​After the ferry I started to go to the right – as my map indicated.  However, the road ahead looked blocked and the people where I stopped for chai insisted I should go back and turn up the steep hill, so I did.  This was a mistake, in hindsight, as the road wasn’t blocked at all and would have saved me about 20miles, but never mind.
 
It was a long slog up the hill – but there was the reward of a fort up on top – which had glorious views and I had to myself – free entrance and falling down as it was.  

​ Back on the road again, I saw lots of evidence of fecundity: schoolkids, monkeys and their babies, cows and calves, chickens and chicks.  I also saw lush vegetation – huge waxy leaves, or thorny or just prolific and adorned with strange and interesting birds I have no names for. 
 
After I had several people stop their cars to query my route – and say “What, this way?” when I’d say “Kelshi”, or even “Dapoli” – I rechecked my direction and realised I was travelling three sides of a square – very circuitous – and the pain of the hill had been unnecessary.  I became hot and grumpy and very, very mean as a result, scowling at anyone who had the audacity to beep their horn at me (which is just about everybody!).  But then I met Wasim and his mechanic mate Mahajali (sp?).  They insisted on buying me an Indian burger then escorting me the right direction – taking me into their house to meet the family en route – and show off his transport business and fleet of cars while he was at it. 
I’d come so far back along the Estuary I crossed the bridge instead of taking a ferry as I had meant to do. 
 
Wasim was getting married in two weeks and invited me to go!  Sadly I had to decline.  His sister, a dentist, was also getting married and was off to live in the States following her wedding.   I got very confused with who was who, as there were 2 young girls, one young boy, two mothers, one grandfather and several husbands floating around.  I got fed orangeade and biscuits so I was sugared up and much cheered up and ready to zoom off to Kelshi after that.  I even started to smile at the passers by again.
 
I found a very cheap room in Kelshi, and very basic – complete with mouse droppings in the shower.  However, at 250 rupees including an all I could eat supper, I wasn’t about to complain.   Tomorrow, I intend to stick to the coastline, even if the road does look closed. 

​My bed is very hard – probably the hardest bed I’ve ever slept on (discounting Squibby’s doorstep that is) - it won’t be the last hard bed I sleep on in India for sure. 
 
I slept late, after waking up every time I turned over in the night.   Breakfast was at 09.30hrs and I was called for just as I was getting dressed – so good timing.  Strangest breakfast I’ve ever had: first there was the usual chopped red onion, tomato and lime juice (served with just about every meal), then scrambled egg, mildly spiced with lots of chopped veg in, then a dahl type gravy, with peas and pulses and a lot of ‘bombay mix’ crunchy biscuit thrown on top – all served with the fluffy white rolls.  I enjoyed it.  The spicy sweet milky tea that Mon adores was served to finish the meal – and I’ve been getting used to it, though it’s very sweet. 
 
After breakfast I read in the garden.  There are at least 14 other folk staying here so that’s a lot of washing up.  I noticed 4 of the other guests setting up what looked like a small square card table across the other side of the garden.  This table had a shiny surface and holes in the corner with nets, like a tiny pool or billiard table.  My curiosity got the better of me and I went across to get a closer look.  They were playing “Caroom” – a kind of cross between pool and tiddlywinks.   There are several wooden pieces that look exactly like draughts arranged in the centre of the table – one red and the rest black and white.  The table is ‘lubricated’ with boric powder, which looks like talc but has no odour and is smoother, I think.  A plastic ‘puck’ is flicked with thumb and/or fingers to hit the other pieces, trying to get them in the corner hole (like pool).  If you pocket the ‘queen’ – the red piece – then you have to follow this with one of your own pieces.  If you fail to pocket one of your own, the red queen gets returned to the centre of the table.   The puck always gets moved to a line in front of the player before every move – it can be placed anywhere along that line, as long as its touching it.   You play in pairs – with your partner sat opposite.    After watching a game, I was urged to play.  OOer.  I managed a couple of fluke lucky pockets but then was useless – more because I couldn’t get the hang of an accurate flick.  I had a good idea of where I was supposed to be aiming the puck but couldn’t get it to obey me.    Game is over when your team pockets all its colour, including the queen.  I bowed out after losing a couple of games – despite a very skilled partner. 
 
