Mumbai...beautiful, wide, tree lined boulevards crammed with cars, taxis, motorcycles, oxen-pulled carts, bicycles loaded four feet high with trays of eggs, and people skipping in and out of all the honking, avoiding wheels and bumpers by an inch or two.

Gorgeous, imposingly grand architecture left by the British playing a backdrop against the street life of the locals and the poor: fruit stalls, cobblers, men getting a shave, an ayurvedic doctor with his herbs and potions set out before him, whole families sleeping on the sidewalk, trays of paan (spices perfectly wrapped inside a green leaf pyramid used for chewing and producing a blood red, teeth staining swirl of spit), sugar cane juicers with their bells tinkling as the wheels crush round and around, books, books, books, little children running up asking for a rupee, clothing stalls for as far as the eye can see with their vendors desperately trying to get your attention before you cross the line over to their next door competition, young men with "very cheap, how cheap you like?" drums for sale, older men with enormous balloons "ten rupees, ten rupees!", miles and miles of cheap electronics, acrylic socks and an ugly men's underwear.

And colour, colour everywhere! Bright pink bougainvillea hanging high from the buildings, rows and rows of orange mangoes and pale green limes, the oil slick blues on the squawking crows' backs, yellow and black taxis squeezing into every conceivable corner all looked over by the never ending bright blue sky. And then there are the saris! Hot pink with chartreuse, yellow with white swirling patterns, turquoise with silver, burgundy with copper, purple with gold, rich bluey grays with burnt sienna trim. And every primary colour that ever existed and all combinations in between. I'm even a convert, and have been displaying a little blue/green myself!

I am LOVING Mumbai!

Yes, it's a hot, dirty city, but then so are many of the other major cities of the world, and several summers in New York has been a good training ground.

I love the mix of it all, the way every type of person is living in close proximity with everyone else, all classes mixed together along with the cats, dogs and crows (which all seem to be getting decent food from somewhere; granted most seem to be strays and are not really looked after, but they're not really bothered either), all living peacefully along side each other.

I love seeing the old with the new, the way a man in traditional clothing will be carrying a wicker basket on his head filled with heaven knows what, jostling for pavement space with a young Mumbian on his cell phone wearing very trendy sunglasses, with a beautifully elegant lady in a gorgeous pink sari trimmed in gold, pulling an enormous cow slowly down the street as the silver Toyota tries to squeeze by and the young man in sweat stained modern clothing wobbles by on his push bike because it is so laden down with packages wrapped in burlap sacking. That's also how we've chosen to experience our stay here - a mix of the local, westernized, cheap, expensive, basic, glamorous. We've managed to exclude the disgusting and ill-making, but I think that's only wise; I can observe vile; I don't have to live it!

But its loud here, oh my goodness its loud! Indians seem to use their horns as a note to let others know they are there; that's all, no emergency needed, just that they are there. I guess that's why there seems to be no need for road markings or signaling - just honk and everyone will know you are coming! Of course, when an entire city of approximately 15 million people are doing that, it gets loud! And we still can't quite figure out the crossing signals. You'd think that if a light were green then the cars would go and if red, then they'd stop. It seems that that's true some of the time, but not all of the time. And there are hardly any signals for pedestrians at all. Apparently, rather than foot traffic having the right of way, it works the other way around here: the bigger the vehicle, the more right of way you have. That means the tourist on foot is at the bottom of the ladder, so a nimble gait and eyes in the back of your head are a necessity!

It helps that our stay here has been cushioned by our accommodation. We're staying at The Bentley's Hotel in the Colaba district, which while on the lower end of the scale, has proven to be a very acceptable home. We managed to get our initial room (a cell of a box with no view and a tiny shower) changed to the garden view one they recommend in the Lonely Planet guide and that made all the difference. We have a little living room area, a large terrace and breakfast of tea/coffee and toast (with orange sugar water trying to pass itself off as marmalade) served every morning. And the best thing is it's quiet and the very friendly staff pretty much leaves us to ourselves. It's also located very well in a rather run down but beautiful street a couple of blocks behind the most expensive hotel in town and down the street from the water. A couple of fabulous restaurants, Basilico and Indigo are in the neighbourhood, the latter being the only supplier of Guinness in Mumbai, only to find out too late (and to our horror) is more expensive than diamonds!

But the most exciting thing we've seen is the Sufi procession, one night on our way back from a day spent walking around Bandra and Juhu. It was after dark and as we approached, we started to realize the already crazy street was blocked. Initially we thought it was an accident, but as we got closer we could see some kind of procession and the shouting and piercing whistles led me to think it was some kind of demonstration. There was a lot of tension in the air and a group of men at the junction we were approaching seemed very intent on controlling the crowd. As we looked down the street, it was a mass of people as far as the eye could see, and there appeared to be small spots of fire burning in the distance. Having been in an angry crowd situation before, I was wary of getting too close, but my curiosity, of course, got the better of me. And I'm glad it did because what was coming down the street was the most bizarre expression of male coming of age as anything I have ever heard of.

A fun day out was spent at Elephanta Island (see page 2), where Buddhist and Hindu caves have been carved out of the rocks in the hillside. It's absolutely amazing to think of what was going on in those times and the effort and craftsmanship it took to achieve them.

And to think we only came here to get my passport renewed! Now that it's ready, I'm a little sad to think of leaving just yet, but it's time to move on and we'll be back again, and again and again, each time with more to discover.

HMM 15.5.06