A Stopover in Goa.

I woke up on the train after sleeping and dozing for six hours and looking out of the window what did I see, yep a warm dusty plain and village after village after village, again. With Internet access on my phone I did about a minute’s research and placing palm on forehead realized, of course, there are one point two two billion people in this country, that apparently works out at three hundred and ninety three point eight three persons per square kilometer. No wonder they have all these villages, all those people got to live somewhere. Not exactly rocket science but it did help explain a lot.

The train. Well it was a train really, not the crazy mob scene I had been expecting. The station at ten o’clock at night was very calm and organized, in fact the announcements were easier to understand than British Rail. There were plenty of seats for the waiting crowds, food booths galore, loos, baby changing rooms, all the usual train station trappings. The Rajdhani Express pulled into the station as advertised at ten twenty five and departed on time at ten thirty. My eleven dollar seat was adequate, room to lie down after it was made up by the steward, sheets, blankets, pillows, a reading light, it was just fine and the night zipped by. There was a full moon but I really couldn’t see much, dawn came early and there they were, as mentioned above, the villages. Tea came round, then breakfast, and suddenly it was all over, we arrived at Madgaon. A three dollar ride to the B and B, the Vivenda dos Palhacos, lunch and a long nap.
That got writ on Friday afternoon and here it is, Sunday evening already. I read on a wall, in graffiti, Goa is like a fridge, it’s so chill, and oh yes, at least down here in South Goa it is, any calmer the whole place would fall into a pleasurable coma. Of course there is the beeping, but not nearly so frequent, there are tuk tuks, but I have not once been asked if I want one while out walking. There are vendors and begging children on the beach, but one, no thank you, and word seems to spread, don’t bother with the ancient British guy, so be it. The beach is about two kilometers away, not exactly walkable but a staff member is always available for a quick ride in the hotel jeep, for free. Huge sandy beach, some Euros who seem to start drinking before I arrive at ten am, lots of locals, it’s the weekend, there are life guards, tho how efficient I can’t tell, there are beach shack restaurants and I am pleased to announce I have found my curry ! At the Zeebop, I had chicken Xacuti with Jeera rice and naan bread, the search is over, now I can relax, it was superb, though perhaps the environment helped . Just spicy enough, I could identify the various ingredients, spices, vegetables etc, one of those meals you just don’t want to end. The roads are good, very few potholes, palm tree lined, no traffic jams, lively looking bars, colorful shops, locals walking and Westerners looking dangerous on scooters. Train horns sounding mournful in the distance, birds singing, quietly, children playing, quietly, oh yes, Goa lives up to its reputation.
The hotel too is pretty great too. More a B and B kind of place really, it only has half a dozen rooms. The guests are one hundred percent British, how about that, lots of tea, lots of gin. Let’s see, we have the food correspondent from the Evening Standard (London’s evening newspaper) and her sister who owns a restaurant in Hampstead (a tony part of North London) and her daughter who runs a school in Tamal Nadu, and her daughter aged eight. We have the South Asia correspondent from the Guardian, his wife and a two year old and nanny. There are two gap year kids, girls, from very proper English schools who are actually quite pleasant and very resourceful. I took them to a market last night about an hour away and we got back too late for dinner, they persuaded the night watchman, no English whatsoever, to let them use the kitchen and whisked up a three course dinner in no time, pretty damn good effort ladies. Lastly an English couple from Delhi who used to live in Chicago, Ed does something with Bloomberg, his wife is from Edinburgh and two sons eight and six. I had one of those surreal conversations, discussing the World Series (baseball), the Chicago White Sox, the San Francisco Giants with a very well informed English boy here in India. Strange. The rooms are good, beds comfortable, there is hot water, books to read, out of date newspapers and magazines, a huge communal dining table, a bar, a small pool, croquet, ha, obliging staff, good food, enormous wine glasses that hold half a bottle per pour and no bugs. This is no tent in the wilderness ! I think it’s ok for three or four nights after a week in the back of beyond, hope you agree.
As I said to someone today, there is not a lot to blog about lying on the beach for two days, but don’t worry fearless readers, one more night and I am off again, Delhi, to see if I can get my camera fixed and then a two week ramble through Rajasthan.
Let’s see how that pans out.
Thanks for all the comments, keep em coming, they really help this solo trip, and as best I can I will try and reply, now I have figured out how to do it.
Nat, when are you home from Mexico ?

A wet sari must be very uncomfortable.

The Rajdhani Express.

The young ladies with the three course dinner they cooked for themselves.

The enormous table where we enjoy communal dining.