The final stop of my trip. Mumbai, largest city in India, huge port to the West. The city where I thought I'd have the best chances of painlessly arranging for the transport of the bike back to Europe. Oh, but how wrong I was...Getting into Mumbai was not a shock at all. It was pretty much like any other Indian city of any decent size: Dirty, chaotic, noisy and dangerous to be on the road. Even with the GPS, phone and the help of a kind guy who asked me to follow him, as he happened to be going in the same direction with me, it took me about two hours to cross the city from east (where I approached) to the northwest, where the parents of my good friend Punit live. They had kindly invited me to stay with them in Mumbai, in their home in Malad.

It was the weekend, so I took more than 24 hours to relax, sort myself out, wash clothes, sleep etc. I was done travelling in India. Now I only had to ship the bike back. This has been my route in the one month I spent riding around India.

Doesn't look like much, does it?

The quest for all necessary documentation to ship my bike to Europe would commence on Monday morning, so until then I could do a wee bit of tourism.

To save me from riding for hours in the city, Punit's parents very kindly arranged for a driver for the day, and let us use their car. So I was chauffeured downtown, in an air conditioned car, while listening to music. This made the Western Express Highway and everything else we had to drive through almost tolerable. We also drove over the Sea link, a bridge that skirts a large chunk of the city and makes access to the south of Mumbai easier.

Typical (ancient) Mumbai cab:

On my first visit of Mumbai's centre I visited the ex "Prince of Wales" museum, currently "something unpronounceable" museum. (in typical Indian fashion the museum's webpage is "under Re-construction and Upgradation" and has a couple of spelling errors to boot. The abuse of English is impressive in India... even in huge printed banners, in shows, festivals, newspapers, in television - everywhere one sees blatant spelling & grammatical errors which make me forget proper English. Further, for the website of the museum they have taken a shortcut by puting up an IMAGE instead of a proper text webpage, sadistically making copying and pasting the ridiculously long name of the museum impossible. But hey, this is India.

One of the exhibits:

Ganesha, son of Shiva. One of the most beloved gods of Hindus:

Other exhibits for which I unfortunately don't remember any decent description.

Chinese snuff bottles:

The breastplate of emperor Akbar:

This is the museum from the outside.

Leaving the excellent museum behind, it's a 5-minute walk to the Gateway of India, in South Mumbai:

Many boats leave from Gateway of India for the Elephanta Caves:

Character selling boat tours:

Getting back to Malad one has to cross the entire city... Here, Mumbaians strolling the coast, with the city skyline in the background:

The ride also provides ample opportunity to check out the ads all over the city.

Something one sees surprisingly often is bad use of English, like in this ad:

Whaddya mean "more global"? It's like saying "more dead". You either are, or you aren't.

Another annoying hyperbole that stands out: This beauty prototype... as removed from Indian reality as possible:

One also gets to observe the wonderful taste of people when it comes to decorating their bikes. Check out the LEDs on the rear... groovy, man!

First working day in Mumbai, and I was out of the door early on to get a Non Objection Certificate from the Police Commissioner's Office downtown. The chaos one has to deal with to get a signed piece of paper is phenomenal... the cops themselves appeared to have never heard of such a certificate, even though other travellers have been asked for one from customs officers. Anyway, after 7 hours of banging on doors and explaining to bureaucrats what I need, why I need it and what I am doing there, I got a piece of paper that sort of said what I needed it to say - namely, that Mumbai police wasn't after me.

I got the paper after 19:00 - most of the cops had gone home by then. I started to make my way with the bike back to Malad, which turned out to be a two and a half hour ride, sporting bonus features like getting banged from the back by another bike on the Western Express Highway. Of course the idiot who hit me didn't even bat an eyelid and just carried on... usual phenomenon of a city in which people leave aside their humanity or sensitivities in order to deal with daily reality.

Luckily nothing significant was broken or bent - the plastics took the hit well and the number plate was easy to bend back in shape.

On another day we drove around the 'hood a little bit with Punit's parents to visit some relatives. On the way there I saw a quite amazing spectacle - a manually operated amusement park wheel!

