​First day with Miranda and we went out shopping – initially to meet a young Indian woman who wanted to buy a leather bag – she could only stay with us 20minutes – my first introduction to Mumbai traffic – chaos and takes ages to get anywhere.   I loved the painted trucks – the first one I saw was a water supply truck.  Sometimes we take one of the swarming black and yellow taxis that are metered and cost about £2 to get into town.    Pushkar is an apartment block in a quiet area opposite a Catering College – the oldest Catering College in Mumbai (I’m told by a Tourist Guide at a later date) and close to Shivaji Park and the sea.   Because of my money difficulties, Miranda uses her cash and card so I can buy some trousers and tops to replace the clothes I threw away at the airport.  However – because of the difficulty getting to an ATM (and the cap they put on withdrawals) I STILL owe her for these – she says it doesn’t matter and it all came out in the swings and roundabouts – because I did manage to pay for some meals when the card got back on line but I haven’t forgotten! 
We were supposed to meet up with Justine at that point, but she got stuck in a traffic jam for so long that she gave up and went back to her digs again. 
 
We did finally meet up with Justine later on that same day.  Miranda had done a weaving course down in Kerala and had met Justine – a young Frenchwoman living in London – such Cosmopolitan folk I know.  Justine had been star pupil, Miranda told me.  Justine had also applied for a job in India, coordinating the creative output of a factory where employees would be embroidering garments for Chanel.  She had to be interviewed in London and Chennai (where she would be based).  One half of the interview was in the bag but she still had to wait to hear from the European side.  WE all met in a street where leather workers and bag makers proliferated so Justine could buy a couple of leather belts as Christmas presents.  Then we went on to Bhandra for a meal in a make your own salad/wrap type place – after trying numerous places to see if we could use an old note for drinks – not one place was accepting them so we didn’t get a beer after all.  Businesses must have been suffering as much as we were!   The salad was delicious and made a change from all the heavier bread and meat type meals I’d been eating of late.  Justine used her card to pay – and refused to be reimbursed so that’s another person I owe!  We’re friends on Facebook so I hope to follow her adventures (she got the job!) and pay her back some day.  We also shared our meal with a local Indian woman called Jewel that Justine had met on the train.  She made glamorous sparkly ball gowns on commission – but wondered if we could find her a rich British man to marry?  In her forties, she was determined not to go down the marriage/two and a half kids route that most of her compatriots had taken.  She was feisty and an amusing conversationalist.  After our meal, she took us around the corner to her shop – on the 7th floor of a high rise apartment block – I was more entertained by the view than most of the frocks – though I could see my Aunty Den loving them.  
 
The next two weeks whizzed past:
 
Mon arrived for my birthday on the 10th, so Kevin and Miranda’s housekeeper summonsed his talented daughter Aparna to decorate us all with Mehndi – she was able to pipe a line of henna with no blotches, or skips, no hesitation or blips.  I’ve tried my hand at mehndi myself, so I know this is no mean feat.   I went first,  as the birthday girl and had my palms and feet covered (as is traditional).  Miranda had a pattern drawn on one arm (much to her father’s disapproving gaze on Skype) and also her feet.  Mon didn’t want any, but ended up with a flower on her instep.  One has to sit still until all the henna has dried – the longer you leave it dry, the better the orangey brown stain that’s left when the henna flakes off.  My ‘tattoo’ has completely gone now but it was a lovely thing to do on one’s birthday.  You can see Aparna’s work here on FB – do go ‘like’ her page!
 
Birthday evening meant cocktails (two for one in the ‘happy hour’) and a lovely meal at a restaurant round the corner that we visited several times – so I got to have several different cocktails – including one that had something that poured out clouds put on top of the liquid – dry ice?  Don’t think it added much to the taste but it was very dramatic. 
 
Mon had a list of ‘must-see’ places in and around Mumbai – she wanted to visit the Vipissana Pagoda, see the Gateway of India from the sea, visit Elephanta caves and have tea in the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel as well as Leopold’s café (featured in the novel ‘Shantaram’).  We managed to tick all of these, apart from horseriding on Chawpatty beach – we DID manage to WALK along the length of Marine Drive in the heat of a midday sun.  We watched the swimmers getting filthy in the Arabian Sea.  We also watched a couple guys perform acrobats on the beach too – one amazed me by performing a backwards loop from a standstill – landing on his feet perfectly.    
 
