We were about to buy tickets from one of the ferry companies with a booth near the Gateway, and found out that the caves are closed on Mondays. Rob had been there before, and assured us there would still be plenty to see, so we paid the fare. Indian tourist attractions have a pricing structure based on nationality, with foreigners paying about five times more than locals for admission to historical sites. It was still quite inexpensive for all of us. I kind of like that locals have to pay less, because it makes these sites more accessible to the general population.
Since the island is about six miles out into the harbor, we had an hour-long boat ride. Photography is not allowed on the boats (by order of the Indian navy), so we didn't take pictures or video on the ride because we are serious rule-followers. Of course, that didn't stop Indians from using their cell phones--especially when a group of seagulls flew alongside the boat, eating the chips some kids threw to them.
Tourist Ferry Boats
Even though I knew to expect to see pollution and garbage in the water, it shocked me when boat passengers threw their empty water and soda bottles, chip bags, and snack wrappers overboard. It was like a reflex, completely automatic. There was an empty, unused trash can on the boat.
We disembarked onto a small concrete ledge, walked up some steps and were on the pier leading to the island itself. This was the closest we were going to get to the great outdoors on the entire trip, since we were planning to spend the rest of our time in Hyderabad (the 4th most populous city in India). Rob and Biplab stopped to buy cold drinks from a booth on the pier, and then we started the long walk to the stairs leading to the archeological park.
Rob: "You don't have any Mountain Dew? Okay, Coke."
We could have taken the train instead of walking, but we weren't really tired at this point and we wanted to be able to take pictures. The train reminded us of Deer Acres back home.
We were greeted by very friendly stray dogs, which tested my willpower regarding my self-imposed "Don't Pet Anything" rule. I think animals seek me out because they can tell that I would take them home with me if I could, and at the very least I will pet them and share my food. The only exception to my benevolence? Snakes. Good thing I didn't see any on the island.
The island has year-round residents, many of whom make their living in part by getting visitors to buy merchandise from their stands. The vendors here sold snacks, hats, clothing, jewelry, statues, toys and a lot of other souvenir items. Everything was reasonably priced, though the quality of items varied widely from one booth to the next. I was completely enchanted, though. I absolutely love buying things from street vendors. I've always been attracted to yard sales, flea markets, thrift stores, etc. because you never really know what's going to be there, and if you don't like the prices you can move on to the next booth.
After this first vendor-gauntlet, we came to a paved area that was a little more open than the previous paths, and I nearly had a heart attack of joy because I saw cows, goats, dogs, and monkeys on the loose and mingling with the crowd. Giving me access to animals is like giving Red Bull to a kid with ADHD--terrifying, slightly dangerous, but hilarious. I wanted to play fetch with the dogs.
I wanted to stare into the rectangular pupils of the goats.
I wanted to high-five the monkeys. All of this, ALL AT ONCE. I know, I am a child. But I've never seen monkeys in the wild, and this was the closest we would get to having an Indiana Jones moment in India.
The sign the monkey is sitting on explains that the island finally got electricity in May of 1989, which helped us maintain a little perspective regarding the infrastructure of India, especially in relation to its population. I was consistently, acutely aware of the differences between India and the U.S., and I have to say that I have great respect for so many aspects of everyday life in India.
I had been warned by various sources that the main crime I had to be concerned about in India was pickpocketing in crowded tourist areas. These monkeys were actually the closest experience we had with petty theft. They were everywhere along the path, jumping from one ledge or building to the next like little acrobats.
I was mostly afraid they would leap onto my back after a trip across one of the tarp ropes. I also didn't know if they would have any interest in the camera.
We watched monkeys snatch drink bottles from people. Some were unsuspecting, but others were willing participants in the monkey-thefts. Biplab's lemonade was only half-empty when it was snatched from him.
And this little guy was guarding his roasted field corn, because there were bigger, badder monkeys nearby. He's sitting on some chairs with long bamboo poles attached to them, which are used to carry tourists up to the caves (for a fee).
This was the monkey-in-chief, apparently. I was slightly afraid of him, because he looked downright menacing when he was picking his teeth and glaring at me. He also swung into the trees above my head and landed on the ledge right next to my elbow in a matter of seconds.
Since it was heading into the late afternoon, many of the booths along the stairway were already closed for the day. And had we known this would be one of our only opportunities to buy inexpensive souvenirs in Mumbai, we probably would have looked more carefully and thoughtfully at what was available. It's hard to think of these things when you're suppressing jetlag. And when you have a long, steep climb to make.
Although some of the stalls sold cheap plastic junk, there were some with handmade items, like this jewelry stand.
Even though the caves and most of the vendors were closed, I still enjoyed trekking up to the top of the hill. Every experience in India was like a gift, and I felt like there was no room for griping or feeling ungrateful, no matter the circumstances. The idea of being there at all was incredible, and I kept reminding myself that since this wasn't a vacation, I had to be content with the moments I had that were vacationish.
Those stairs to the top of the hill seemed to go on forever. They also became progressively steep, which proved challenging for our exhausted (and out of shape) bodies. Finally, we made it all the way up to look at a closed gate. Rob thought we would at least be able to go into the area near the caves, but everything at the top was closed.
We were thirsty, and a bit sweaty. I paused near the gate to look at the crows convened in the trees above me, and was promptly shat on. Rob followed some men down a trail, only to find that it ended abruptly at a trash-filled ravine, and people were pissing over the edge of it. I could have been annoyed with all of this, but then I turned around and peered through a gap in the foliage to see how far we had come:
Going back down the hill was certainly easier, especially since we decided to buy cold bottles of Sprite and stop in at one of the more established shops to look at carved statues. Although I love haggling and bargaining, I was a little out of practice, so Biplab helped me negotiate with the shopkeeper. I ended up getting an ebony wood elephant for several hundred rupees less than the asking price. Knowing that it had a long journey, the shopkeeper wrapped it in several layers of newspaper and some bubble wrap.
We didn't buy anything else at the shop, although we were sorely tempted by this:
I was under the impression that heat, sunlight, and humidity were bad for film, but what do I know? I didn't check the expiration dates.
When we got to the bottom of the hill, Biplab insisted we take the train to shorten the walk. He was met with no resistance from us, since our calves were beginning to ache from our extended Stairmaster session. We crammed ourselves into the remaining seats at the back of the train. It was an extremely uncomfortable ride, but definitely worth the 5 rupees.
On the ferry ride back to the mainland, we half-slept and enjoyed the slight breeze. We watched the sun start to sink. A submarine surfaced and made its way to port. And then, as we were about to get off the boat, Biplab reached for his phone and couldn't find it. We looked around, and realized we were sitting right above a grate that vented the engine compartment. The phone had slipped out of his hands and fallen below decks, into a puddle. Sigh.
At least the elephant is happy living in my china cabinet.