At the relatives' home I was given an old bike magazine (I guess the impression being that such a lunatic would only be willing to read biking magazines - which I never do), from which I picked up this old Royal Enfield ad, which might give people good ideas about places to visit in India. It's designed to inspire Indians, so I hope these are not places already overrun by the horrible tourism sprawl I witnessed in the more mainstream places.

This is a typical auto rickshaw. Millions of these little buggers swarm all over Mumbai - only recently they were banned from the city centre. Most of them (all?) use two-stroke engines, so you can imagine the clouds of burnt oil-with-petrol they leave behind...

Having said that, they are cheap and practical. Not safe at all though - if anything happens, the best the passenger can hope for is to NOT be thrown out of the vehicle (as there are no doors) and to NOT crack one's head on the metal rod that divides the driver's compartment from the passengers.

On another day we visited the Sanjay Gandhi National Park with my friend Alok from Gandhinagar. I was lucky enough to be in Mumbai now that Alok was also here on business, so we got to hang out a few times, which made my time in Mumbai infinitely more enjoyable. Otherwise I would have already gone insane with the frustration of dealing with shipping agents.

We visited the Kanheri Caves, where Alok at one point exclaimed ooh, a scaled viper:

Alok in front of one of the caves' entrance:

A well camouflaged mantis:

Just to give you an idea of the size of those caves... those Buddhists sure had patience!

On another day, we met with Alok and his friend Mauli and strolled around Gorai beach. The easiest access is by ferry boat, which is as anarchic as one would expect. People and bikes getting on and off the boat at the same time, pushing each other etc.

"Be Indian, buy Indian." Proudly nationalist for profit since... long. There is more nationalism in India than I care for, but then again that's true of any country, regardless of the shambles it may be in.

A kid selling candy for a living in Gorai beach.

This, one sees a lot of... idiots showing off by taking their cars in the water.

Of course nobody thinks they're polluting the water or anything like that... perhaps it's already so polluted it's not worth protecting. But many people seem to just think the sea is there for them to flex their muscles with their cars - luckily, the water gets back at some, like this idiot who got stuck until the police came over and pulled him out. Unbelievable, what stupid behaviour grown-ups will get away with in this country.

The dogs of Gorai were a much more pleasant guest of the beach than the obnoxious homo sapiens infecting the place.

There seemed to be a lot of strays, but then again there are a lot of animals pretty much anywhere in India.

The sun started descending and most people left, as apparently the law says you're not supposed to be on the beach after sunset. Surprising restrictions for a free country, don't you think?

Young men playing games I've only seen played in Europe by 10-year olds...

There seems to be a schizophrenic split in the modern Indian psyche. On the one hand, they have to deal with the modern world, technology, big cities, professional competition... on the other, they are forced by their culture to remain sexually "pure" to a fault, disallowing affectionate relationships with women, creating a strange bond between men who grow up pretty much shielded from the fair sex. The result is that it's perfectly alright for men to walk through town holding hands or hugging (which one sees often), but public displays of affection between men and women are severely punished. On the beach that very day the police showed up and proceeded to rough up and then arrest a poor bloke who was just enjoying the sunset snuggled up next to his girl.

In Muslim countries such backward rules are encoded in religion and enforced as the law of Allah. In India such rules are encoded in culture and it's just considered criminally inappropriate to be even a little bit publicly affectionate to your girl. Surprising puritanism and brutal enforcement of it (people being beaten in public view), in a country I didn't expect things to be this way.

After the police car harassed any criminally affectionate youngsters off the beach, it parked outside a restaurant. A tray that was undoubtedly "on the house" was sent to the cops immediately. The bullies were in town, and everyone needed to pay tribute to be left alone. In other places it would be called "corruption", but it seems to be the norm here. Everything is resolved with the proper under-the-table money to the cops. People know that, hence don't really care about the rules. If a cop stops you, it's to get some money. Not to enforce the law. So any laws that would actually make this a more liveable society (no spitting, no talking on the phone while driving, all and any traffic rules, no peeing/defecating in public etc etc) are simply ignored.

A little beauty, bored while waiting for her parents to finish their meal.

Mauli taking photos of the photographer (Alok) in action, in the restaurant where we dined. Alok is a professional photographer and Mauli is the apprentice, so when it came to successfully shooting a sunset there was a lot to be explained...

On the way back to Malad from the beach, traffic was unsurprisingly horrible.

