A Day in South Mumbai

I had decided I couldn't take the heat, so I set my clock for when it would be pleasant outside - early, 5:15 early. I was up and down to the Gateway of India by 6 AM. Nice, quiet, deserted, cool. A couple people, a lot of pigeons, European architecture. Things were looking up.
I waved over a lanky white guy and asked him what he was doing that day. Turns out he was leaving, going home, so plans for a day with him were non-existent. However, we did spend about the next 2 hours together before he had to pack and take off. He was amazingly chill, introduced me to Indian cha, told me where to get weed in India, imparted the amusing news that he stole napkins form restaurants when he had to go to the bathroom, and the unfortunate news that the horn thing is all over India. He was 19, English, doing his gap year, and had visited 4 continents in 3 months - North America (New York), Australia, the Eastern Coast of Africa, and India. We had some breakfast from a street stand. It was all very pleasant, companionable. I was sad to see him go.
So that gets me to 8 AM. Problem - nothing opens until 10 or 11. So I wander. I am, by my own account, an expert wanderer at this point. I go by the huge docks of Mumbai, all the old buildings, garden in circular roads. I made it Churchgate (train station) and the Oval Maidan (park-like place). Here's where I make my directional mistake. I head back in the supposed direction of the Gateway, except not. It takes a long while, but eventually I make it to the very south of South Mumbai, the military complex. The roads are open but all the buildings are prohibited to me. Wandering as hard as I could go, I still couldn't find a way out. I was trapped in a military complex. Not cool. I was also very hot and grumpy at this point. Day turns thumbs down.
Caught a cab out, back to my starting point. Immediately went to the National Gallery of Modern Art for some cool. I really started to dig most of the stuff. Whenever, I get around the presence of really good art, I start to aspire to create something, to be artistic. It hasn't really happened yet, but it is keeping this blog/journal afloat.
Hungry now - set off in search of food. Everything is alive and jumping now, so I'm harassed on the streets for money and people wanting me to buy things. I'm looking for Churchill Cafe but I find McDonald's first. What the hell, I'm dying of heat, so I go in and have a strawberry milkshake. There are no seats left, so I sit onto he bench next to Ronald. Ahhh American. Sorry to all you hamburger fans, the McDonald's in India is 100% beef free, even using vegetable oil. I continue down the road and actually find Churchill Cafe. I went and ate there too anyway - too hot to do anything else. Next stop - I found a convenience store! Thank goodness. Being without them is so... inconvenient! ;) I found wet wipes (an admission of defeat to their toilet system) and a snickers bar.
I felt I'd accomplished enough for the day, it was 5 PM and I'd been wandering Mumbai in the heat for 12 hours. Time to get off my feet and relax, plan the next day. So I start looking for a taxi (I'm never on the right side of the road - silly British/Indians). A guy selling maps of India starts trailing me down the sidewalk (nothing new with vendors or beggars). I intermittently answer questions from him. He is very friendly and his English is good, plus he has the eyes (ooh the eyes). He also knows he has the eyes and smile of a very handsome specimen. Chetan has given me the address of the apartment, but in English (for some reason refusing Hindi and most taxi drivers don't speak or read English) so I get the guy to help me. When we finally figure our where I'm going he says he will come with me. One of those split second decisions I'm so bad at, but he seems harmless; I scoot over and he hops into the taxi (another thing that will get me killed one day - oh well. I'm not supposed to be traveling India alone either). So he's charming, cuddles up to me, wants to be my friend, wants to show me all over India, promises never to hurt me, takes my hand a lot, moves his arm around my shoulder, looks into the eyes of the "beautiful American". I ask him shortly into the journey how he is going to get back and he replies he will go to my apartment with me. I tell him he certainly is not but he doesn't seem phased. They don't seem to understand that just because they can make me laugh, it doesn't mean that they can change my mind. His touchy-feely was kept at bay as I declared myself hot and threw him off, but it crept back from time to time. He did the silly Indian guy thing of telling me I HAVE to do something. "You have to say you are my friend" - do not- "You have to promise you won't ever make me sad" - not a chance. In fact, I'm sure I'm about to make you sad as soon as I find my apartment. A pleasant diversion but when I reached my destination I said goodbye. He was sad, but I could deal with that.