It’s lovely here and I feel very lucky and privileged to peek into Indian life as a guest of Krutali holidays. 
 
I blogged a little and then went to sleep for a few hours after lunch (fried multigrain ‘atta’, and chicken in a spicy gravy served with chutney and the usual onion, tomato and cucumber).  Woke at 6pm to a knocking at the door – the rest of the guests had left to go back to work in Mumbai, so I was being ‘upgraded’!  I was moved to a room downstairs with a bed in it, still with a firm mattress, but softer than a futon on the floor.  I said it wasn’t necessary – I was quite happy with my little room upstairs, but the family thought it was.  I am introduced to Amit and his wife – the brother of the two sisters who run Krutali holidays.  He has two girls – the oldest of whom is 12yrs old today.   
  
I rummage through my bag to find a suitable gift – the multi-coloured pencil Dragan gave me in Ohrid, and the flannel and handcream Mon gave me are quickly wrapped up – thank goodness I didn’t throw away the wrapping paper!  I paint a butterfly birthday card.  After dark we gather for the ceremony. 
There is a table with the cake placed on set up in the middle of the garden decorated with a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner and balloons.  One special balloon filled with flower petals is hung above.  A candle is placed in each corner of the cake.  Radhika emerges dressed up in her very best Shalwar Kameez – she looks stunning and very grown up.  Her little sister is also dressed up in green silk – everyone is dressed up and the garden is lit with fairy lights.  WE all sing happy birthday (English version) and she blows the candles out.  Then big aunty comes around with water and a candle and anoints Daddy and daughter – a red bindi and a grain of rice pressed into the centre.  Amit says this a Western and Eastern fusion.  The cake is cut and Daddy feeds the rest of his family and himself with it.  I note he eats much of it himself (one for you, one for me, one for you and another for me!).  Presents are opened – Radhika gets a quilling set from her family and she seems pleased with the present from me.  She also gets money, which her mother takes care of. 
 
I try to pay for the extra night several times – (that night and the next morning) but am refused.  Thank you folks!  I also have a message from Steve to say I’m solvent again, but to go careful.  Well, at this rate, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem! 

​Having snoozed yesterday and done very little, I woke up at 4am ready to cycle across Mumbai to the Gateway to India in Colaba to catch the ferry.
 
It took me 3 hours or thereabouts to negotiate the route South.  Although it’s cool and quiet at that time of the morning, I spent a good half an hour trying to find the short cut shown on my map.  In the end, having been led into a residential area which culminated in a dead end and next to a small rubbish dump absolutely teeming with brown rats, I went back to the main road and followed that, which I should have done in the first place.   
 
The sky gradually lightened over another half an hour, and then it was daylight at about half past 6.  It was wonderful to watch the never quite still city come to life.     More and more of the stalls that line the pavement removed their shutters and put out their baskets or hung up clothes or strings of crisp packets.  Lads were to be seen pushing handcarts filled with vegetables or sugarcane.  In some areas there were ox-carts, in another lorryloads of poultry which would be sold in bunches hung upside down by tethers on their legs.  The chickens were surprisingly calm when handled like this and could be given to their new owners with ease.     I saw a scooter loaded up with several bunches of chickens drive off.
It was a straightforward and fascinating ride to the Gateway of India – fairly flat with so much happening around me, I hardly ever looked at my new milometer. 
 
I reached the Gateway at around 8am and was immediately asked by a ‘helper’ if I was going to Alibaug.  “Yes”, I replied, “but I haven’t got a ticket yet”. 
“No worries”, he replied, “you sit THERE and I will get it”. 
Not only did he get me a ticket, but he negotiated an early entrance to the boat – ahead of the queue which snaked all around the Gateway itself, just about.   It was well worth the extra 100rupees he wanted for his trouble. 
 
 I read a little on the ferry, then dozed for most of the hour and a half journey, to make up for my early start.  Almost immediately after disembarking, I found a delightful, bright and cheery café to have breakfast – the sound of the waves lapping just outside the window and silver bicycles hanging from the ceiling amongst the fans.  I had a cheesy masala omelette and toast with coffee, whilst admiring the large, irregularly shaped wooden table carved from a single piece of wood polished smooth to show off the grain, which dominated the room.  
 