Miranda had booked us in to see ‘Mame Khan and group’ – a Rajasthani sufi-music concert at the NCPO on November 11th, that was excellent and a fun night out – finishing at a formica topped table small restaurant which looked fairly basic and slightly shabby but served up reliably good and cheap Indian fare – especially the tandoori prawns.   We visited there a couple times too. 
 
I wanted to go on a train journey – and we chose Pune (what used to be Poona in British Raj days) as our destination for an overnight trip. 
 
Then, of course, we shopped – in FabIndia and Artisans and a contemporary crafts outlet (where Mon bought lots of painted wooden balls and animals).  And people watched: – colourful silk saris, bundles of sticks, luggage, baskets, bags all solidly balanced on a cloth turban on top of women’s heads. 
 
Miranda arranged a driver to take us to the Pagoda in the countryside to the North of Mumbai.  Built in 2008, it’s a golden replica of the Shwedagon Pagoda in Myanmar which Mon has visited previously.  There are a large number of people employed painting gold on its façade.  There is also an enormous painted Buddha carved from one slab of marble on display.  We tried out the Vipissana meditation – just the three of us – and were encouraged to sign up for a 10 day ‘free’ course (make a donation at the end of the course to benefit future attendees).  The course sounded like hard work for Westerners – being a ‘silent’ retreat, with meditation from 04.30hrs to dusk with breaks for veggie meals only.  I’m sure Rubina Soorty of ‘Ruby rides on’ did this course in Australia – but I might be wrong.  They take place all over the world – including London.  
 
Next day we had another driver take us to Kalaheri caves in Sanjay Gandhi National Park – many, many caves carved out of the hillside with hundreds of Buddhas and stupas carved into their walls.  These caves are set high and have a view over thickly wooded hills and valleys with the towers of Mumbai in the distance – you’re supposed to be able to see the Vipissana Pagoda but we couldn’t spot it.  We did spot monkeys – down in the carpark, cavorting across the rooves of buildings and generally behaving like monkeys.   There’s a shallow amphitheatre on the flat hill above the caves with steps leading up to it – I could imagine the saffron robed monks gathering in the peace and cool of the early hours of dawn to meditate together.  Water had been diverted from a stream to irrigate the cell like caves by means of channels and troughs in the rock and eventually forming wells where frogs now lived happily.  We got asked to pose with many Indian families.  I’m sure they’ll look at those pictures in years to come and wonder who on earth the pale and smily strangers are.
 
The day after that, Mon and I went to Elephanta caves – just as old, and a similar set up, only Hindu – and the carvings are on an island about 25minutes sail out into the heat haze and pollution smog from the Gateway to India.  Because of the money situation, Mon had hired an all in package with a guide – thus guaranteeing we could get there, even if we didn’t have any small change for the taxi.   We ended up with two guides – one to take us in the taxi and on the boat across to the island, and a second one to show us around the caves.   The first one was a cute young guy, newly married and earning cash to pay for studies/save for home etc.  He lived with his new wife (also studying) at home with his parents, siblings, grandparents etc.  He was very happy to point out landmarks and tell us the story of Lord Ganesh (after overhearing Mon’s truncated version).   Parvita made Ganesh out of turmeric – which was why Lord Shiva didn’t recognise his son when Ganesh turned him away from his own home – and that’s why he chopped his head off!   (Ok – that was an even more précised).  We took a little train from the boat to the steps that rise up to the caves.    Then we were greeted by the second guide who walked up the steps – past a gauntlet of tourist shops selling tourist tat.  Not one of them had a tablecloth (which my sister wanted for Christmas).  This latter guide gave us the hard sell – how the few residents on Elephanta island relied totally on the income from tourists to survive – and couldn’t even grow vegetables as the monkeys destroyed them and they only had four hours electricity a night and on and on.  I felt so guilty I ended up buying a singing bowl for twice the price I’d seen it the day before in the antiques markets.  I also felt sad when I saw the destruction wrought on the carvings, apparently by the Portugese using them as target practise a couple hundred years or so ago – although I’ve also heard it was the Brits – and maybe the Guide lied to protect our delicate sensibilities.   There is one huge carving of the four heads of Shiva that has survived intact – because it was behind a wall and not discovered.  It’s the one carving used on all the photographs advertising the place.  It should be noted that there is no elephant on Elephanta caves as it was stolen and then dropped in the sea (I think). 
Mon and I were amused by watching a monkey who took a bottle topped up with coca cola from us, and drank it ever so carefully, not spilling a drop – obviously a sugar addict. 
 