On another day, we were meeting downtown to check out the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival (a cultural/art event with photo exhibitions, and a live music, dancing and singing stage), so I entered Mumbai by train. I was terrified of the roads and would not have ridden the bike for any significant distance unless there was a very good reason for it, and it was off-peak hours.

I was impressed by the quantity of metal... there seems to be no other material in this Indian suburban train that connects Mumbai with its suburbs to the north-west.

A London Tube ripoff? Signs in train stations on the western line:

Reinforcing the point of safety, value of human life, adherence to rules etc of Indians... on every train there would be people hanging out like this:

...even though the cart was half-empty! They don't do it because there is no space inside. They just enjoy hanging out in the same way that dogs enjoy sticking their heads out of the windows of moving cars. The trains have no doors, so everybody does this.

The main stage of the festival, with splendid traditional dances by many groups. I thoroughly enjoyed that, especially after a big ice-cream to temporarily sooth me from Mumbai's heat...

Unfortunately my camera doesn't capture quality sound... but you can just about make out the discussion between the singers, using only traditional Indian musical notes as "words". Fascinating stuff.

This cab drove right next to the dance stage - I noticed it had 4 different headlights, undoubtedly giving a very confusing spectacle on the road at night. Safety regulations? What's that? At least it did have lights, unlike many other vehicles in India...

This was an interior wall decoration scheme at an exhibition stall, part of the festival. The exhibitors hadn't bothered providing any printed material, so the poor girl holding the stall had to explain the same story (of what this thing was) over and over, to every curious group that was visiting the stall, one by one, throughout the day... I felt really sorry for her.

A message that rings very true, especially in Mumbai:

(the sticker reads: "Natives who beat drums to drive off evil spirits are objects of scorn to smart city dwellers who blow horns to break up traffic jams")

Indeed. In the city, one witnesses many people seemingly driving with the hand on the horn all the time. It's devoid of purpose, as a traffic jam is a traffic jam and all you can do is wait, but still many people horn like crazy all the time. It's one of those things that were driving me crazy as soon as I hit my first big Indian city (Delhi), but I sort of got used to it... one has to, to survive. The police doesn't do anything about it of course, and the people... well, this is India. People seem to do whatever they fancy on the road, even if it's annoying, unhealthy or dangerous for everybody else.

After the festival we visited a fabulous patisserie/cafe where Alok ordered a dessert named "In memory of risky rider". We massacred it so fast that I didn't get a chance to get a picture...

Hot, soft chocolate cake, brownies all around and vanilla ice-cream on top. Simple and tasty as hell.

The days passed and I was finding it increasingly difficult to locate any decent shipping agents for my bike. It was extremely frustrating... just as I would trust someone enough to give them a thumbs-up to get the procedure rolling, inevitably there would be disclosures that made it plain they didn't know what they were talking about, and/or they were blatantly lying to me. People promising to have the bike out of the country in less than a week would turn up, 5 days later, and say "unfortunately the next available boat leaves in two weeks"... that kind of stuff. Such idiotically poor excuses that became offensive pretty soon. Fantastic coincidences that led to delays. New regulations, all of the sudden there, never mentioned before, suddenly introducing further costs and delays.

Luckily the people I met on a personal basis in Mumbai made it all bearable. One of these friends who would listen to my frustrations and shake their heads with a smile was Daniel, a young lad who happened to bump across this blog on the 'net and contacted me while I was in Mumbai. We arranged to meet the very next day downtown - I would be there to look for a silicone spray for the bike, and he had to go to roughly the same area to service his bike.

I naturally took the train - wasn't out of mind to drive for an hour in that mayhem... and on the train I had another first, a very unique experience. I fainted.

It wasn't particularly hot or crowded or anything. Conditions were fine. I had had my breakfast as always, was well rested, felt fine. I had been on the train for about ten minutes when all of a sudden I started feeling my stomach get real upset, at an alarmingly increasing pace... I remember thinking "if this doesn't stop pretty soon I'm gonna throw up". It's a panic-inducing feeling, sensing your body work up to a frenzy all of a sudden, and I shut my eyes to calm myself down. Next thing I know, I feel the skin of my face tingling, as if too much hot blood is pumped into it. Then I see a couple dreams. And then I wake up on the floor of a moving train.

