Travel log:
[Warning: Revolting language]
In life, there are rules. When travelling, some rules you bring with you and some you find when you arrive.
In Mumbai, for example, it is not permissible to piss on the outer wall of the Government of India Mint. It is also not permissible to take pictures of the sign on the wall of the Government of India Mint which prohibits the pissing.
Rule: Chance favors the bold
One thing that is obvious upon arrival here is that foot and vehicle traffic has made its own set of rules. The Lost Nav has not been able to independently confirm that there are traffic laws on the books, but if they do exist; they only serve as a jumping off point for great negotiation of man and machine.
A game called Chicken has one simple rule... the last person to fear for their safety wins. This may be the only possible way to cross streets during certain times of the day. If a driver or pedestrian intends to wait until traffic has become reasonably clear, that person should have a full tank of gas or be familiar with the location of a tea house in order to spend a few hours, respectively. Ear-splitting, teeth-rattling car and the higher-pitched motorcycle horns are also the rule and not the exception where the average decibel level is concerned.
Rule: Exact change preferred
Actually, it's not only preferred; very often it is required. This policy goes farther than bus fare and carnival tickets. Change (whether in coin or paper form) is coveted here. The Government of India Mint may be too busy handling its urinary problems and has neglected to print or strike new rupee denominations from Rs. 5 coins to Rs. 10, 20 and 50 bills. (45 IDR = 1 USD)
ATMs distribute crispy new Rs. 1,000, 500 and 100 denominations, but try to find a new small bill. It's as though they haven't been printed in years. Clerks will almost always ask for exact change and act as though they are doing you a favor by changing even an Rs. 500 note. Just today, the Lost Nav was stuck in a ticket line at the train station because an African man was arguing with the clerks. He wanted to pay for a Rs. 6 ticket (or possibly an Rs. 52 first class ticket) with a Rs. 500 note.
"You get me change!" he shouted, waving the bill over his head. "I want to pay!"
The Lost Nav has no doubt that a train station which serves thousands of people per day can find change for Rs. 500.
Taxi drivers have upped fares to accommodate their supposed lack of change. This is not surprising. What is surprising is that they have also cut fares due to their lack of change.
"Never enough coins," a cashier said, when the Lost Nav finally tried to ask why people seemed so ravenous over their coins.
Rule: Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to
'Where is the toilet?' is a great question to ask before setting out to walk through an unfamiliar city. This question is best asked at hotels and restaurants frequented and recommended to tourists.
The Lost Nav was busy futilely observing the rules of The Waiting Game in the hopes of meeting a contact from the Times of India in order to work on a story. During the Waiting Game's early rounds, a stop was made at the Britannia. The supposed 1940s Iranian-styled cafe was recommended by a travel guide and was well-located in the historic Colaba district of Mumbai.
I found a seat in the high-ceilinged and comfortably worn cafe that was still sparsely filled at noon. A breeze from the bay was helped by overhead fans which cooled the few customers and large wait staff.
An early lunch of egg masala consisted of four hard-boiled egg halves in a spicy sauce accompanied by a chapati (Western hemisphere dwellers may think tortilla). Iranian cafes are usually known for tea, but the grandfatherly waiter was forced to apologize as the cafe does not serve either tea or coffee. He recommended a fresh lime soda, with an especially charming emphasis on 'fresh.' I could not refuse a local favorite and was happy to find the soda less sweet than nearly every other beverage the country offers.
When the brief meal ended, I asked another waiter if the toilet was upstairs. He said 'no,' and nodded his head toward the front of the room where a hefty wait captain sat behind his slightly elevated desk like a king on his throne between the two sun-filled entrance ways.
With a backhanded flick of the wait captain's wrist I was escorted to the back of the restaurant expecting to see a bathroom to the side of the kitchen. Instead, we walked right through the kitchen into the back room.
Anyone who has ever seen most restaurant kitchens knows that the sight is usually enough to turn the heartiest eater into a meek nibbler. In this kitchen, grease stains and grime inches thick was frosted with dust and cobwebs at the corners. The hatless, gloveless, tank-topped and largely barefoot staff slaved away over bubbling cauldrons and corroded counters.
In the back room piles of trash and used glass made a home for a particularly long-tailed rat which scurried behind the bottles. A mixer churned some sort of vegetable dish in the opposite corner. Next to the bathroom was a two-headed shower room where the people who apparently live in the backroom were washing up... thankfully in their "shower bathing suits." A bowl of pasta was brought into the shower room to drain.
I thought of running, but I was stunned and fascinated by what I saw; I stayed. The double-doors to the bathroom remained closed for a while despite the shouts of the staff to open up. It is another rule that the longer you have to wait for the bathroom, the less likely you are to want the use of the bathroom.
Finally, the doors swung and I found out what was meant by 'squat toilet.' It is, as advertised, a hole in the ground. This oblong 24 inch hole was cut in the tile floor and had a slope toward the drain side of the "toilet." To my great surprise, it did not smell at all and was actually comforting after seeing the rest of the kitchen. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom, but for this moment that was irrelevant.
I left the bathroom and pushed my way through the tight quarters of the kitchen in order to make my escape. I headed for the door of the Britannia, but was stopped by the waiter who directed me to a small sink on the side of the busboy's station. I briefly washed my hands and went straight for my hand sanitizer after I left the restaurant.
Rule: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger
I hoped my lunch would make me stronger.
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