Since we had arranged a 1:00 pm checkout and all we had to do was shower and pack, we were in no hurry to get out of bed. The past several days have been extremely stressful, and we were both exhausted, so we turned off the alarm and snoozed for a while. When we did finally get up, we made short work of packing. We've been living out of the same bags for 3.5 months and know where everything goes. Later, we headed down for breakfast and then back up to the room for some quality internet time. Around noon we went out in search of lunch and scored a couple of extra delicious chicken shawarmas, which we took back to the room and enjoyed in air-conditioned comfort. As we had heard that the Dar Es Salaam airport is not air-conditioned, we stayed in our room until the last minute, trying to soak up as much cool as possible.

At 1:00 we schlepped our bags downstairs, where we ran into Patrick and Eddie, who is one of the hotel owners. Eddie is also a motorcycle enthusiast, and we spent the next hour chatting about bikes and riding in Tanzania. Eddie is an interesting fellow. He's first generation Tanzanian, and his parents emigrated from Yemen. Eddie's dad apparently amassed quite an empire in Tanzania- the family's holdings encompass rice farms and real estate. Most of their holdings are in the western part of the country, so Eddie often travels to the Mbeya area, usually by motorcycle. He's also traveled extensively in central Africa, mostly by bike. His most dramatic story involved a nighttime ride back to Dar from Mbeya and an encounter with bandits. Eddie and one of his friends were on the road between Morogoro and Dar Es Salaam and came upon an area of road construction at around 3:00 am. When they slowed due to road conditions, they suddenly heard several motorbikes fire up and people yelling. By their headlights they could see six or seven motorbikes being ridden by machete-wielding men. Eddie and his friend were on big bikes but were barely able to keep ahead of the bandits due to the road conditions. He said they could hear shouts and engines for the approximately 20km they were chased. Eddie and his friend finally stopped, pulled out their pistols, and fired several warning shots into the air. He laughed when he told us that at the sound of the gunshots, the headlights turned around and they could hear the bikes riding away at a fast pace. Eddie went on to tell us that he never rides in Tanzania unless he is armed. Good to know.

After story hour, we grabbed a taxi and headed to the airport. We had low expectations of what we would find, and they were mostly met. I'm glad we arrived more than two hours early, because to get through the multiple security checkpoints, the ticket counter, and immigration took more than 1.5 hours. We finally boarded our Oman Air flight to Muscat (for all of you who survived music in the 70s, Re didn't seem to enjoy my rendition of Muscat Love). The flight was very nice with good food and plenty of legroom. The one funny moment on the flight came when it was time for dinner. When we booked our tickets, Re requested the Hindu vegetarian meal service. The stewardess walked up with the special meal, looked in our row, looked back at the meal, looked back at Re and I with a puzzled expression on her face, and finally asked, did we order a special meal? Re laughed and said it was hers. I guess the stewardess wasn't expecting a blonde American to have ordered that meal.



We arrived in Muscat near midnight local time and looked for something to kill the two hours before our next flight. What we found was the Dairy Queen! Since it has been over two months since I've had a Blizzard, it was time. Lucky for us, the cashier accepted USD and we enjoyed a midnight snack of familiar ice cream. Shortly thereafter, our flight left for Mumbai. We tried, mostly in vain, to get some sleep, but neither of us could more than doze.

Transportation wrapup. Our flights on Oman Air from Dar Es Salaam to Mumbai were 455 USD each. The air freight cost for our 320kg was 3.96 USD per kilo, for a total of 1367 USD (including 10 USD air waybill prep and 80 USD in dangerous goods fees). We also paid 300 USD for our “deluxe” crate and freight forwarder fee.

I enjoy your trip in africa and now i'm waiting for your stories from your new adventures!!

__________________
3mountainsadventure

Our flight arrived at 5:30 am local time (which is 3:00 am in Tanzania) and we sleepily made our way through immigration and customs. We found a working ATM and withdrew the maximum 10,000 rupees (200 USD). We had booked a hotel near the airport, but were advised that if we arrived before 9:30 am, we would be charged for an extra night, so we sat at the airport. We were both very tired but couldn't find a place where we felt it was okay to snooze, so we walked outside and sat in the arrivals waiting area. 9:00 am finally came, so we found a phone and called for pickup. There are apparently a lot of scams centered around hotels and transportation at the Mumbai airport, so we were advised to look for somebody holding a board with our name on it. The car ride and 10 minutes later, and we were at the hotel. The first thing I noticed was the lack of any secure parking. Bummer. The hotel was okay, but not as nice as it looked in the pictures. No matter, we checked in and took a quick nap until 12:30 pm.

