Alison's Adventures Crazy Canadian, still backpacking the world after breaking my back snowboarding in France! Come explore with me :)

The first thing I noticed about India was the heat. It was all-encompassing, suffocating; like being wrapped in a wet electric blanket - without the imminent death, of course. But four days ago, when I arrived in strange, chaotic, noisy Mumbai, I was pretty sure I was going to die.

Fear is a normal thing when you travel. In fact, it's a good thing - fear guides decisions, puts caps on risks, reminds us of our mortality. But as a female about to embark on a solo journey across India, fears and cross warnings from parents and friends had brought me to the level of a pocket knife and pepper spray: extreme.

Luckily, I had a friend to crash with in North Bombay. She lent me her drivers services for the day and we weaved through blaring horns with blasted AC to South Mumbai.

I jumped out of the car at the Taj Mahal Hotel. I tried to explain to the driver that I would call him when I was ready to be picked up. He waved hastily and pulled away, but not before I had time to snap a photo of his license plate for good measure.

The afternoon warmth was moist and sticky. A sudden onrush of vendors saw my white skin and wide eyes. They overtook me with souvenirs and ice cream sticks, which I declined with a shaking hand and sharp nod.

"Elephanta Island?" a seemingly uninvolved bystander prodded. I tried to avoid him but ended up at his stall. "160 ruppes," he said. "You want tour?"

"No," I said, gazing towards the dock. "I'm okay." I figured someone by the boat would sell me a ticket. I took off for the launch, his complaints following me all the way.

Sure enough, beside the boat I bought a return journey for 130 ruppes. But my luck didn't hold - I probably picked the worst boat I could. We sailed in the basement of a rickety, badly painted blue vessel for an hour next to luxurious two-story boats with a breeze.

Once we arrived, I noticed that I was the only Western around - but I wasn't the only tourist. It wasn't long before the first brave family asked for a photograph with me (a six foot tall Canadian!) and chaos ensued. Between the clicking was the growing language of laughter that eased my tense shoulders and reminded me, people are people, no matter where you go. I had no cause to be more afraid here than I did beneath the Efile Tower in Paris or at Sydney Harbour in Australia. My smiles in those photographs were the most honest ever, and when I turned from Elephanta Island, I followed my new friends onto the good boat.