Dead Drunk not Dead

So I finally get around to adding more to this. I was sitting on the train the other day thinking about my time in Goa and my mind floated back, really missing it.

We took a tour to Panaji one day by bus. Taking the NH17 route. Children followed waving their hands in the air, smiling broadly and shouting excitedly. The road was not much more than a dirt path in places, with big holes gouged out of it. As we passed over these, the bus, which was kind of rickety, shuddered and rolled. The edge of the street was lined with people's homes, bounded by low walls. Some were little more than brieze block with wooden verandas, others were grander. You could see the Portuguese influence in the architecture. There were a hell of a lot of hostels on this road.

It was very hot to me. Although December is their Winter, it was still hot. The bus rounded a corner and we fell upon Betim Port. Fishermen were fixing their nets in the shade. A Chai seller stood on the corner with his tea urn on a barrow. Lots of people were checking out the new catch of fish which had arrived. The atmosphere seemed urgent. The smell was rancid, salty and stomach churning.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, nothing serious, a crate being dumped down making a clatter, but out of the corner of my eye, what appeared to be a large pile of clothes in the middle of the street came alive with flies that jumped off at the shock. Then the pile became more recognisable. It was the body of a man, covered in dirt and dust, lying face down. Was he dead? My heart lurched. People carried on their business, not even giving him a second thought, walking around him and over him.

I asked our guide what had happened. Surely they wouldn't just leave a body out in the sun to rot? The only other place I'd seen something similar was in Rio, Brazil. But Brazil is an entirely different place to India. The culture is so different. Life seemed cheaper to me there. Am I wrong?

It transpired that he was probably drunk. I was told that Goan people did not like drunkards and as a sign of this would have nothing to do with it. They would just leave him there to sort himself out, let him suffer. If he had been sick or dead, they would have tended to him. Tough love!

There he remained. Festering in the heat with the flies crawling all over. It was a sight I had not expected and thought provoking.

A Chance Encounter with Dolphins.

We visited Panaji several times by bus and ferry. I was very keen to see the old Portuguese quarter with its fantastic architecture and buildings painted in lovely vibrant colours. Once there, I couldn't stop taking pictures. It was a quiet place, with narrow streets: quite a contrast from the rest of the noisy city.

Erik (my travelling companion) wanted to get some prescription spectacles made so we meandered through the shopping district, placed an order and then headed to the quayside to see when the next ferry was leaving. Whilst we waited we wandered a little further along the port. There was a boat there advertising Dolphin-spotting trips. A man was securing the mooring ropes, having just returned from a tour. As we watched him he asked us if he could help. As he enthused about his tours, we thought we had to give it a go.

Now, I love dolphins and I'll take every chance to see them if I can but we were told the chances of seeing Dolphins on this coast were quite remote. He wanted quite a lot of money for the trip, so we bartered with him and he agreed to take us on a short half hour tour instead. That's the thing here, you have a lot of bargaining power. So we shook hands on it.

Off we went....the sun was really hot despite the breeze so I slapped on some Factor 15. There was a gentle swell as we exited the mouth of the Mandovi river out to the open sea.

It took about ten minutes I suppose. Then all of a sudden the Captain pointed out a small pod in front of us. He was yelping and pointing frantically. We followed them. There must have been about 6. They leapt out of the water in sync. Grey-blue flashes. Wow! How exciting was that? I felt my heart flutter. I grabbed my camera but I just didn' t have a long enough lens. Bugger....typical. I took a load of shots anyway and of course was very disappointed when I got them back: little grey blobs on the horizon. We stayed out for at least another half hour chasing them, way past his agreed price. He was lovely though and as he lamented the fact that he hadn't had an encounter for several days, he took it on the chin like a real man. He was generously philosophical about it. The Goanese we met were all really kind people.

We turned back to harbour where we gave him his cash and a large tip as a gesture of good will. He invited us on a full day trip, but we got the feeling you just couldn't get any better so we politely declined. We had been very, very lucky.

The Best Reason to Drink Kingfisher I've Ever Heard Of.

One of the most memorable things about Goa is how beautiful some of the beaches are. Take Palolem for instance. It's been in countless movies including The Bourne Supremacy...the scene where Jason Bourne is escaping from his life and spending it in a beach hut, that was shot there. I love that movie. (Even the scene when his girlfriend's Jeep crashes over Nerul bridge into the Mandovi River where she drowns, that was shot near the place where we went Cat-fishing. Funnily enough, I watched that film on the plane coming home from our trip. Weird.)

Somebody told me, not sure if it's true, but the reason that there are no high-rise hotels on the beaches here is that Indira Gandhi decreed a law that no permanent developments should be made within 300 feet of the coast. Brilliant! At Palolem, all they've got are wooden huts on stilts hiding among palm trees. It's idyllic. However, they were beginning to spread huts onto the peninsula toward Patnem. Can't imagine what it's like now. If you look at the shot I took of the school girls, that's Palolem.

Imagine this though: you've got such beauty and then it's marred by mountains of plastic bottles chucked into heaps a way back from the beach. Tourists worry about the water here and so buy it bottled to be safe. It winds up being chucked all over the place and there isn't any infrastructure for collecting it. Seems the authorities just can't get it together to collect it all up and do something with the stuff, so there it stays, festering in the sun, whilst passing pigs and cows scavenge. Some restaurants do offer boiled water instead but I think visitors are still suspicious. You're advised not to eat salad here because of the water it's been washed in. We spent a lot of time drinking Kingfisher Beer instead (woe is me!). It's brewed in Goa and the company's owner has a massive house near Candolim we were told by our cab driver.