We then headed for air cargo via autorickshaw (aka tuk-tuk in other parts of the world). We quickly found out that many of the autorickshaw drivers have no idea where they are going and rely on the passenger for directions, which didn't really work for us, since we didn't know where we were going either. He got us to the airport and from there, we asked directions to the cargo facility. Once we arrived at the cargo facility, we were astounded by the chaos. Lines of cars and hundreds of people just sort of milling about. From my research, I knew we needed a gate pass, but didn't know where or how to get one. I started heading toward the entry gate and was stopped by a man whom I will refer to as “Helper.” He didn't speak much English, but he knew what we needed to do. He took us to the photocopy shop and helped us get copies of our passport photo page, India visa and entry stamp page, and a copy of our air waybill. With these in hand, we made our way to the gate pass office and, surprisingly quickly, got our gate passes (NB – you must leave a photo ID with the gate pass office, which is returned when you return your pass. We left our Oregon drivers' licenses).

While we were picking up our gate passes, Helper called over another guy, who we will call, “Big Man.” Big Man escorted us through the security checkpoint and took us directly to the Emirates office (if you are doing this yourself, the cargo offices are a right turn after security and on the second floor of the building marked, “Heavy Cargo”). We followed him up to the second floor and into the Emirates office, where we were given the shipping paperwork. The fee for the paperwork was 20 USD which we paid and went back downstairs. From the main room on the main floor, we walked through the door marked “Public Area” and headed for the Customs window. At this point in time, Big Man introduced us to someone we will refer to as, “Agent.” We followed Agent and Big Man into a blissfully air-conditioned waiting room, and Agent asked to see our paperwork. We didn't really know who Agent was at this time, just a well-dressed man who spoke English well and knew what to do. We also knew from our research that we would need to visit the Western India Automobile Association, which is in central Mumbai and procure a clearance letter before we could continue with the customs process. Agent confirmed that that was what we needed to do and said if we headed for the WIAA now, we should make it there in time to get our letter today. Agent then told us to bring back the clearance letter and meet him at the Customs area at 10:30 tomorrow morning. If we did so, we should have our bikes by 5:30 pm!

So back out of the cargo facility, where we exchanged our gate passes for DLs and took an autorickshaw to the train station. We rode the commuter train down to the Churchgate station and back for the princely sum of 32 cents each. Since we were on the slow train that stops at every station, it took nearly an hour to get there, and we arrived at the WIAA at around 4:30 pm. Since we knew we would need a letter for the Canadian Automobile Association in order to get a clearance letter from the WIAA, I had email Suzanne Danis from Tanzania and had a copy of the letter. At the WIAA we met Victor, who was in charge of issuing the clearance letters, but he informed us it was too late in the day to issue them, and we would need to return the next day. It was also too late to get liability insurance, so we'd have to come back the next day, regardless. Victor told us to return at 10:30 am, which was unfortunately the same time we were supposed to meet Agent. I guess we won't get our bikes tomorrow after all.

It was after 5:00 pm when we got back on the train to return to the hotel, and the cars were much fuller at this time. The good news was that we were able to find the express train back, and the journey only took 30 minutes. Back at the Andheri East train station, we hopped in another autorickshaw and went back to the hotel via the scenic route. We overpaid for our trip but were so tired, we didn't care.



Back at the hotel, we perused the room service menu and ordered a veritable feast to be delivered to our room. It turns out the hotel doesn't prepare the food, they just go four doors down to a local restaurant to pick it up and deliver it to the room. The markup for the service is literally, pennies per dish. Not knowing how big the portions were, we came up with a list of things we like, and Re asked the manager if that was enough food for two people. He assured her it was enough food for four people, so Re deleted one of the nine items since we hadn't eaten anything since we got off the plane. We stuffed ourselves silly and were unable to finish it all. Even delivered to our room the entire meal cost less than 8 USD. Absolutely exhausted, we then went to bed.

