibly the best French Toast I've tasted. Custardy and tasty, topped with caramelized bananas. Anything that involves unmushed fruits in India was enough to put me on a temporary high.
We spent most our day bumming around in Wich Latte, whose Caesar salad I still recall fondly.
Fresh veggies are a rarity in India, where they prefer theirs doused and drenched in thick gravies and curries. And dinner was yet another forgettable affair at Piccadilly Restaurant along Colaba Causeway. Let's just say the otak-looking sticks weren't quite what I was expecting from Iranian and Lebanese cuisine!
More bumming awaited us the next day (spot a pattern?) and we had settled into the routine of napping in the evenings. It's kinda funny - I'll be reading on the armchair and Erwin would be playing his PSP on the couch, and the next thing we knew, we were asleep.
Our daily visit to Theobroma, this time for tea and cake.
We awoke in time for dinner, this time at Cafe Mondegar, yet another popular traveler's hangout. See the couple in red in the background? The guy reminds me oddly of Berty, and we bumped into them the very next night at Leopold's when I had an attack of nacho-craving.
The next day, we thought we'd venture out of Colaba and give Mumbai a chance to redeem itself. We hopped into a cab to Kemp's Corner, the supposed fashion district. Well, we were out of the place in less than an hour, and we ended up in the Tea Centre, where Erwin had possibly the worst tea cocktail in his entire life. "It tastes like shit." I'm not sure we can trust you anymore my dear Lonely Planet.
Classic expression, India buddy.
We went in search of Oxford Bookstore, India's poor equivalent of our Borders. Erwin was rather disappointed by the lack of selection and exorbitant prices, and we found ourselves back at the second-hand bookshop on Colaba (where else!) after a quick refuelling at Cafe Churchill. Jinli, that was the shop where I almost bought you a karma sutra for your birthday, but I decided against it! You're corrupted enough!
As mentioned earlier, we returned to Basilico for Erwin's fillet mignon, while I decided to try to Gooey Chocolate Cake. It was good, but it left me craving for savoury nachos, which was how we ended up walking over to Leopold Cafe & Bar.
Erwin was carrying our unfinished bottle of mineral water, and as we were strolling along the quieter streets towards the cafe, an unkempt man came up behind us and said "pani, pani" which means water in Hindi. We ignored him, and he snatched the bottle right out of Erwin's hands. This very same man attempted to snatch my shopping bags the very next day, this time in broad daylight. The nerve! Well he could have our water but there was no way he was gonna take my shopping!
For our last night in Mumbai, we decided to splurge on a fine-dining meal at the acclaimed (or so Lonely Planet says) Indigo Restaurant.
On a rooftop of fairylights and surrounded by old buildings, the restaurant was like an oasis in a desert of crumbling ruins. I have no complaints about the food and ambience, and the service was excellent. Watching the waiters go about their wine service reminded me of my Saffron training days, where I must admit it was a mini miracle I even passed the portion on wine service. We didn't meet up with Mr. Wich Latte in the end, and our expected one-hour dinner lasted an enjoyable three hours, but I'm not complaining.
We returned to finish up our packing and to a really odd night of weirder dreams and funny happenings (which thou shall not mention), and awoke bright and early to kiss Mumbai and India goodbye.
And of all things to leave behind, I left my beloved Racky.
I'm currently liasing with the hotel to courier it to MICA, where I'll get Kash to bring him back to me. Sigh. This wasn't quite the piece of myself I'd expected to leave in India!
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