The real Colaba.

I take it back. Colaba isn't all sunshine, lollipops and drunk tourists. In an attempt to walk to the ocean, (in a place surrounded by water who knew it would be so hard?), we cut up through a side street and through the fishing docks. Turns out that although fish come from the ocean, you can't actually access the water from the docks. And although I wouldn't choose to send my worst enemy into the smell we encountered at the docks, I did see a different side of Colaba.

The fishing wharfs are full of incredibly hard-working, strong stomached locals. They must have strong stomachs as they didn't seem to be dry-retching like we did as they walked through the fermenting fish guts sprayed all over the road in the Indian sun. The docks were a total hive of activity. They were out of control! There were typical Indian, bright painted trucks (the ones that have 'Honk please OK' in colourful cursive on the back) who drove up and down couriering loads of fish bits away from the docks. The fishing boats are similarly colourful. They are also incredibly small. Hope they don't get rough seas in the Indian Ocean. The majority of workers were women. Beautiful, saree-clad, hennaed women. Their beautiful cotton outfits trailed behind them through the remaining fluidy bits of fish that (thankfully!) aren't able to be sold.

Our impromptu self-guided tour through Mumbai's prime fishing region helped bolster my commitment to not eat fish while I am in India. Even my recentely discovered love of prawns was quickly extinguished as we wandered through the docks. The reason for my sudden disgust is the lack of equipment, hygiene and safety precautions used in the preparation of fish in India. There was little ice. There were flies. Everywhere. And the beautiful saree-clad, hennaed women shelled mountains of prawns while sitting in circles on the asphalt, in the open air and hot sun. No deal.

But although disgusting – tummy turning repulsiveness! - I loved our adventure into the fishing capital of Colaba. It reminded me again of crazy India. Of people running everywhere. Of beautiful coloured cottons. Of laughing, head-wobbling men who are all too happy to talk with / at you. It also reminded me that the Indian labourers work so hard to make such little money.

YAY for Colaba – the home of my chai man, Mondy's (the new, better version of Leopolds), of German tourists and of hard working, local Indians.