Palm trees, hot enough to fry eggs on my forehead, cement buildings, in-yer-face catholicism, I'm wearing shorts and sandals without socks: yep, I'm finally in Goa. I'm at a village called Colva, near Margao/Madgaon and already the wierdness has started. But before I get into that, how did I get here? (Can you hear Chris Franz, Tina Weymouth and Jerry Harrison on backing vocals?)
The train finally completed its 425 km/11 hour journey (I'm not kidding - at times I could have walked faster) and Munaa led me out of the station and showed me where I could get a taxi to a hotel. For tonight and tomorrow night, I'm staying at Vailankanni, 4th Ward, Colva - Beach (2788584) but I think I'll move on after that: there are other places in Goa that interest me more, and 400 rupees a night for a room without hot water seems a bit over the top.
I slept for a few hours, changed into shorts and then went out to explore. As I was walking along the main drag, noting escape routes to Benaulim, Palolem and Anjuna, a bloke hailed me and asked me to come to his house. At first I was, er, somewhat hesitant but having checked that I was ready to flee at the first sign of trouble and havving got a vaguely good vibe from him, I agreed. At the house, he introduced me to his sister and niece (aged 14 and wearing girl-scout uniform, complete with left-hand shake). It turned out the house was Suriya (the sister) and Priya (her youngest daughter)'s home but that Raju visited often because Suriya was widowed, so he worked here in Goa* to support them. He and Priya were returning this evening to their native Tamil for his wedding (Suriya would follow later, just in time for the actual ceremony) but for now, apparently because I reminded him of a German friend and because he'd somehow seen something good in me just as I was walking along the road, he wanted to be my friend and offer hospitality in the form of food, chai and conversation.
*as a social worker[? - his english was very emphatic but also idiosyncratic and a little difficult to follow and I don't yet speak any Tamil]
Again, much chat, punctuated by communication difficulties but accompanied by jeera rice, lime pickle and ginger chai. Raju extolled the virtues of Tamil Nadu and his brother/cousin's orphanage and school there, along with the tea estate in the Nilgiri hills which pays for all of this. He insisted that once I'd seen it, I'd never want to return to England. (I did demur, saying that I'd need to return to the UK to be near my parents which apparently endeared me to him a bit more but he kept on repeating that I'd still not want to return to the UK.) Such over-enthusiasm does make me a bit nervous but just guess who wants to visit Nilgiri anyway! If I'm being offered an expense-free place, apparently without strings, well it's worth a look at least.
Raju then took me back to the main road, I found this cybercafé and that's us up to date.It's now about 5pm, so I'm heading to the beach now it's less madly hot.
I forgot my cellphone was in my pocket and so it got a bath in the Arabian Sea and is hence comprehensively buggered. If you need to contact me just now, phone 0091-832-2788584 and asked for the pommie git in room 7 of Vailankanni Cottages.
My first task tomorrow is to buy a new one, then chase India post for non-delivery so far of a parcel to my parents, then head to somewhere selling memory so I can re-RAM my brain...
It was while I was still on the beach, trying to persuade my cellphone that it wasn't really drowned, that I met a character who put me in the foul mood that I moan about in tomorrow's diary. He seemed friendly at first but, by the time he'd walked me to a secluded part of the beach, revealed himself to be both vile and a pathetic chancer.
© (except the blatantly ripped-off bits) Random Bozo 2006