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India blog 2

March 3, 2010

It is the morning of March 2nd.

Wake up, the guy wants to overcharge us to get to Colaba, a touristy more fun part of Mumbai we ant to stay in instead of the place near the airport which sucks but was fine because of how late it was.  I tell him to fuck off and we take an auto rickshaw back to the airport and get a prepaid cab.  Oh, we decided on staying in Fort (next to colaba) because of the sights but the place was full so on to Colaba.  The main area of Colaba is on the Colaba Causeway and we are stayingin a place called Hotel Volga.  It has little going for it, kinda similar to the name, which sounds like a little known part of the Russian anatomy.

We are staying right next to a decent but a little overpriced restaurant called Leopolds that was one of the places hit when the terrorists attack went down in 2008 and the remnants of the wreckage are still present in parts of the place. 

So we decide to walk around and we come to the Royal Taj Hotel which was the main area of the attack.  This hotel was insanely amazing, possibly the nicest one I have ever seen.  Apparently it was up and running 3 weeks after the attacks destroyed its entrance and lobby, which is a huge source of pride for people around here. 

Umm, what else, went on a boat ride for 30 minutes that was only nice because of the strong breeze that has kept us relatively cool in this insanely hot weather (it will only get hotter until I can’t stand it anymore and never leave the shade).  Later, we walked around the slumish/market and I had excellent Samosas for 7 rupees.  1 dollar is 45 rupees.  I also had half a beer because Mary peer pressured me, which I didn’te plan on doing, but it did wash down the best naan and palak paneer (spinach goat chees curry) of life. 

Here is a short poem about Hotel Volga:

A winding wobbling fan wants to decapitate me and the door looks just like the rest of the walls  so I can’t get out.  The window is barred while pidgeons stand guard and down is more than three stories.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Charly permalink
    March 4, 2010 4:20 pm

    Your poem reminds me of the room I lived in for six months in Hyderabad. I almost cried when I got a water cooler – 3 stories up is no joke!

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