We did not want to get up when the alarm went off but had place to be and people to see, so we dragged ourselves in and out of the shower and were back in an autorickshaw by 8:30. The drive to the train station requires one left turn in the 3km ride. Traffic was very heavy this morning, and our autorickshaw driver turned left early. Maybe he's taking us on a shortcut? Or maybe he's leading us down the garden path. Which one do you think it was? First we drove past the international terminal at the airport. Then, we drove past the cargo facility, then past the domestic terminal. Then, I started yelling at the driver. Then, he turned right, and we eventually arrived at the train station. The ride to the station should cost no more than 30 rupees, but he was trying to charge us over 100 (the autorickshaws in Mumbai have meters, but they're so old, that you don't pay what's on the meter, you refer to a conversion chart. Even by what was on the meter, it still should have been less than 70 rupees). I offered him 50, and he refused. At this point in time, some locals overheard the commotion and signaled for the three police officers who were standing nearby. The young female officer initially thought that the disagreement was over the meter/chart issue. I explained to her no, that he took us on an extra long ride. I pulled out the Lonely Planet and showed her on the map where he had taken us. She said something to the driver and when he responded with a weak smile, she smacked him in the head. At this, the senior officer walked over and asked the female officer what was going on (I assume, as they were speaking in Hindi?). The senior officer instructed our driver to turn off his vehicle, remove the keys, give them to the officer, and to produce his license. At this point, the female officer apologized for the inconvenience and sent us on our way. Moral of the story, just take the damn 50 rupees!

The real problem with our “detour” was the time it wasted. Instead of being at the station at 9:00 am, it was nearly 9:30. We couldn't find an express train at this time, so once again, onto the slow train. We made it back down to the WIAA shortly after 10:30, but found that the director had not yet signed our clearance letters. In the meantime, we met with Abdul and arranged for liability insurance. The minimum policy period for liability insurance is one year, but even that only cost 15 USD each (and it also covers Nepal). While we were waiting we also met two German overland truck drivers whose vehicles were stuck at the seaport for five days and counting due to Carnet problems. We chatted with them while we waited for our paperwork and after hearing about all of their issues, left feeling nervous about our impending Customs visit. The other problem was that we would have to return to the WIAA tomorrow to pick up our insurance papers.

Back to the train, back on an autorickshaw, and back to cargo by 1:00 pm. Sure enough, we were met by Helper and Big Man (who we both noted were dressed much more nicely today) and they again assisted us with getting a gate pass, and took us to meet Agent. We met with Agent again in the air-conditioned waiting room next to the Customs office, where he took our documents and passports and sent them off to be photocopied. While we waited for the copies to return, he began filling out several import documents with our details. He then mentioned that he was an agent and that if we wanted to use an agent, he charges for his services. We asked, “how much?” and he replied, “how much do you want to pay?” “Not much, “ we said. He said he usually charges 80 USD per bike, which we countered with 40 USD per bike. He misunderstood and thought we meant 40 USD total. All the while, Big Man sat in the corner against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Agent countered with 100 USD for both bikes and we then offered 80 USD for both. The agent said he could not do it for that, but he would finish filling out the papers for us, and we could clear them ourselves. Confused by the negotiations, Re and I stepped outside to figure out what the scam was. Intimidated by the amount of paperwork and reports of needing 20 different signatures from the Customs office, we agreed that we would pay the 100 USD for both bikes. We went back into the waiting room and told the agent we agreed to his price. He just waved us off and continued filling out the paperwork. After the runner returned with our photocopies of our passports and other documents, the agent motioned for me to join him outside. Once outside, he told me that I could clear customs myself that day and did not really need his assistance. Further confused by this strange negotiation tactic, I asked him if this was true. From his response, it became clear that he was not affiliated with Big Man and apparently didn't care for him either. He said we should tell Big Man that we would pay 80 USD for both bikes and no more, and that if he did not agree, that we would do it ourselves. Feeling more confused, we found Big Man, who as predicted, refused the offer, and Big Man left. Agent handed me all the papers he'd filled out and all the photocopies he'd had made, and told me in which room the process would start. He said he would be in the area all day working on other shipments and if I needed any other help, he would advise us for free.