Onward then, along a road that had metres of smooth tarmac followed by metres of potholes and loose gravel and dust in regular cycles.    I soon felt grubby and sticky.  But I also saw women in beautiful saris with stainless steel pots of water perfectly balanced on a roll of cloth on their heads – look Ma, no hands!  I followed school girls in purple uniform skirts on purple bicycles, with gold chains around their ankles and identically plaited hair with red ribbons.  I saw goatherds and cowherds.  Each cow would have its own egret assigned to pluck out the bugs from their ears.  Those beautifully painted Indian Tata “Goods Carriers” went past occasionally surrounded by a throng of Tuctucs crammed with passengers from the ferry all going to Alibaug. 
 
I smelt perfume from the waxy flowers adorning bushes in the verges – vying with the smells of the rubbish that choked ditches and rivers – and caught the whiff of occasional dead and rotted things.     Scavenging in and around the rubbish were oodles of Indian Pariah dogs who would occasionally woof at me, but mostly run away from the bicycle. 
 
I reached Alibaug –the city, by 12.15hrs and looked around for lunch, eventually going for what I now know as “Indian Burgers” – batter covered mash potato and green veg fried balls served up in ‘mother’s pride’ cotton wool soft rolls – for the princely sum of 24 indian rupees.   3 pieces of fruit purchased from a street stall cost a little more, at 30 rupees (about 36p).   Not so far outside the city, I saw a sign advertising ‘Krutali Holidays’, rooms A/C and not, so I went up a lane to see what I could find.  I found a garden crowded with Indian folk all having lunch.  The owners greeted me cordially and soon worked out I wanted a room.  500 rupees and full board, I think, which is ideal.  I was shown a small room at the top of the house, with a futon on the marble floor, insect screens on the windows and a fan whirling in the ceiling.  The ensuite bathroom had the usual ‘Indian shower’ – ie a large bucket and a small jug with a tap inset in the wall.   There was a western loo too.
 
I found out later that the place had been opened up only the previous February, by a large family from Mumbai:- the grandparents, two sisters and children lived there – with the rest of the family coming to stay at weekends.  Janmayee, a 14yr old, translated for me – she had an older brother who lived with their father in Mumbai whilst she lived with her mother in Kurul.  This suited her, as she had some kind of chronic chest complaint and was away from the pollution of the city.  Her two cousins also lived there – the oldest of whom was 12yrs old the next day.  Before dinner I blog – no wifi, but that’s no real hardship.  We also get out my paints and have fun making watercolour stripe washes together. 
 
The place was proving popular with Mumbai residents eager to get away for a weekend break.   Several groups had returned more than once to sample the excellent food provided.  Supper is an education.  I am asked if I want chapatti or a local speciality ‘handbread’, which is made from rice flour rather than wheat.  Since it’s being cooked in front of me I ask for handbread.  There are the four women – two sisters and two employees – sitting on the terracotta painted floor next to two small clay stoves – a wood fire is kept going underneath and woks and iron plate is set on top.  Janmayee’s mother, Shesura, is taking marinated spiced fish, coating it in flour and frying it.  One of the three other women is kneading rice dough with wet hands on a board until it no longer cracks then breaks off a small knob and rolls it into a smooth ball in her hands.,   A second woman takes the ball and rolls it out into a thin, thin round, adding more rice flour.  The last woman dry fries them on the hotplate on the other stove, patting out the middle with a spatula as the centre puffs up and occasionally letting the edge hang over into the flames.  There’s an easy camaraderie evident between them all, and efficient cooking on masse. 
 
The food is delicious – I get a steel plate with fried fish, rice, prawn curry gravy – and a palate cleanser of a fruit lassi.  The women are eager to hear what I think of their food – and I’m eager to tell them how excellent it is.  After dinner, I have a go at kneading and rolling the rice dough – my teacher is not impressed and re rolls them all again after I’ve finished. 
I’m asked to stay on again another day – to attend the birthday party and meet Janmayee’s Dad and her Aunt and Uncle.  It was an easy decision to make.