Hanging Gardens

Surprise day off. Gandhi’s Birthday, Oct 2.

I thought I would enjoy my surprise morning off with a walk down by the seashore. So I walked to the Bandstand, the stretch of rocky beach near my house. When I got over to the water, I saw that I had the beach almost to myself. “Hmmm.” I thought “No one else here? Odd. Holiday, middle of the day. And usually there are lots of people around. Hmm. Oh well. Off I go.” I went along, humming and looking at the sun and the water. I started to fan myself with the book I had brought. “Wow, it is hot. Huh, I guess it is almost noon, after all. And there is no shade, just the glare from the water. And, oh, I am a lot closer to the equator than I am in Seattle. The sun is overhead. Oooooooooh. That is why I am alone. I am an idiot.”

I was alone except, of course, for the beggars. A bunch of the beggar moms were doing the washing in the ocean. So there were tons of beggar kids around. I haven’t been begged at so much in one 20 minute period before or since. Hello, money. Hello, money. Money money money, hello. Sorry kids. I only give to the elderly and infirm, and I already have my beggars picked out.

After grabbing an iced coffee by the water, I took the train downtown to see the Hanging Gardens, near Chowpatty Beach and the Gandhi museum. After I got off the train, I walked up along the scenic walkway Marine Drive and through Chowpatty Beach. On the map, it shows a park and the Hanging Gardens just north of the beach. In the guidebook, it says there is a little path up through the park that you take to get to the gardens. However, to the north of the beach I saw no path, only an impassive wall of trees.

So I crossed the street and started walking along the trees to try to find a way in. About 5-10 minutes down the street, I found a little road going up towards the hill, so I gave that a try.

At the end of the road was a staircase. At the top of the staircase was a small temple. Behind the temple was wilderness. No path, only brush. I turned to go back down and try my luck elsewhere, but in the temple was a nice monk who stopped me and asked if I was looking for the Hanging Gardens. When he found that I was indeed looking for the gardens, he came out and walked me to the end of the staircase and motioned me up through the brush. He smiled and nodded and pointed and said “Hanging Gardens!” In the face of all that helpfulness, of course I couldn’t go back down and look for another way. I looked skeptically at the steep hill and all the undergrowth and loose looking rocks, then at my sandals and skirt. Then I smiled, squared my shoulders, gave a thumbs up and started trudging up through the shrubs. I scrambled over a few logs, climbed through a few rocks, fell once and scraped my hand, and, thank god, after a few minutes intersected with the path that I had been looking for. The nice wide paved path. Oh good. I was just glad I didn’t disturb any creepy crawlies on my climb.