Meeting
Mumbai – the mysterious gateway to India!
We seem to have been coming to Mumbai for days now. ‘Mumbai’ on Friday
has been a long time coming. As I write now this afternoon we are moored at The
Mumbai International Cruise Terminal – under a big sign Incredible !ndia.
At
the moment (4.30pm) it is pouring rain over the city and I’m feeling sorry for
all the folk who are out there exploring Mumbai. It is warm (31 degrees). At
least that is not the 45 it was reported on the day we went to the Port Lecture
on Mumbai. This morning before they all set out there were bottles of cold water
being peddled in the Horizon Court Buffet at breakfast.
We
docked here about 11 o’clock, and for a good hour before that we slowly inched
our way towards the port through lots and lots of cargo boats, and small craft
all anchored off shore. When we eventually came to the International Cruise
Terminal we stopped quite a long way out parallel to it and slowly came at it sideways using
our thrusters. (That’s what Bruce told me. We did move sideways.)
Not
that I’m complaining about the extra slow movement. I am very happy that the
floor is staying steady and not swaying alarmingly under my feet.
There were no ‘white horses’ to speak of
yesterday, so it wasn’t what I’d call ‘rough’ . Just the horizon sliding up and
then plunging down again. I think that is what they mean by the SWELL.
When
we registered to come on board, the official who took our particulars was surprised
we had no Indian Visa. Because of a bad
experience once at Mumbai International Airport, Bruce just proclaimed he seen
enough of Mumbai and never wanted to see it again. So – no visa. The Ship’s Official at registration then gave us
a form to fill in about our lack of visa for India. It was a waiver that said I
would not hold Princess responsible if I was deported from India and had to
rejoin the ship at a later port at my own expense. It was all in official
language and a bit scarey to sign. Bruce laughed it off later and said nothing
would come of it.
Other
passengers told us of the inconvenience and expense they had to get their
Indian Visa, as they were told they had to have one. It seemed to cost some
several hundred dollars by the time they took their passport to the Indian
Consulate and went back for it several days later. A Western Australian couple
said they had to go to Perth and stay in a hotel to get it.
The
Indian Immigration Officials came on board in Langkawi and were set up in one
of the lounges. A roster of personal
interviews was set up. Each person separately. One couple said it took nearly a
half an hour each with several pages of questions including such things as
parents’ names, where they were born and if they spoke English. Others said it
was only a matter of five to ten minutes, and not at all invasive. In any case
the whole interview thing was a topic of conversation on the ship for several
days.
So
it was no wonder we were all very conscious of our coming to Mumbai. Special
yellow cards were issued and copies of passports made and handed out to those
with visas who intended to go onto the Sacred Soil of India.
At the bottom of the notices about all this
there was some small writing that said those who did not intend to go ashore in
Mumbai need not comply. That was us.
The
ship docked on the Starboard side (ours) and so we sat on our balcony and
watched the whole slow approach from after breakfast till we tied up about
eleven o’clock. Once we docked the crew
set about putting out the gangways and official place where passengers had to
show their Cruise Cards (Ids) to come back on board. Meanwhile lots of Indian
workers on the dock scuttled about busily laying out red carpets from the
terminal entrance to the gangways. I presume they were symbolically ‘red
carpets’ but they were a slightly dingey brickred. Big pot plants were hauled
out and lined up beside the ‘red’ carpet.
So
I think it was a ‘Royal Welcome’ to India. I don’t really mean to be-little all
this pomp and ceremony which has made visiting India quite something else for all
those who had a visa and took the step onto that special soil of the wharf.
Some people we met at lunch had just gone as far as the Terminal building and
said it was nothing special. Nothing much there. No airconditioning. Just big
fans.
An
expensive few metres onto Indian Soil for them.
We
have been watching (5.45pm) be-draggled people - with or without umbrellas –
making their wet and weary way from the Terminal to the gangway by way of
equally bedraggled ‘red’ carpets. All looking pretty soggy.
So
much for Mumbai.
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