Arambol, Palolem and Benaulim

Goooo Goa the razor sharp wit of an Indian T.V. advertisement advises. Who am I to decline such a witty invite? Nobody, thats who, so we took off to Goa.

One problem: The collosal distance of 2700km from Amritsar to Goa. Such a distance required a comfortable journey so the pre-booked firstclass cabin came in very handy. Although, housed in a firstclass cabin the cockroaches were seemingly unaware of the price we paid and refused to depart the cabin; some stamping later they got the idea. We only had a firstclass cabin from Amritsar to Mumbai (Bombay), the first 2 nights and 2000km, after that we would rough it.

I can only recall one particular part of this journey as being interesting: Upon pulling into a station I noticed a fruit stall on the platform, ravinous, I jumped off and joined the queue. Less than a minute later the engine choo choos and my train begins, albeit slowly, departing. Indian trains depart very slowly, like old fashioned movies, and eventually pick up steam so, nonchalantly, I began the 'chase'. A sudden problem rears its head: My carriage is 5 cars ahead and each of the doors I pass is locked. Picking up the pace I catch the third car: It's locked. The train is now moving considerably faster so I began an all out, shit yourself run faster approach to reaching my carriage. Droplets of sweat streamed down my face, others resided in the frames of my glasses creating a reflective pool of non-vision, my legs were burning but I had to make a final dash. With all my might I ran and finally caught the fifth car. I threw myself in and was immediately pressed for my ticket, unable to breathe and seeing Forrest Gump congratulating my physical prowess I let out a kinda of puzzled noise. Luckily one of the tea boys was about, he took one look at me, tutted and told the conductor: "Amritsar" while shaking his head.

I also read two books on this journey, reading is fun.

At 05:30 the train settled into Mumbai Central and our wild, 4km, dash to Mumbai Victoria began, our connection to Goa would depart in under one hour at 06:20. With 30 minutes to spare I was seated in Sleeper (very low) class and ready for the journey to Madgoan (Goa). Timetabled to arrive 9 hours later I couldn't wait to arrive and pick up a beer, unfortunately the Konkan Railway had other ideas: What I can only assume was Congestion and Signal Failure led to a 3 hour delay. Eventually we arrived, a one hour taxi ride to Palolem completed the journey.

Signed into a cheap hotel, had a shower and rushed out for last (food) orders; being low season the restaurants all began closing at 22:30, it was 22:15. With a touch of luck there was a splendid restaurant located 10 metres from the hotel and, rather sacrilegiously for India, they served steak. I blasphemed.

Goan days were devastating, a minimum daily high of 37^oC was promised by our waiter the previous night, promises suck! It was, still is, impossible to adequately function in the heat, it is essential to consume at least 4 Litres of water a day to replace what im losing in sweat.

Palolem is a lovely beach, truly beautiful, the problem here is a lack of activities. I believe the following are popular:

1. Sweat, and I mean buckets, it drips from my head after a mere 50metre walk
   
2. Swim in the sea. I even bought a rubber ring to float on, High Five! Caution: Due to the intensity of the sun the only sensible bathing times are: 07:00-10:30 and 16:00 - 19:00
   
3. Locate shade and drink beer. Some muppets, sadly all British, were practicing this art at 11:00 and were clearly incapable of obeying step 2, above. It was a shame this beach attracted life's outsiders: I'm no gem of society but I really hate the scum who think a holiday is only a success if they incinerate themselves to 'prove they've been away', drink all day, speak as loud as possible so we all know they're "not a fackin pussy, i'm fackin British me mate" and display their bulldog tattoos proudly on the aforementioned red chest/back.
   
4. Locate shade and drink water.
   
5. Show bogus interest when passing the homogenous shop fronts just so you can duck in and avoid the sun.
   
6. Fishing, Dolphin and romantic sunset trips were available. We went fishing and caught a grand total of zero fish in 2 hours. Marvelous.
   

Just as with every Indian city, village, shanty town, Palolem had its street cows. Not just street cows, come early evening the shore was transformed into Bovine Beach and the dogs didn't like it. Every night without fail they would foolishly pick fights with the bulls and cows, luckily for the hounds it never came to blows.

Dogs attempt a pincer movement on beach cow.

I decided to mash the rules a little and took part in what I will christen: Frying Feet, Swimming Water.

Firstly a little pre-school background: In order to swim in the sea you must remove flipflops, money and shirt. Unless you want these items stolen they are best left with a minder, usually a friend or family member. You enter the sea, swim, get bored and, once dried, put stuff back on.

Frying Feet Swimming Water strays from these standard rules. You walk to the sea, barefoot because no-one is around to look after your clothing, footwear or money. Having covered half the 200m distance you realise the black tarmac getting rather hot, after all it's two in the afternoon. Rather than head back you continue to the sea. By this time your feet really hurt. Upon entering the sea you notice that where your feet once had skin you now have enormous blisters, another give away signal is that you cannot stand up or walk and are in excruiating pain. The swimming water part comes in because all you can do is swim, walking is that unbearable.

After one hour in the sea the game contestant attempts to walk back to his hotel; he can't and hides under a palm tree for 30mins. With no cash to buy some cheap flipflops or a coke and the seat that comes with it you have to hobble back to the hotel and hope your brother is there. He isn't!

"Gone to Inet again" reads the note.

You sit on the hotel porch for 2 hours, the pain so unbareable you cannot undertake the 25 metre walk back down the road to the internet cafe. To top it off you have also been playing another game, this one lasts several days. Spicy Samosa, Sloppy Shits.

Oh Yes! The Delhi Belly arrived in monsterous fashion. No details needed here but I have to be a bloke, well gross, and inform you of the following:

The Delhi Belly had taken control of my to such an extent that in one restaurant, upon finished a lovely tandorri fish I shit myself. Personally I thought it was just a fart but it carried on.

Belinda joined me in Arambol on the 14th April, Arambol sucked ass though and we went straight back down south to join the drunken Lobsters.

It was great to see Belinda again and without wanting to whine on and on I'll say that we had a brilliant, if somewhat lazy week, in Palolem. It was only today when I was leaving her at the airport that it hurt, kind of felt as though I took her presence for granted whilst she was around and now she was off I was empty again. Mustn't dwell, I'll keep my emotions close to my chest and not bore you good people with yucky lovey stuff.

After leaving the airport I had to find a place to stop for one night, I decided to travel 45km south to Benaulim and get a room. I'm not going to investigate too much here because I'm tired, the Internet cafe has A/C and I'm only here for a day. All I've done today is spend an hour looking for a cheap room with a television, Man Utd play Boro tonight, had breakfast and sat at a computer for the last 3 hours.


Me and Paul fly out to Singapore tomorrow, 22nd April, I am excited and also sad. It was sad to see all the shops closing up for Moonsoon season: A beach closing up much as our Indian account is about to close. I will be sad to leave India on Sunday, I really like it here and will be back next January with Belinda; once you adapt to the place its really nice.

Signing off from India,
Mark


The sun sets on Palolem Beach