Crazy Mumbai

As I was out running this morning on the road that hugs the rocky rubble strewn coast of the Arabian Sea, I came upon an amazingly strong fish smell. This is not unusual in that in addition to the fact that it's the ocean, there happens to be an indigenous Koli fishing village about a five minute jog down the street from our apartment. This smell was much stronger than any I'd ever smelled in India -- and that's saying something. As I rounded the bend in the road, the docks were flush with pink.

Millions of prawns were neatly laid out on every conceivable flat surface drying in the mid-morning sun. Guarding the precious seafood were villagers with fly swatters slowly walking through the thin layer of prawns. Little kids were guarding the perimeter against the hungry street dogs and cats. As I stopped to check this out (for as long as my nose could take it), I was once again reminded of living San Miguel Tzinacapan. I immediately remembered the roofs of the village houses that were covered in the dull red color of coffee beans. And while it took no time at all to get over the obvious health concerns of drinking coffee made from beans that had been drying out on somebody's roof, it will take me longer to eat dried prawns. I'm very excited about fried prawns -- no way any bacteria will survive that heat! -- but dried, no way Jose.