In Mumbai (formerly Bombay) I didn’t have my camera ready when I passed by the building with the giant sign: BUDGET TEST TUBE BABY CENTER, much to my deep, deep regret.
Big fan of Air Arabia, but their cynical anti-water stance leaves a bad taste in my mouth. They make sure you don’t have any water before you get on the plane in Nairobi or UAE so you have to buy it in the terminal or on the plane. Access to water is my little pet peeve, so despite the comfy flight, if an Air Arabia water executive and the evil manager of the Oriental Hotel in Hargeisa, Somaliland, were both hanging off a cliff and about to die, I might have to save the Oriental manager first.
I witnessed this soon after arriving in Mumbai: I was on the local train into town and a family of four got on. The whole family was well-dressed, even fashionably so, but none of them wore shoes. The youngest kid even had a cell phone—but no shoes. I didn’t understand it because the woman, she had very nice, clean feet. Very pretty feet, in fact. I mean, these were supremely attractive feet, feet you want to get to know better, maybe start a family with, grow old together, and she walked around barefoot. Incredible India.
How can I describe India after seeing so many things like that? (I saw a water truck with diplomatic license plates.) It’s as if I open my mouth and assume words will follow, but nothing comes out.
I discovered that my debit card doesn’t work in India. It’s largely my fault, I should have called before to check, but my bank won’t tell me in which countries it doesn’t work, and so I am supposed to call them and ask if I can use the card every single time I cross a border.
I have all kinds of trouble communicating which leads to all kinds of frustration and it is insanely hot and humid in Mumbai. Not a good combination.