Now totally confused, I went into the indicated room, where our documents were perused for completeness and was told to wait, as the next person we needed to see was at lunch. We returned to the air-conditioned waiting room, where we met another customs clearinghouse agent named, Danesh. It turns out Danesh is an avid motorcyclist and recently bought a 2011 Yamaha YZF-R1 (which in India costs nearly 25,000 USD). He and his friends all ride big sport bikes and are going to take a motorcycle tour of northern Thailand in February. Maybe we will see them there. Once lunchtime was over, we returned to the office, which turned out to be the “unaccompanied baggage” section. Our motorcycles were deemed to be personal effects, and therefore, our shipment was unaccompanied baggage. We sat in the office for a half hour or so while papers were collated, stamped, signed, and reviewed. Then it was time to get our crate. We were led to the another office, where we were presented with a bill for demurrage (storage) and then went to the next window where we paid 62 USD for the privilege. I did note that the demurrage bill had a note at the bottom that the crate was received in a damaged condition. Oh no.



We waited an anxious 10 minutes for our crate to be brought to the inspection area and were relieved to find that the damage was limited to a few cracks in the 1/8 inch plywood.



A warehouse helper helped us remove the top and sides from the crate, and the Customs officials told us we could assemble our bikes in the warehouse before they inspect them.



Re and I once again got to work putting on the wheels, fenders, and handlebars. After the bikes were put right, our engine and chassis numbers were recorded, and then we waited. And then we waited some more. While we were waiting, I ran into Agent again and told him that everything was going well, and we should have our bikes by the end of the day. I asked him what we should pay him for the work he had done, and he said nothing, that he really didn't do anything. I reminded him that he'd gotten photocopies made and filled out the import paperwork, and he simply stated, that I should remember that there are good people in the world, too. Wow. I thanked him profusely for all his help, and he wished us good luck on our journey. Since the bikes were nearly empty before they were crated, Re or I was going to walk the km or so to the nearest gas station to fill up one of our jerrycans. Lucky for us, we mentioned it to a warehouse worker who informed us that it is against the law in India to fill a jerrycan that is not accompanied by a vehicle. Huh. We may be pushing our bikes the km to the gas station. I was beginning to get nervous as it was nearing 5:30 pm, and that was when the Customs office closes. When we asked in the office, they assured us we would get our bikes today and it would be just a few more minutes. At 5:30, warehouse and office staff started to leave, and soon, it was only us and one remaining Customs official. So far, we had not paid anything besides the demurrage fee and had not been asked for any baksheesh (bribes). We also never paid anything to Agent, Big Man, or Helper. But now, the Customs official was working overtime, and I expected that we would be asked to pay for the “overtime.” It was now after 6:00 pm, and our growing pile of paperwork needed the signature of the head of Customs at the airport. We followed our agent to the next building, upstairs past the armed guards, and into an official looking office. The director asked us a few questions about our trip, looked over every page of our paperwork, and finally signed on the dotted line. Paperwork done, we returned to the Customs office, where final photocopies were made and we were directed to our bikes. Unbelievably we cleared the dreaded Mumbai Customs Office in one and a half days with only a little help from an agent!

We rolled them down the ramp and out into the night. The Customs officer wished us a good night and left. We were never asked to pay anything and found the whole process to be confusing but easy. We now found ourselves standing next to our potentially fuel-less motorbikes while a crowd gathered around us. During the last week in Tanzania, Re's battery was getting weak and we had to resort to the kickstarter a couple of times. Now, it is completely dead. No problem, we can kickstart it. I cracked the drain on both carburetor float bowls and was happy to see gas dribbling out of both bikes. In front of a crowd of 25 or so truck drivers and warehouse workers, I kickstarted Re's bike on the third try. Her bike was idling low, so I gave the idle screw a quick turn and then started up my bike. While we put on our gear, my bike stopped running. I hit the starter button, and the engine spun too freely. Out of gas. Crap. While the crowd murmured and laughed, I sent Rebekah off in search of gas. Hopefully, she has enough to make it to the gas station. After she left, I started pushing my bike to the exit. Strangely, no one stopped me to check anything, and I waited for Re outside the cargo facility. Once again, a small crowd formed, and people asked me what I was doing. I was happy to see Re ride through the crowd with sweet, sweet unleaded. As we've done a hundred times before, we unclipped the funnel and filled up the bikes. My bike fired up right away, Re's bike took a few more kicks. But we were off! Before we left the guesthouse that morning, I had marked its GPS position, so it was a simple matter of following the directions back to the hotel. Once back at the hotel, we were informed by the manager to remove everything from our bikes and to cover them since the people in the area could be “naughty” he said. Yay. We removed the gas cans, all bungee cords, but left the Rokstraps on the bikes. We then locked both bikes together with our cable locks and covered them with one of our custom bike covers. A little nervous about the naughtiness of the locals, we headed inside with our gas cans and extra tires.

