The India Chronicles: Arrival Day

Arrived in Mumbai (a.k.a. Bombay) today after an easy and restful overnight flight from London. Transferred terminals via a hot and rickety bus, then waited three hours to catch an Indian Airlines flight to Aurangabad, a city east of Mumbai (yes Mom, I’m sure that’s in India, not Africa).

While checking in at the domestic terminal, I met Thierry, a member of the camera crew who I will be here with (I am here for work to shoot footage for a video for one of my clients). Thierry is French, from Nice, and speaks barely any English, so we didn’t make lots of conversation – a situation which calls for lots of hand gestures. Of course, then, people think I am a deaf person - especially since I am still sometimes guilty of that obnoxious American disease that causes me to talk louder when speaking to people who speak another language. And add into that equation that I am disoriented in a very foreign country – so increase that volume by an additional 5 decibels.

So Thierry and I catch an Indian Airlines flight and touch down barely an hour later in Aurangabad. We get off the plane and step out onto the tarmac, greeted by an ominous black sky. Five minutes after departing in our SUV for the hotel, we are reminded it is the monsoon season by the torrential downpour that begins…and lasts throughout the entire evening. This is hard-core, thundering, “the-Gods-must-be-crazy” rain.

We made it to the hotel (The Taj Residences), checked in, then our driver asked if we’d like to go for a tour to see some local sights. Despite the fact that it was violently raining sideways and close to dark at this point, Thierry and I figured “What the hell, when are we going to be in India, much less Aurangabad again!” and got back in the SUV (after I changed into my hiking boots, jeans and Gortex rain jacket). Of course, I can only GUESS that is what Thierry “figured,” given we don’t speak a common language and have no way to communicate…I just tried to read his expression as I bullied him back into the SUV to go touring, but he seemed totally ok with it.

Our first stop was the Bibi-ka-Maqbara, a beautiful but rather dilapidated mini version of the Taj Mahal. It is still impressive, with white marble full of sculpted trees of life….or something of the sort, once-grand gardens (which are grand no longer), and a tomb inside. Framed by the green hills, it was quite a sight in the pouring rain. I was just trying not to slip and crack my head on all the marble - which was a challenge, even in hiking shoes. Which really baffled me, given all the Indian tourists were moving along quickly in flimsy flip flops and sandals. And no rain jackets (I sorta felt like a wimp).

After the Bibi-ka-Maqbara, we drove up the hill to see the Aurangabad caves, but they were closed since it was getting pretty dark. But we did get some good views of the green hills, some waterfalls, and the valley down below.

Then it seems I fell asleep in the SUV for about 45 minutes or so, hypnotised by the driving rain and rocked to sleep by a very uneven and rough road. I was soon woken up by the driver, who had stopped us at a weaver’s shop where I perked up and went straight into Consumer-Terminator Mode (CTM). We went in, got a little speech from a sales guy (likely our driver’s brother) about the 2000 year old weaving mills used there to make fabrics original to the area. There was also a 2000 year old man there (just kidding) working on the 2000 year old weaving mill, and we were told (basically) that once he dies, the whole art of that type of weaving (that takes 3 weeks per piece to make, by the way) will turn to modern machinated crap (which might explain why he was working so late – they are trying to get every little last bit out of him to boost stock before he dies and it all ends). But it was late, so I cut his speech short so I could just go inside and buy buy buy - which I think the sales guy really appreciated. Thierry whipped out his massive professional camera and started snapping pictures of all the pretty fabric as I whipped out my American Express card. The sales guy insisted I sit down on a couch as he threw pashmina after wrap after scarf after pillow case after big piece of fabric at me. I went into sensory overload after about 2 minutes, grabbed a bunch of stuff, and 15 minutes later stumbled out of there with some goods (I can't say what they are though, otherwise I ruin a few Christmas present surprises). The Gods were either really angry or really pleased with my impromptu purchases because it rained like the end of the world as I was signing the credit card receipt.

It seemed to take another hour and a half to get back to the hotel, I think because of the rain and my increasingly tired brain. But my stomach usually overrides my brain, and that is never too tired for dinner, especially an authentic Indian one at a semi-fancy hotel. So Thierry and I went to the restaurant where we were faced with an impossibly extensive buffet of Indian food. I had no time or desire to figure out what it all was and make an informed decision, so I just took a little bit of almost everything and it was good. Thierry managed to communicate about three sentences to me in rough English that he conjured up. Which is impressive considering the only thing I was capable of saying was “Bon Appetit.” He asked me what the equivalent to that was in English, and I realised there isn’t one – we say “Bon Appetit” – he thought that was odd. Which it is – what would we say in English….."Happy Eating?" Why don’t we have a saying in for that? So I would like to fill the gap with a new ritual – the American “fork toast” – where you clink your forks together with your dining companion across the table (kind of like a sword fight) before digging in. Thoughts?

After dinner, I considered sitting out on the swing on my terrace (because how often do you stay at a hotel with a swing on a terrace?), but the driving rain, bat-sized mosquitoes, and my decision NOT to take malaria tablets for this trip convinced me to go to bed instead.