I expect no one will want to look through all of the hundreds of photos I took, so I put together a slide show of my own favorites. Click the "play" arrow to view it; click the box in the lower right-hand corner of the slide show to view it full screen.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Mumbai is titanic. It is the second most populous city on the planet, with a metropolitan-area population over 20 million. It is the site of some of the direst poverty and the most conspicuous consumption in the modern world.
For instance, the skyscraper at the center of the photos above is the new home of Mukesh Ambani. That is to say, that tower is a single family residence, towering into the haze above deformed orphans begging in the streets. The orphans' deformities were produced neither by genetics nor injury, but by men who burned them with acid or removed digits from their hands in order to produce greater empathy from passing motorists, which means a greater haul of donations for the men to take from the children at the end of the day. India is a place that commands ambivalence.
It's also an incredibly vibrant, cosmopolitan and interesting place. On our first night in we checked into the hotel, then drove to the China House restaurant, a favorite of D's & A's and rated among the best restaurants in Mumbai. It was, without question, the best Chinese food I've eaten. It was also a fun place and a welcome break from the Indian-spice fatigue from which we were all suffering after a week of vigorous restaurant eating.
Jaime and D, J.W. Marriot, our hotel in Mumbai.
Duck carved tableside.
We sampled the Mumbai nightlife, but it begins at 11:00, so I think we missed the peak hours of Bollywood clubbing.
On November 26, 2008 Mumbai was the site of a deadly, guerilla-style terrorist attack by elements from within Pakistan. Being there on the anniversary, there were preparations for memorials going on around the city, particularly at the India Gate, below, which is near the Taj Palace hotel that was the site of some of the worst violence.
Above is the interior of the Leopold Cafe, where we stopped for an afternoon drink. It is a sort of Bohemian/artist hangout, only a few blocks from the Taj Palace. It was one of the places hit in the 26/11 attacks - the terrorists threw a couple of grenades into the crowded eatery, then shot it up. They have made repairs, but in the picture above you can see remaining bullet holes at the top of the column on the left and in the ceiling at center.
Security was high, given the date. But security at many places is permanently high around India. All international hotels in Indian cities have gates; your car will not be let through until the undercarriage has been inspected with a mirror, the body has been sniffed by a dog and the cargo area has been visually inspected. In Mumbai this week, military commando squads were in the streets, but they didn't mind us tourists posing for pictures with their machinery.
We did a lot of general touring of the city. Some cultural highlights included the Jain temple (where we got lucky enough to watch a wedding ceremony underway) and the floating mosque.
A view of the beach from our room.
Jaime, strolling far outside her comfort zone, in a fetid market outside a mosque.
For instance, the skyscraper at the center of the photos above is the new home of Mukesh Ambani. That is to say, that tower is a single family residence, towering into the haze above deformed orphans begging in the streets. The orphans' deformities were produced neither by genetics nor injury, but by men who burned them with acid or removed digits from their hands in order to produce greater empathy from passing motorists, which means a greater haul of donations for the men to take from the children at the end of the day. India is a place that commands ambivalence.
It's also an incredibly vibrant, cosmopolitan and interesting place. On our first night in we checked into the hotel, then drove to the China House restaurant, a favorite of D's & A's and rated among the best restaurants in Mumbai. It was, without question, the best Chinese food I've eaten. It was also a fun place and a welcome break from the Indian-spice fatigue from which we were all suffering after a week of vigorous restaurant eating.
Jaime and D, J.W. Marriot, our hotel in Mumbai.
Duck carved tableside.
We sampled the Mumbai nightlife, but it begins at 11:00, so I think we missed the peak hours of Bollywood clubbing.
On November 26, 2008 Mumbai was the site of a deadly, guerilla-style terrorist attack by elements from within Pakistan. Being there on the anniversary, there were preparations for memorials going on around the city, particularly at the India Gate, below, which is near the Taj Palace hotel that was the site of some of the worst violence.
Above is the interior of the Leopold Cafe, where we stopped for an afternoon drink. It is a sort of Bohemian/artist hangout, only a few blocks from the Taj Palace. It was one of the places hit in the 26/11 attacks - the terrorists threw a couple of grenades into the crowded eatery, then shot it up. They have made repairs, but in the picture above you can see remaining bullet holes at the top of the column on the left and in the ceiling at center.
Security was high, given the date. But security at many places is permanently high around India. All international hotels in Indian cities have gates; your car will not be let through until the undercarriage has been inspected with a mirror, the body has been sniffed by a dog and the cargo area has been visually inspected. In Mumbai this week, military commando squads were in the streets, but they didn't mind us tourists posing for pictures with their machinery.
We did a lot of general touring of the city. Some cultural highlights included the Jain temple (where we got lucky enough to watch a wedding ceremony underway) and the floating mosque.
A view of the beach from our room.