Two miles. The bikes run much better with gasoline. Re's gonna need a new battery.

The goal for the day was to get our insurance documents so we would be legal to ride south soon. We were supposed to meet Abdul at the WIAA sometime after 10:30am, so we spent a lazy morning in the room before heading back out to fight the autorickshaw wars. Since I immediately started objecting when our driver of the day turned down an unfamiliar road, our autorickshaw ride to the train station only involved a slight detour this morning. The express train had just started to roll when we hit the platform, so we jumped into the first available car and headed back into central Mumbai again. Our trip did have one minor hitch in the form of the ticket inspector. Apparently we had boarded a first class car with only second class tickets and were made to get on the right class of car at the next station. Whoops. I can honestly say that the first class car contained the least amount of first class I have ever seen.

We made it back to the WIAA by 11:00 am only to find that our insurance documents were not yet ready. It seems that since the SYM brand is not sold in India (at least not badged as SYM), that the insurance company is not able to fill out the make and model fields in the policy. No problem, we were assured, the local office has sent electronic copies of our documents to the head office in Delhi and our policies will be issued by 2:00 pm.



Since we were down in the Fort section of Mumbai and had a few hours to kill, we pulled out the Lonely Planet (which appears to be much more accurate and reliable for India so far) and found their recommended walking tour of the area. We walked down to the Mumbai gate and slowly made our way back to the WIAA over the next several hours.



The architecture in the area is impressive, and we stopped along the way for some street food and sugarcane juice. Later, we stopped to watch a cricket match for twenty minutes or so.



We had the opportunity to watch some cricket matches while we were in SE Asia a few years ago and have a basic grasp of the rules, but it was fun to watch it in person with two, not so professional, teams. Sometime after 2:30 pm, we made our way back to the WIAA only to find that we still had no insurance docs. Sigh. Abdul agreed to e-mail them to us when they were ready to save us another trip into town.

Back on the train, back into an autorickshaw piloted by an honest driver, and back to the hotel where we spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on blog posts and RRs. Late in the afternoon the e-mail arrived from Abdul containing our insurance documents, but alas, the second page of Re's policy was half missing. Grr. I e-mailed Abdul back but did not get a reply that day. I guess we'll be staying another day in Mumbai. After another veg Indian dinner at a local restaurant, we went back to the room and did some much needed laundry.

Abdul returned our e-mail early this morning and assured us that he would send us a complete page when he reached the office and told us that we should have called him last evening instead of e-mailing. One of the big problems we have run into in India so far is that we do not have a mobile phone. We fumbled our way through Africa without one, but it was becoming clear that life in India would be far easier if we had a phone. While we waited for Abdul to get to work at 10:00 am, we went out in search of a phone. We wandered up to the nearby business area and found an electronics shop that sold mobile phones. For 22 USD we acquired a very basic Nokia phone and then set off in search of a sim card. There are restrictions on foreigners' purchases of sim cards in India, and you are required to provide a copy of (what else) your passport picture page and visa and entry stamp page as well as providing a local address (and perhaps the name and address of a local referee). The manager at our hotel was nice enough to call a friend who has a nearby store that sells Vodaphone sims. We made or way over to his shop and left him the paperwork he needed in order to fill out the application form. He told us to return in an hour, and we should be good to go. We had a lunch of masala dosai at a nearby restaurant while we waited and later returned to find that we were now official.

