THE TASTE

You can't go back they say and I'm starting to think they're right after being upgraded to business class for the Dubai to Mumbai leg of the trip. Economy will never be the same for me now I've seen how they live on the other side of the curtain. And it's not just the champagne or the extra legroom that's won me over, although that is nice, and I'm sure I can learn to live without the more expansive list of specially selected wines and the better grade of orange juice. No, those memories will fade with time. What will not, and what will ultimately ruin economy for me for the rest of my life is the jar of fruit conserve which was offered to accompany the assortment of breakfast pastries I enjoyed about an hour out from touchdown.

The strange thing about being upgraded is that my immediate thought once I'd been informed of the bump in class wasn't "that's awesome", it was "damn, why couldn't this have happened on one of the longer legs of the trip". So evidently I'm a glass half empty kind of guy.

At the Emirates Transfer Desk in Dubai International, just before I was informed of my good fortune, I was sleepily watching the information screens above the tellers as they rolled through the departure times and gate numbers. Every fourth screen showed an ad for Skywards, the Emirates frequent flyer scheme. The picture was of an oak desk-top scattered with travel information, a ticket envelope and some nice stationary with a Skywards Blue membership card taking pride of place in the centre of the picture. "Emirates. Make travel more rewarding" was slugged across the top of the page. I didn't really take much notice at first but I was in the queue for some time and after about the fourth rotation I noticed the name on the membership card. I did an immediate double-take but the page disappeared just as I was about to confirm my suspicions. It took another four minutes for the ad to reappear. And then there it was, Skywards Blue member EK 168 803 876, Mr John Denver.

Someone needs to fire the creative at Emirate's ad agency, or give the black humored bastard a raise. Genius.

I'd mentally prepared myself for the absolute worst from Mumbai; heat, beggars, rip-off merchants, ageing hippies. Looking across the tarmac at the corrugated iron shacks of the shanty town next to the airport as we taxied to the terminal on arrival I felt sure my trip to the Colaba was going to be a rather shocking assault on the senses. But it never came. My trip through customs was swift and efficient, securing a taxi was cheap and hassle free and the traffic into town smooth and unintimidating, all of which might be accounted for by the fact it was 8:15 on a Sunday morning.

Finding a clean hotel room was relatively easy and by 10am I was showered up and fast-asleep.

When I woke four hours later and headed out to wander the streets all my pre-conceived notions were confirmed. Within forty minutes I'd been hassled by beggars and shysters, offered more hash than I could take on in a lifetime and was targeted with no fewer than six scams of varying degrees of sophistication, from low end hustlers offering to clean out a potentially fatal excessive build up of wax in my ears, to the polite and well spoken 'Terrance', who approached me in the vast park opposite the university, where dozens of concurrent informal cricket matches take place each afternoon, hundreds of kids scattered across each other's turf, guarding their outfield from the infield of the game going on two pitches over.

'Terrance' came up while I was taking photos of the melee. He was engaging and inquisitive and spoke excellent English. His Irish Catholic father had taught him, he said, and then he asked me what I did for a living. I explained, he listened. I asked him in return.

"To be honest Dale, I take people on tours of Mumbai, and show them the real city. I call it the 'Terrance Experience'." He said.

He then went on to list the kinds of things which are included in the 'Terrance Experience', playing up to my independent traveller's vanity, deriding organised tours and corrupt tour guides. His tour was different. On his tour I wouldn't have to "hop about taking photos like a Japanese tourist". On his tour I would see things the guidebooks dare not speak about, like the Silent Hole, where the Parisi leave their dead to be consumed by vultures. He has a friend, he said, whose penthouse apartment overlooks this terrifying, yet intriguing site.

I must have looked incredulous at this point because he swiftly acknowledged my scepticism before complimenting Australians on being a generally inquisitive bunch and asking where my hotel was located. At this point I decided to pull the pin, thanking him for his offer, shaking his hand and walking off.

"I think you have really missed a wonderful opportunity." He said as I walked away.

You hear about these scams all the time. Someone offers you an extremely intriguing and well presented not-to-be-missed opportunity, you accept and the next thing you know you've been driven to some seedy part of town and at best they're demanding a huge sum of money in exchange for your safe return and at worst... well who knows?

Despite that knowledge and the cynical scepticism of a reasonably seasoned traveller there's still a part of me that says 'what if?'

What if he wasn't some crooked hustler? What if he was just a genuine guy offering me an amazing and eye-opening opportunity? What if I'd agreed to go with him and I'd witnessed something truly phenomenal, something which would change my life forever?

Meh? What are you going to do?

I'll probably have another day in Mumbai tomorrow and then catch the train to Goa to hang out with the hippies.

That's it for now,

Dale