Bloody foreigners

We’re in Mumbai. It’s nearly 40 degrees, humid, dusty and sticky and we are walking down a three lane large road. Cars, rickshaws, motorbikes and vespas are going past at high speed, all of them beeping loudly. The noise is deafening.

We want to get a taxi and finally one stops.

I lean in through the open window and shout ‘Chowpatty Beach!’ over the noise.

The taxi driver looks at me with a frown and shakes his head.

‘Fine’ I say and step back. The man’s frown deepens, he shakes his head again, this time more severely, before driving off.

The same thing happens with the next taxi. And the next one.

‘Strange’, I say to Amaia, ‘they don’t want to take us to Chowpatty Beach. I wonder why?’

‘No Idea’, she says. ‘Maybe it’s really close and they don’t think it’s worth it?’

Suddenly, it strikes me – In India, a shake of the head means ‘yes’, not ‘no’.

Those taxi drivers all meant ‘yes, get in’.



  1. sant!
    snacka om anorlunda kulturer och symboler.

    Har ni det bra?

    NI stannade i Kenya en sväng?

    Jag gör just nu praktik på en liten PR byrå, rätt intressant, lite konstigt men bra.

  2. Na, vi stannar i Kenya pa vagen tillbaka. Det ar kanon har, just nu ar vi in en ball stad som heter Udaipur, om ett par dar ska vi ut i oknen.

  3. tänk vad vi missat i våra ambitioner att se er växa upp till världsmedborgare. men du har väl koll på höger och vänster i alla fall…

  4. Oh the wag (not footballers wives kinda wag)… I keep doing it whenever I talk about India. I met a new zealander in Udaipur who had perfected it and I was told off by a gay Indian man named Deepak that I was inferior to my Southern hemispherean counterpart at the art of the wag. x

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