I must've fallen on the guy next to me who gently laid me on the floor, as I couldn't find any bruises, scratches or other indication that I had hurt myself falling. I sat on the floor until the next station and then stood up. Was very surprised this had happened, but had no discernible after-effects. I was feeling quite well. The people around me were quite courteous and helpful, asking me if I needed anything, if I was alright etc.

After this bizarre incident I reached the Opera House district, where I marvelled at the business acumen of this hair saloon owner, who has the audacity to name his place "Good Luck"... as in "if you're coming here to have your hair cut, all I can say is good luck to you!"

With the help of Daniel I found the silicone spray immediately, which left ample time for snacks, chocolate desserts etc. After a few hours I took the train back home, for some more waiting, some more telephone calls, and inevitably some more TV. A note at this point - international movies are heavily censored in India. Entire scenes are cut out, and any cursing or "inappropriate" language is silenced. The subtitles show an orthodox version of what the actors are really saying... annoying at the very least.

In between chasing shipping agents to do their job, I spent the rest of my days in Mumbai mostly in front of the TV, which only added to my accumulating despair and feeling of decadence.

A sample of Indian comic strips in the newspaper:

(as a techie, I really like the top strip!)

Those days in Mumbai a big debate was going on... one of the most famous Bollywood actors, Sharukh Khan, had commented unfavourably on the raging preachings of a far right political party that was fishing for votes by adopting a line of the "Maharashtra for Maharashtrans" type - i.e. all Indians of other states are not welcome here, let alone foreigners... The party hard-liners responded with a call for banning the actor's latest film, with demonstrations and acts of violence taking place in the city.

Leaving aside the fact that the film banner looks as if the thought on the protagonist's mind is "hm, you haven't washed your hair recently, have you my dear?", if it was in English I would go to the cinema just to support the ballsy decision of cinema owners to not take bullying by nationalists and to screen the film.

Another sample of how the English language is constantly raped in India. Whaddya mean "felicitation nite"? It's a banner. An official event. Check before you print dammit!

One good thing about India is the cost of life. Not for the tourist, mind you. Hotels, restaurants etc are more expensive than other countries I visited. But for Indians, life is reasonable, like this mainstream newspaper that costs 0,07 EUR (!) while newspapers in Greece cost more than 1.5 EUR!

Well, at least there is no doubt about where the Indian Times stands when it comes to privacy issues... here is a story about something serious that's at stake, being reported with a "oh just get on with in" attitude.

After two weeks in Mumbai I thought I finally spotted a decent shipping professional by the name of Mr. Ramdas. I visited his office close to the airport, where while we were discussing the details of the bike's shipment some idiot nicked my broken indicator's light bulb!

Think about it. A broken indicator, with the bulb still working, parked right outside someone's office in broad daylight for about an hour... and someone steals the light bulb! I mean... such a bulb must cost about 2Rs in India, what's the point in that?

After a(nother) horrible experience with Mr. Ramdas and realising I would be taken for the proverbial ride, I decided to bite the bullet and pay for one of the most expensive shipping agents, who appeared to be more professional than everybody else I had been talking to for the past 20 days... I agreed on an extortionate price (upwards of 2000 EUR) to airfreight the bike from Mumbai to Athens and the next day rode the bike to the professional packers' premises to have it crated.

On the way there, I witnessed a very interesting scene. A class of schoolchildren being taught right next to the street, on the pavement, protected from traffic only by a metal railing...

So the packing commenced. I took out the petrol tank to drain it fully...

...muttered my way through draining the engine oil too (I still find it difficult to believe that IATA Dangerous Goods Regulations are so anal, but there you have it...)

...and was then SHOCKED to realise that the packers were unable to properly strap the bike on the pallet because they simply had no straps. When I asked for "straps" and showed them one that I have with me to tie Ping-Yi's bag on the panniers, they produced this sorry piece of string that I wouldn't even trust to fly a kite, let alone hold a 250kg bike in place while wiggled in an aeroplane...

