My final day in Mumbai, as planned, involved a tour around Dharavi slum. Initial reservations about a tour around a slum were quelled by the company who ran the tour. 80% of the profits go to the learning centre within the slum that has been set up by the company, and those within the slum seemed fine with the occasional tour group eyeing their daily activities. Photographs are banned. The kids, as normal, were delighted to see us. The slum is not, as may be expected, a constant stream of diseased and starving people left in the gutter. While conditions were poor, our tour concentrated on the working lives of the inhabitants within the slum. Thousands of people work on the recycling of various materials and waste. These are then sold back to manufacturers and reused.
The most surprising thing about the slum was the atmosphere; so many people seemed so happy, especially the children who played with yo-yos and cricket sets in the street. For a split second it almost made it possible to forget that the huge profits that were made in the slum went to the bosses who lived outside, not the souls working hard within the narrow streets.
Suddenly that was it. I was back in the heart of Mumbai counting my final rupees and scouring for my final meal. Once that was eaten, there was little to do but to go back to my room, pack and go to bed.
My day of travel went fairly smoothly. My hotel booked me a taxi to the airport, and my flight to London was fine. My joining flight up to Manchester airport felt like about 15 minutes (I think I fell asleep), and after a quick jog in the snow wearing summer clothes, I managed to catch a train to Leeds with minutes to spare.In Leeds train station I waited for my lift home. Hungry, and with little choice, I entered McDonalds. A man approached me. He was fairly scruffy looking, had a large beard, and his dog waited for him outside the restaurant. "Aren't you cold in that?", he asked. I told him that I was fine, and that I had some extra clothes in my bag. "I used to be homeless" said the man, "Would you like my coat?". A year of travel changes your outlook on life. Amongst the many things I learnt, I learnt that poverty is everywhere ... and so are friendly people.
Wearing a winter coat brought to me by parents, I finally arrived home. It was strangely familiar. Little things had changed in each room, but it was hard to remember what had changed over the last year, and what had actually changed shortly before I'd gone away.
Months travelled : 12
Countries visited : 10
Plane journeys taken: 13 and a half
Favourite Countries : India, Myanmar
Favourite locations : Don Kho (Laos), The Road to Manali (India), Varanasi (India)
Favourite 60 seconds: Skydiving (Cairns, Australia)
People thought I was : French, Spanish, Italian, Turkish, Greek, Russian, Egyptian, Israeli, Lebanese, Indian, Pakistani, Mexican, Chilian, Brazilian, Argentinian ... or David Baddiel.
Real life begins again. Getting up in the morning in preparation for a full day of travel in blistering heat with a selection of new mosquito bites and the occasioanal offer of a rickshaw or tuk-tuk feels like a distant memory, and I'm glad it is. I'm ready for normality again. Things will be similar to what they were, but one thing has changed; I have memories and stories. I have struggled to breath in both the dizzy heights of the Himalayas and whilst freefalling from 14,000 foot down-under. I have enjoyed the off-beat comedy of an outlawed Burmese comedy trio. I have stumbled upon the sacrifice of seven chickens.
I have travelled for a year throughout two continents. For now, I want to stay put ... it's good to be home.
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