Afro and Latin dance workout it said on the flyer. Yep, I'm up for some of that, I've got rhythm and some moves, no problem.
Me and Allison went down to beach street so we could partake in the free initial dance class. The instructor was a camp guy who hailed from Bromley. The Latin beats begun along with his movement and step instructions. What was this? My left and right feet became two left feet! My hips could not move freely like the teacher, they were stiff and lethargic. To top it off I'd positioned myself at the front of the group thinking I was John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Thoughts of my poor departed old man kept entering my head. Bob (my dad) had no rhythm, he had no moves, he was that embarrassing man at the wedding party who would dance to a totally different tune. Like father like son. A cross ward glance at Allison, mistake! I still hadn't learnt not to look to wifey for solace at my own shitness.
She's got the moves!
Keeping secrets isn't easy for me and when Jade mentioned that not only her and Roni were coming out to Goa but also Allison's sister Fiona and niece Laurene, I had a mammoth task ahead of me. Keep the fact that Fiona and Laurene were also coming a secret, keep this secret for three weeks. Not having anyone else to talk to apart from your wife, letting slip was only going to become more tempting. I wanted to sing it from the rooftops. "You know your sister and niece are also coming!!". But I surprisingly remained steadfast in my tight lippedness.
Surprise surprise, when the unexpected hits you between the eyes. We waited patiently for the imminent arrival of Roni, Jade and secret arrival of Fiona and Laurene. I had my camera in one hand and mobile to video the arrival in the other. "Oh my God, Oh my God", this became Allison's new chant as the two stowaway's stepped out of the taxi. Her surprise carried on through the evening as she was still in disbelief of the other two's sneaky presence.
The Arrival.
"I'm going to get a taxi back" I informed Allison as I tagged along whilst they all looked round Arambol market. Looking round shops at knick knacks with five women who stop at each individual store to peruse the items on sale is probably the furthest away from what I would class as having a good time. But women absolutely love it? Give me a nice chair, cold beer and a DVD, ahh and bliss! Talking about bliss, I left them and wandered off up the road. He was walking towards me with two women. They turned down a dark alleyway, I followed, keeping my distance. I felt like I was a private detective. I needed a photo, how could I approach him without seeming crazy? I've got it! I walked passed him, stopped by the light at the bottom of the alleyway and pretended to be on a phone call, as he got close... "I recognise you, you were at Amma's Ashram?" I said, "yes, I was there" he replied. I told him I had seen others in Arambol who had also been at Amma's, the hugging mothers Ashram. "Can I take your photo as I'm taking photos of people who I cross paths with on my journey", "yes, no problem". "What's your name?" I enquired, "Mariano" he responded. Was I coming on to him? Was his presence too much for this heterosexual, firefighting male? No! I was just overly excited about seeing him again.
Thanks, see ya Mariano.
He was a nice guy, smile and all. I then wandered off, not angry, not pissed off, more ecstatic that I'd actually seen him again and wasn't going mad by imagining his presence.
Mariano, still in bliss
It's funny, people assume that when you come to India you get Delhi belly. That was correct for me, regurgitation in full effect! But a guy on the Yoga course Allison is assisting on experienced the polar opposite to this. No Delhi belly, just constipation for eight days. Mild relief came on the eighth day. The use of glycerin suppositories, two hard core bottles of laxatives, olive oil and other methods to coax out his poop all failed. A brown rice diet that would normally create some solid stools created no stools at all. I told him to go back on a diet of beer and burgers, perhaps that will entice a more regular pattern.
The drum circle in Arambol is a nightly ritual where an influx of hippified characters descend onto the beach at sunset to drink, smoke dance enhancing weed and generally groove to the beat of the drum. When in Rome, we descended, we danced, rocking some serious shapes on the sandy dancefloor, I did have riddim, as the tribal beats took over me. Jade and Roni decided to share their new groove with a circle of dancing Indian men, that is until and unwanted advancement made them both make a hasty exit.