Jaime, strolling far outside her comfort zone, in a fetid market outside a mosque.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Goa is off the beaten path, relative to our other destinations in India. A former Portugese colony, it was annexed by India only recently, in 1961.
The road to Goa.
A was told by an acquaintance that the "real" Goan experience was to sleep in a tent on the beach and catch fish; this is a Bohemian enclave for Westerners, especially Israeli kids fresh out of their conscripted military service and ready to grow dreadlocks. Although A was born with Israeli citizenship and D has lived in Israel, this was not the experience any of us was fit for; neither would we have been readily accepted into the Clan of the Crusty Hair. So, we opted for the Intercontinental Lalit Goa, which had a good recommendation from D's yoga instructor.
The property was an absolute jewel. The beach: wonderfully exotic. Unfortunately, the staff was routinely and ultimately comically unprepared for the task of running a 5-star hotel. But alas, the latter is a challenge faced uniquely by the relatively privileged and dwelt upon by only the hopelessly petty, so I'll leave it by saying I cannot recommend the Lalit for what it claims to be, but was happy to enjoy it for what it is.
It was secluded; the only nearby action was locals, plying their fishing trades.
A at Sunset.
If you look closely, you can see Jaime wincing as she tries futilely to enjoy beer.
About five clicks from the hotel was a small town, name unknown to me, that was more of what A's acquaintance would call the "real" Goa. Run-down hostels, internet cafes, vendors, hole-in-the-wall eateries; sort of like some small towns I've been to in Costa Rica.
We found a sublime little beach-side seafood restaurant called Dropadi, where I had the whole grilled rock mullet, stuffed with onions and tomatoes and liberally soaked with butter and fresh garlic. See the sign, and the literal hole in the wall, below. Dropadi is an unequivocal must-go for South Goa.
After dinner we strolled around town, under a waning moon, dodging the inevitable cows, dogs, mopeds and rickshaws.
Goa is a whole state of India and we caught merely a glimpse. I can say it was deeply beautiful and can commend it to the person looking for a unique beach vacation in a truly exotic locale. It gave us a taste of adventure - such as when the driver we hired to take us the long and rural route to the airport (A and D were in a separate car and far out of sight) suddenly pulled over on the side of the road, got out, and a new and unexplained second driver replaced him at the wheel without a word amongst each other or to us (neither driver spoke any functional English)). It gave us a chance to relax, too, which was important, given that our next stop was sort of the NYC of India - Mumbai - city of 27 million and counting, the site of the awful terrorist attacks of two years ago yesterday, the focus of India's greatest wealth and the victim of its bitterest poverty.
The road to Goa.
A was told by an acquaintance that the "real" Goan experience was to sleep in a tent on the beach and catch fish; this is a Bohemian enclave for Westerners, especially Israeli kids fresh out of their conscripted military service and ready to grow dreadlocks. Although A was born with Israeli citizenship and D has lived in Israel, this was not the experience any of us was fit for; neither would we have been readily accepted into the Clan of the Crusty Hair. So, we opted for the Intercontinental Lalit Goa, which had a good recommendation from D's yoga instructor.
The property was an absolute jewel. The beach: wonderfully exotic. Unfortunately, the staff was routinely and ultimately comically unprepared for the task of running a 5-star hotel. But alas, the latter is a challenge faced uniquely by the relatively privileged and dwelt upon by only the hopelessly petty, so I'll leave it by saying I cannot recommend the Lalit for what it claims to be, but was happy to enjoy it for what it is.
It was secluded; the only nearby action was locals, plying their fishing trades.
A at Sunset.
If you look closely, you can see Jaime wincing as she tries futilely to enjoy beer.
About five clicks from the hotel was a small town, name unknown to me, that was more of what A's acquaintance would call the "real" Goa. Run-down hostels, internet cafes, vendors, hole-in-the-wall eateries; sort of like some small towns I've been to in Costa Rica.
We found a sublime little beach-side seafood restaurant called Dropadi, where I had the whole grilled rock mullet, stuffed with onions and tomatoes and liberally soaked with butter and fresh garlic. See the sign, and the literal hole in the wall, below. Dropadi is an unequivocal must-go for South Goa.
After dinner we strolled around town, under a waning moon, dodging the inevitable cows, dogs, mopeds and rickshaws.
Goa is a whole state of India and we caught merely a glimpse. I can say it was deeply beautiful and can commend it to the person looking for a unique beach vacation in a truly exotic locale. It gave us a taste of adventure - such as when the driver we hired to take us the long and rural route to the airport (A and D were in a separate car and far out of sight) suddenly pulled over on the side of the road, got out, and a new and unexplained second driver replaced him at the wheel without a word amongst each other or to us (neither driver spoke any functional English)). It gave us a chance to relax, too, which was important, given that our next stop was sort of the NYC of India - Mumbai - city of 27 million and counting, the site of the awful terrorist attacks of two years ago yesterday, the focus of India's greatest wealth and the victim of its bitterest poverty.
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