Once again, on the boat we were asked to pose for photographs with complete strangers.  I felt like offering my autograph too.  I am perfecting my royal wave. 
In keeping with this, Mon and I asked the guide to leave us in Colaba so we could go to the Taj for tea.  We went to the Sea Lounge on the first floor where Mon asked to change the table we were given initially for a window seat.  – Thus we got to watch seabirds and pigeons wheel past the window and watch the boats come and go by the Gateway to India while we luncheoned – all very, very “NAICE”!  We took the train home – where Mon almost failed to disembark, as the crowds on the platform don’t wait for passengers to get off before pushing on to the train in a tidal wave.  Mon’s face was a picture as she was washed backwards off her feet but just managed to stumble through the onslaught. 
We got lost several times  - but would eventually find our way after stumbling upon a familiar landmark like the Hindu temple, or the Catholic church or the statue of Ghandi in the centre of a roundabout.  Streets are completely transformed by around 10am when all the small stalls that line them open up their shutters and the sellers put out their wares. 
 
Mon, Miranda and I travelled first class on the train to Pune – but the air conditioning wasn’t working and the views of the hill stations were obscured by the dirty, smeary windows.   We got a tuctuc (or an ‘auto-rickshaw’ as they’re called in India) to our accommodation and were asphyxiated by the atmosphere.  At the end of our 24hours in Pune we all had sore throats, watery eyes and snotty noses and I’m sure it was due to pollution – despite the internet asserting that pollution was worse in Mumbai.  Staying in the basic accommodation was like staying in a school dorm – Mon and I shared a bed whilst Miranda slept on a fold out sofabed.   We visited Ghandi’s place of incarceration (a beautiful building now a museum dedicated to his life – but not updated since circa 1950 I  suspect) and the Fort – which is mostly gardens.  We saw the latter at night and in the daytime!  Going home was more of an adventure as we travelled second class – getting on the wrong carriage initially, so getting turfed out of our seats.  We turfed some other folk out of our seats when we found the right carriage – all very polite.  I drew a daily draw of the two girls sitting opposite and we made friends.  The view was better because there was no glass at all- just bars!  One can also open the carriage doors and hang out if one wishes, because there is no safety mechanism to bring the entire train to a halt, as in England. 
 
Back in Mumbai we ate in Brittania’s restaurant – where an old man of 92yrs of age would come over to chat about his love for Elizabeth the 2nd and how he’d build her a palace if only she’d return to India.  He had photographs of himself with members of the Royal family and there were large pictures of Will and Kate on the walls.  The food was OK too.  
 
Mon went home early on the Friday and I left Miranda and Kevin’s on the following Sunday, after getting Rowenna put back together and all her nuts and bolts tightened up at a local bicycle shop.  What a wonderful and gentle introduction to India! 

​The airport: I arrived supremely early for my flight at 2am, which is just as well as getting Rowenna in her large box checked in was a trail.  I have an email saying the box should measure less than 169cm and it does.  However – putting it on a scale reveals it weighs 35kg when my luggage allowance is 30kg.   Oh buggar.  I sit and read and worry until I the time comes to check in for my flight. 
 