PIg bogs v. UK bogs?

Right, so here's the thing. You've got a perfectly good system...you go for a poo and a pig comes a long and eats it...perfectly green, perfectly recycled....no problem. Then some people from a foreign land come along and say: "Hey, if you want us to come and spend our money then you have to change a perfectly good system into a crap one!" I'm not ranting but that's what's happening. Meandering along the beach you find a sign saying : " European toilet." Roll up, roll up. This is a major selling point to encourage us to go and spend our money at this establishment: all mod cons. You enter the cubicle made of wicker and find a white porcelain bog positioned carefully over a hole dug into the sand. There's a toilet roll threaded onto a piece of string. AAAAH... HOME! As you plonk yourself down on the seat. But think carefully. What happens to your poo? Where does it go? Disposing of human waste takes water and it's water they don't have much of. Seems to me if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Club in the Sky

One night, me and my friend decided to head for the Club in the Sky or Club Cubana near Calangute. I'd read about it in the Lonely Planet Guide. It was a bit of a trek from Candolim but we did a deal with the cabbie as usual.

Inside it was hedonistic pleasure. Set on three levels on the hillside, the dance floor was small and intimate at the top. A winding path took you up. There was a bar strategically positioned in three places so you never had to wait long for a drink.

People frolicked in the swimming pool and I found my way very quickly to one of the double beds which surrounded it. I laid there all night just drinking, chatting and looking at the starry sky. Occasionally a masseur came around and gave treatments on request. This club was a piece of me until a group of English lads on a neighbouring bed started getting lary. A waiter had made a mistake with their order and one particularly odious bloke was yelling abuse at him: "Can't you understand bloody English?" he attacked.

I started to get nervous. His friends were telling him to calm down but it just made him worse. He started to lash out and got personal with one of his mates. We'd had enough. I'd had enough. What is it with the English? Must they always get so drunk they act like ass holes?

We decided to leave....the horizon was a faint glow.

Don't give pound coins to kids no matter how sorry you feel.

The day I arrived I stepped out of the Arrivals hall at Dabolim airport to be confronted by kids. Several tried to grab my wheelie case from me desperately, gesturing for money, uttering the words: "pound, pound." A tug of war ensued because I'd heard about this before but nothing prepared me for the onslaught. After a long flight like that, I was short on patience, so it was hard not to be rude, but being conscious that I was a guest in someone else's country, I had to be nice as pie. All I had on me was small change and I gave the kid a 50p piece. It was obvious he was not pleased by the frown on his face and the way he shook his head. I guessed it was because it's hard to change small coins there regardless of its local value or perhaps there was an adult driving this business. I don't know but I did feel bad believe me. A pound doesn't feel like a lot to you then but after a few weeks of being harrassed for money all the time, you become jaded. Sadly, being rude doesn't bother you any more.

After a couple of weeks in Goa and having seen some pretty amazing women, black from working in the sun all day, breaking stones on the road side, carrying baskets of rocks on their heads, I had the good fortune to meet the director of a construction company at our hotel. We got chatting and he explained it was cheaper to employ 100 women than it was to buy the parts to maintain equipment. Imagine that!

If you visit http://www.womenpaycheck.com/main/officialminimumwages/goa listed below, you'll see what I mean. There are currently 68 Rupees to a pound and those rock breaking women get about 120 Rupees a day! That's about £1.50...and people look down on them too....it's the injustice of the place that's really upsetting. If those little kids get a quid for every plane that lands in a day, they'll be making someone very rich indeed by comparison. It's not the kid's fault.

People in Goa can speak several languages. There is a high literacy level. They are hard working and never seem to stop. Towns buzz with activity; people plying their trade or discussing business.The Panaji ferry regularly crosses the Mandovi river crammed with commuters and tourists. It only costs a few Rupees and it's an ideal place to get chatting to the locals.

Whilst riding pillion early one morning, I saw kids in a playground, lined up, marching in formation. They were immaculately dressed in their uniforms and the teacher carried a baton under his arm, counting time as they went. It gave me the impression that discipline is high on the agenda in schools there. They were practising something for the School Open Day I think. It was an impressive display.

As I made my way to the beach at Candolim, I came across a group of school boys playing cricket under the shade of a huge Banyan tree. I raised my camera and they all bundled excitedly into the shot. This is one of my favourites and captures the feeling of the moment implicitly. The people of Goa display a love of life and are exuberant with it. I felt really at home there.

Right you boring lot! I thought you'd have lots to say....

One of the most mind boggling places I've been to is Goa. What I like about it is the multi-cultural thing going on: People of all sorts of beliefs living side by side. Historically, Goa has been occupied by the Portuguese, so that's where the Catholic Nuns come in I guess.

I didn't go there expecting a pristine place (although some of it was pretty darn fab). It's noisy and vibrant. The way the traffic works is really funny: there are no rules, just if you're coming up behind a vehicle larger than yourself, hoot and always give way to them at roundabouts. Other than that, the local police do stop you if you're driving a moped without a crash helmet.

The food is out of this world if you're vegetarian or pescatarian. For Thali, Vihar (Panaji) is where it's at. I did feel like a right piglet troughing away whilst the little boys mopped the floor on their hands and knees, brought me down to earth with a big bang.