We spent the rest of the afternoon revising our route through India to incorporate the suggestions we have received. We also finally wrote about the shipping nightmare in Dar and were both feeling angry by the time we finished. I am feeling homesick/culture shock for the first time in the trip and really wanted to find familiar food for dinner, so we went to McDonalds for some food that was nothing like the food in the US. So much for familiar. At least the Kingfisher s taste somewhat reminiscent of bad American .

According to the first route we planned, our destination for the day was going to be Kohlapur, but yesterday when we revised our route, we decided to head down the Konkan coast instead. So our goal for today was now Alibag, a small coastal town that is only 30 miles south of Mumbai as the crow flies, but about 75 miles by road. Since we had no idea how long it would actually take us to Escape From Mumbai (that sounds like the title of a new Bollywood blockbuster in which Snake Pliskin dances his way out of Mumbai) we wanted to hit the road by 9:00 am at the latest. That meant an early morning, as we had to reattach the Pelican cases and repack all of our bags once again. The bikes seem to have survived the flight from Dar unscathed, but the recurring problem of low air pressure in my front tire was not magically cured on the airplane ride. When we were reattaching the Pelican cases, I noticed that someone had apparently attempted to remove two of the Rok-Straps, but couldn't figure out how they were attached. Huh. As we continued to load up the bikes, we found that both of the carabiner clips from Re's handlebars and one of the two from my handlebars had disappeared. We use these clips to hang our daypacks in the stepthrough area, and while the monetary loss is small, the pain in the ass factor is big. We ended up hanging our daypacks over the handlebars, and though we tried to minimize the strap pressure on the cables and wires that run along the bars, we were unable to prevent at least some stress on them.

I punched Alibag into the GPS, and we were ready to hit the road. My bike immediately fired up, but Re's battery is now completely dead. Reason #73 we love the Symbas: two prods of her kickstarter, and the mighty Symba fired up and settled into a gentle idle. Now we were off. We turned out of our side street and into the thick of morning Mumbai rush hour. Many riders before us have described the traffic in Mumbai, and I certainly can't add a lot. It is chaotic, but there is an order to the chaos, and other drivers will give you room if you follow the local rules. While walking and riding in the autorickshaws over the past few days, Re and I spent plenty of time observing how the local riders ride.

On our ride this morning, we attempted to stick follow the example of the other motorbike riders and got through the morning unscathed. We headed east, dutifully following the GPS directions, but quickly found the limitations of the free maps from OpenStreetMap. Many of the major roads in Mumbai have slip or access roads that peel off to the left and are where you make turns onto cross streets. Unfortunately, the GPS didn't differentiate between the main and slip roads, and we found ourselves missing turn after turn. We eventually sorted it out and soon found ourselves again heading south and west toward Alibag. Our route for today took us down two roads that were laughably named, National Highway 4 and National Highway 17.

For the majority of the drive, they were nothing more than narrow, two lane roads that were crowded with all manner of truck, bus, minivan, car, motorbike, pedestrian, cow, and just about anything else that could roll or walk. Overtaking on these roads is crazy. Vehicles pull into the oncoming lane, uphill, in blind corners, and in the middle of a village with no consideration to whomever else might already be using that space. Another factor that made today's riding challenging was the road surface. The roads varied from reasonably well paved to bombed out craters, often without any warning. Our other disappointing discovery for the day was that India shares Tanzania's love of speedbumps. And the speedbumps in India vary greatly in size and height, making it difficult to predict how much to slow down for them. Both Re and I were surprised more than once today by a rogue speedbump and were kicked out of the seat on a couple of occasions.

However, the ride today was beautiful. We found ourselves riding through the Western Ghats, which is the coastal “mountain” range that runs south from Mumbai for several hundred miles. We made our way to Alibag around 1:30 pm, and Re set off in search of a hotel for the night.



We checked in just in time for the scheduled power outage that apparently occurs daily from 2:30 until 4:00 pm, and we walked down to the beach.



The beach was a pleasant strip of sand with several small fishing boats anchored out in the water. We walked along the beach and came to an area where we saw a couple of people squatting down at the water's edge. As we got a little closer, we noticed they also had their pants pulled down... Hey, wait a minute. What are they doing there? No, they couldn't be. But oh yes, they were. Since we decided the beach was kind of crappy, we skipped dipping our toes in the water and instead headed back into town for a late lunch.


75 miles in 4.5 hours. Re's definitely going to need a new battery.