I can see the check in attendants are confused by and don’t like my box.  One of them insists my luggage allowance is only 20kg.  Fortunately I can show her the email  that confirms I can have 30kg.  A perfectly charming bloke is summonsed to inform me I need to pay $150 for the extra weight.  He says it would have been cheaper in advance – but I know it wouldn’t have because I did check online.   I actually tried to get this from the ATM but am stymied when the machine refuses to cough up any money at all.  I try several ATMS and get the same result.  I sit and think about this for a while until I come to the inevitable conclusion that I will have to discard 3kg (I can get away with 1 or 2kg over I think).  I open the box and throw away the bag of nuts and bolts I have debated throwing away all across Europe.  Also the heavy D lock and chain – since I can’t take the chain in hand luggage as it’s potentially a lethal weapon (like knitting needles!).  I leave the key in the lock in the hope someone else can use it.  I throw away clothes and  my toiletry bag.  I throw away an entire ortlieb front bag because it’s got a hole in the bottom I haven’t got around to repairing.  This bag alone weighs 1kg.  Finally, along with a few more discards, my box weighs about 31.5kg.  The attendants are so fed up with me by then they allow it to pass.  They put a sticker on it saying ‘transfer’ so that it can be placed on the second aeroplane directly – even though it’s a different company (First flight with ‘Flydubai’ – second with ‘Jet – India’).   I find this hard to believe and wave goodbye to Rowenna in her box  with some trepidation. 
 
By the time all this has been sorted, my flight is boarding, so I zoom off – and spend the next three hours trying to sleep with my head wedged against an aeroplane window uing my fleece and down jacket as a pillow.  I always love the taxi out to the runway and the frisson in my tummy as we accelerate and lift into the air.  It’s a minor miracle I have never tired of that this huge metal bird can soar into the sky. 
 
Dubai is hot and I have a 5 layover.  I wait at the baggage carousel to confirm Rowenna isn’t on it – she isn’t.   I then sit in ‘departures’ for a couple hours wondering why my flight hasn’t come up on the screen.  Finally I go find an information desk to be told I’m waiting in the wrong terminal – and no, it’s too far to walk – it takes 20minutes in a taxi.  I’m supposed to check in 2 hours before and it’s getting close to that NOW!  ARGH!  I find an ATM and use my card to get £25 worth of Dhiraams and luckily this time it works and spits the money out.  I’d have missed my flight if it hadn’t as I wouldn’t have been able to pay the taxi driver.  It was the last time my card would work for an entire week but that’s a tale to be told later.  Something or someone really IS looking out for me.    Lesson no. one – always have some alternative funds – like a stash of dollars for emergency.    Useful to have a second card too – but Halifax let me down on that one.   Their credit card is probably sitting at home in a pile of my post right now. 
 
I run to the Jet desk to check in and also get confirmation that Rowenna has been transferred successfully.  In Terminal 2 I watch men in crisp and cool white floor length gowns and white scarves over their heads – with that thick black headband holding it in place - like archetypal arabs they are.  The women, on the other hand, are dressed head to foot in heat attracting black.  Here is another example of inequality between the sexes.   I knit.  I read.  I don’t have long before we’re boarding the ‘plane to Mumbai (after wasting so much time waiting in the wrong place).
 
On the flight we get fed – my first taste of a spicy curry sauce and dhal in months!  I also knit – with small wooden circulars – and the stewards don’t seem to mind at all.  Stepping off the ‘plane in Mumbai, the heat was like a slightly damp but warm muffler being wrapped around my head.   It takes a while to track down Rowenna as the first person I ask in the oversized baggage place denies she’s there.  So I locate another person at a different desk who takes me back to the first place and finds the box with no trouble.   I chuck her on a luggage trolley – extra wide though she is – and am relieved to find a driver sent by Miranda and Kevin outside holding a sign with my name on it.  Oh JOY!  Thus begins a cotton wool covered introduction to hot, hectic and colourful Mumbai courtesy of Miranda and Kevin. 
 
It was incredibly fortunate that Miranda had agreed to put me up for my first days in India or I’d have been on the streets with my begging bowl (with much competition) because the Building Society decided to shut my card down having suspected fraud.  I can’t thank her and Kevin enough.  The day after I tried to access my account and was denied, the Indian government compounded an already dire situation by taking the large denomination 1000 and 500 rupee notes out of circulation with no warning.  This was a tactic to combat the Black economy and fraud (India runs on cash, apparently) –but having this information was of no help to me whatsoever!  It meant that there were long queues at banks to try and change old 500 rupee notes for new ones and that ATMs were running out of money – they couldn’t hold the new, longer 2000 INR notes without adjustment and this meant they couldn’t hold so much cash altogether.  There were queues around the block for ATMs – and, as often as not, they would run out of cash before you got there.   Kevin and Miranda bailed me out and held me together – loaning me cash and feeding and housing me.  Their generosity knew no bounds.  It could all have been so different: very, very difficult and absolutely horrid.   But not only was I looked after royally, I was also entertained.  And Mon arrived from Lustleigh a couple of days later – just in time for my birthday.  It was an excellent birthday.  THANKYOU MIRANDA, KEVIN and MON!