(proper strap on the back, you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me "professional packers" version of straps in the foreground)

So, instead of doing this the proper, secure and quick way, the packers did it the Indian way: with plenty of unskilled labour, plenty of time and plenty of cheap material. And to put numbers to these claims of mine: 10 people labouring for a total of 7 hours (not all of them full time), using 110kg of wood and hundreds of nails... they practically built a small structure around the bike, using the most basic of mechanics to somehow stabilise it on the pallet. (even then, I was the one to suggest putting planks over the wheel rims, the "professional packers" hadn't even thought of that...)

This whole process was supposed to take "a couple of hours"... of course it took them 7 full hours. I started emptying tanks/engine oil/disconnecting batteries around 10 and was done by 12. The packers had measured the bike and started building the base of the crate by 11, and were done loading the bike onto the truck that would take it to the cargo terminal by 18:15...

This is the crate just before it was nailed shut.

And this is how they loaded the crate into the truck... by lifting the crate and then having the truck reverse to "eat it up".

As I mentioned earlier, this whole thing was costing me a fortune, and I was told by Eastern Cargo that paying with plastic (even if it was a debit card!) would increase the price by 2,5%. So I did frequent trips to the ATMs and withdrew my daily limit for a couple of days, and then changed most foreign currency I had on me to Rupees, to get the necessary amount in cash. This is only a small part of it - it was an impressive stack of cash:

Next day we were supposed to take the bike through customs. I certainly had to be there, to ensure everything was in order, if the crate had to be opened that nothing would "disappear" from inside, I could provide any information about the bike and other stuff in the crate to the customs people etc etc... so that's why Eastern had prepared this piece of paper to get me entry to the Cargo complex of Mumbai international airport.

It wasn't meant to be. With characteristic indifference, we were told at the gate of the cargo complex that foreigners are not allowed entry anywhere in the complex. When I asked "why?" the reason was "security threat". Gee. Does that qualify as racism or what? Thanks dudes. Feels good to be so welcome in this country.

So I was turned back at the gate, was assured "the boys" would take care of my shipment (now THAT made me feel much better...) and was shooed off. Bollocks.

All I could do was get back to the offices of Eastern Cargo and wait. For the entire day. While other people were fiddling with my bike. I was not impressed.

So I bummed around the office for (as it turns out) the entire day. These things (like clearing a bike through customs) take time, and regardless of the drone-like reassurances of Eastern people that "it's just a matter of a couple of hours" I was not surprised when I got back my stamped Carnet at 19:00, one hour after the official office close time.

To kill my idle time at the office I marvelled at the UPS system of Eastern

...and pondered what cooking sets sent by the Austrian Red Cross for the Haiti earthquake relief were doing in Mumbai.

Not surprisingly at all, the idiots who had loaded the trucks had not given much thought to the whole movement/inertia/vibration business, so as soon as the truck moved, tens of boxes crashed to the ground.

In typical Indian fashion, people just grinned in mild amusement and then slowly got over there and started picking up the smashed boxes. If this is what happens to humanitarian aid... I feel even more sorry for the people of Haiti.

After getting my Carnet back, I could get out of there. I took a leap of faith to actually believe what Eastern told me - that the bike had been cleared off customs (the Carnet was a good indication, but nothing more), and that it had already been delivered to Emirates airlines which would load it on a flight to Athens the following day. But I was too tired of this game already, and I wanted out.

On my way back to Punit's parents, the auto rickshaw broke down in the middle of the Western Express Highway. The dude fixed it by taking out the spark plug and roughing up its pin against the pavement. Seemed to work.

After a few hours, on that very night, I took a cab to Mumbai international and caught a flight to Athens via Abu Dhabi with the luxurious (and by far cheapest of all) Etihad airlines.

Flying over the Arabian Peninsula I noticed these weird formations:

Had a closer look, but still no clue as to what these things are:

When the plane reached Greece I looked down at my country and thought "what a beautiful place"... it was a clear sunny day, the sea was as blue as ever, the islands were beckoning with their beaches... ahh I've missed this type of beauty.

And with that, the UK2India trip was mostly over.

This is the final (rough) itinerary of the past 5 months.

Now all I have to do is service the bike in Athens and ride it back to London. Should be a doddle, but I will of course let you know if anything worthwhile happens by the time I reach London.

For now, I'd just like to thank you all for reading, commenting, keeping me company in faraway places. It wouldn't have been the same without you.