​I booked into the Stay Hostel, Taksim for initially 3 days but ended up staying there the week.  The 4 bedded dorm room was small – with nowhere really to put luggage, but my top bunk was comfortable with a curtain to pull across for privacy.  The place was clean and provided an excellent breakfast but. most of all, there was the company of Firat – an engaging, energetic 25 year old computer programmer with a  mop of curly black hair, an infectious grin and a propensity to chat.  I fell in love immediately.  Firat worked mostly nights and got free ‘B&B’ in return.  This suited him whilst he was completing his masters.  He was an only child from Konya – and had worked in Germany (a place he swore he’d never work again as he couldn’t bear the absolute regard for, amongst other things, punctuality and itty bitty detail).   He speaks Turkish, English and is learning Russian.  Firat also played the sitar very beautifully and I liked his taste in music.  He was enthralling to talk to about politics, Turkey, religion etc. and had a wicked sense of humour.   I had a go at painting his portrait before I left – while he was chatting to a young Russian woman – and he gave it some wonderful criticism – didn’t like his hair because I’d made it look oily when he’d just washed it ‘specially, you couldn’t see where the light was coming from and the stripes in his jumper weren’t accurate.  He did like the glasses I’d given him but they weren’t his – they were better.  HA!
 
I wondered up and down the Istiklal Cadessi (Independence Avenue) which throbs with drumming and throngs with crowds day and night – 3 million people visit it every 24 hours, on average, according to wikipedia.  There are bars, music clubs, eateries and market stalls.  There are book shops and clothes shops and old fashioned trams going up and down.  It ends in Taksim Square which is like Trafalgar Square, only with a statue of Ataturk in the centre of the vast pedestrianized area.  I bicycled and walked it many times in my task of getting an Indian Tourist visa.
 
The Indian Embassy were curious as to why I didn’t apply for the visa from home, didn’t think much of my bank balance and didn’t like my photograph (they couldn’t see my ears or forehead).   I had to get Miranda in Mumbai to agree to be completely responsible for me and send a picture of HER ID (within 30mins of the request) and write a letter with my itinerary – vague – and have a ticket to travel out of India too.  After jumping through all these hoops – and visiting three times I finally emerged with the double entry three month tourist visa for the grand sum of $164.  Phew. 
 
I did a cookery course with the Istanbul cookery school that involved a tour of the market place and streets around the hostel and then back to the school to make hummus, spring rolls, smoky aubergine mash, and stuffed vegetables.  Congenial company from all round the world and a couple of glasses of wine made for great fun and was well worth doing.
 
I also found a bicycle shop where the owner was happy to dismantle Rowenna and put her in a box ready for the flight – I’d drop her off on Saturday and stuff the box with the rest of my luggage, hoping it would weigh less than 30kg. 
 
I did so much wondering around this area that it got to the point where, even if I were lost in the narrow back streets with towering buildings reaching into the sky on both sides, I would eventually stumble upon places I recognised and could find my way back to the hostel.   Like getting to know bits of a jigsaw puzzle.
 
I finished off my stay there by writing 72 post cards to all my friends – apart from those whose address I don’t have (sorry!).  They were appalled in the post office as it seemed like a huge extravagance to them.   They double checked I really wanted to send them:  I’d spent all that time writing them, so I most certainly did.
 
I moved out on Saturday and went to find Suzanne – my crazy friend from Chudleigh who’d nipped over for the weekend and booked a 4 star wooden hotel in the Old City not far from Sultanahmet.  Staying there for the night will mean I’ve visited all three main areas of Istanbul – and they all have entirely different characters.  Sultanahmet is where all the main tourist attractions seem to be- like Topkapi Palace, the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and the Grand Bazaar.  The Old Town has many carpet shops, has space, air, and is more gentrified than all the other areas in Istanbul – and is correspondingly more expensive too. 
 
I reached the hotel a good half an hour or so before Suzanne and sat doing my knitting quite happily.  The receptionist was confused because my name wasn’t Suzanne and she’d booked a single room for the two nights.  (She’d emailed them after the online booking but they hadn’t opened it).   It was all sorted once we’d arrived and she also negotiated a better room (the first one was dark and practically in the basement – all the pictures of rooms online had shown a sea view!).   After we’d settled in, Suzanne strolled down to the bicycle shop with me and we dropped Rowenna off.  We took the tram back and strolled around a local bazaar window shopping.   Then later we went for a very vigorous hamam scrub and massage getting back to the hotel at about 1am. 
 
The next day I awoke with a ghastly, horrible headache – one of those where someone is trying to push your eyes out from some dark room at the back of your head - and I threw up for the first time on this trip.  I couldn’t move despite taking paracetamol and slept until gone 2pm.  Suzanne went on a shopping spree and didn’t get back until around 4pmish – this left us just time to go have some supper together before I had to catch the shuttle bus to the airport at 7.30pm.   We hadn’t spent much time together but it was AMAZING to see Suzanne in Istanbul. 
I’ve had a wonderful time mooching in the city that straddles continents and am sad to say goodbye to the end of chapter one of the grand adventure. 
 
3357 miles,  5403 km approx..       

​I spent the Wednesday evening getting to know Mahvash by looking at her paintings and pictures.  Mahvash lost her husband to a heart attack just two years previously, and one of the reasons I can’t stay longer with the family is that she has to go back to Iran in the next week to sort out the house and papers relating to her bereavement.   The whole family are very close – and miss their husband/father dreadfully.
 
Sanita comes in at around 9pm (confusing me, as I was expecting Saine but later) and is a vivacious, beautiful woman in her early 20s.  She teaches English so is fluent.  Saina is an architect (and also vivacious and beautiful) – but has got involved in teaching English because it pays well and it was easier to get a job in patriarchal Turkey doing that than in architecture.  They have both moved to Istanbul from Fethiye – and had visited Saklikent too (as I learned when I showed them some of my photographs and they spotted the one of me covered in mud). 
All of the family are creative – and sing, play music, dance, act. 
 
I get to sleep on the bed settee – which is very comfortable.  Mahvash has terrible insomnia and I think she misses not being able to wile away the long night hours by looking at the internet (because I’m camped out in the living room). 
 
On the Thursday, I’d arranged to meet up with Asli – a Turkish knitter I’d connected with on Ravelry.  We met in ‘Coffeetopia’ – an purveyor of just the BEST coffee and a place I subsequently visited several times more –brilliant suggestion for meeting place, Asli!    
Asli took me on a stroll around the Old City’s spice Bazaar and upstairs (by the wedding outfits) to the wool shops.   Most of the ‘wool’ was cotton or acrylic or blends.  The blends felt OK but I prefer wool.  Towards the end we went into Asli’s favourite market stall – where they sell undyed skeins of pure wool, cashmere/silk and soft merino wool.  Lovely stuff – wish I could have bought some!  It was wonderful to get together with a fellow knit and talk knitting – the hours flew past. 
 
On Friday night, I get taken along to a party by Saine and Sanita – organised by a frenchwoman and fellow member of the dance group in a fairly small flat.  It’s an international event with people from Syria, France, Turkey, America, Canada, Iran – and England!   Did you know that Syria was once the 4th safest place to live in the world?  I didn’t.  And now it’s the most dangerous L
There was excellent cake and much wine (to which I contributed).  Everyone started to dance – circle type dances and very entertaining to watch (there wasn’t a ‘caller’).  Watching Saina and Sanita – my two gorgeous sister hosts – take to the dance floor for a solo turn, was mesmerising - they both can move every part of their bodies so gracefully.   AT one point I thought I’d  got the hang of the steps  and make a token effort to join in, when the music stopped and it was time for the next one.  We went home in the wee hours, sweaty and happy – but took a taxi (we’d walked there – and got lost). 
 
I had to leave Saina, Sanita and Mahvash on Saturday – and I’m sad I didn’t get to see them again.  Hope we meet up again one day.  I was invited to the Halloween dance party – but didn’t go because I didn’t have a costume (sometimes I just wimp out).  I saw the photos and everyone looked amazing!