Roni & Jade before hasty exit
In the groove
We spent the whole of Thursday on a family outing to the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa , a spice farm plantation and Mangeshi Hindu temple.
On arriving at the Old Goan church we were met by Davinder, a licenced guide of the historic site. "Would you like a geedeh?" he asked, It took me a couple of seconds to figure out what he said, "I don't know, do we want a geedeh?" copying his pronunciation I asked the others. The fee of 100 rupees (roughly a pound) was well spent. He would always follow the telling of some interesting information by saying "okay, okay, come, come" and then herding us to the next fascinating display. "Ok, ok, come, come", I utter as we continue on our tour of the church. Repeats of his habitual ok's and come's followed by my foolish imitations were met by giggles from the ladies.
Davinder and crew
The mortal remains of St Francis Xavier who's body is still visible in the church. There is minimal amounts of decay considering he died in 1552. Every 10 years they have a public viewing of his body where millions of Christian devotees flock from all over the world. The last time this happened was 2014.
The spice plantation was next up on the itinerary which was surprisingly more enjoyable than we had expected. A banana spider in its huge web was an added bonus. An overpriced Elephant ride was still worth it just to say you'd done it. Enjoyment was had by all, although Fiona held down the fact that she was crapping herself whilst on the huge beast rather well with her nervous smile.
I've done it!
Laurene and a scared Fiona holding it down well
The last stop on the tour was Mangeshi temple, a nice pit stop to rest our weary feet but not a must see if your ever in North Goa. A so called Hindu priest approached us, led us to a secluded spot and gave us a spot of fortune telling. I will be getting on with Allison from February 21st he pronounced, I'm actually quite looking forward to that date now. Jade will be getting married in May or June, Roni's marital status will change in July, she's single at the moment so she's got a busy few months ahead. Fiona will be promoted in March, a new home in July. Laurene's writing will be good in April and gain a suitable partner also in July. Allison will be getting a promotion in September even though she's off work till January 2016. His hand was then held out for a tip for his very in depth fortune telling. See ya! We all turned away and scurried off.
It was only a matter of time before we saw it. On the way home a big gathering of people surrounded something in the road. As we got closer the picture became clear. A local had come off his scooter, he was dead, that was plain to see. The ambulance pulled up as we drove passed.
I can't get over the disregard Indians seem to have for their own safety and well being. I think the west has gone a bit too far with health and safety but the reverse is happening here. They go in the sea here even though they can't swim, apparently a couple of people died last week as the tide just carried them out even though the tide isn't that strong. The lifeguards constantly blow their whistles at the Indians to call them closer into the shore. I think I'd give the ocean a miss if I couldn't swim.
Our final event of the day was dining in the glorious 'cafe nu' in Mandrem, which is now my favourite restaurant in the whole wide world. It's obligatory to eat there if you are ever in this neck of the woods.
Cheers, the fabulous cafe nu
Peppered tuna steak, one of the many dishes we sampled
I officially fell out with our landlord the other day. The Goa day trip that cost us 2000 rupees with Keshav (roughly 20 pounds), Sudhir wanted to charge us 6000, three times the amount. I made it known that I wasn't happy about him trying to rip us off. He took umbrage in me telling him this. In the end he shouted "enough" as I kept repeating that 6000 is way too much to be trying to charge people who have been giving him good business. Which it is, if you are ever here and a taxi driver shows you an unofficial laminated bit of paper with prices on it, it means shit. Haggle the price down before you start your journey. The way Sudhir is is not how everyone is out here, the majority of the Indians I've come into personal contact with are honest people.
Snake in the grass
The quest to befriend a Russian was rather simple in the end. In fact we had to keep trying not to become friends with our neighbour. A Russian guy who towards the end of our stay here was trying to insist that we party with him and his friend. Even to the point of pulling us into their apartment and forcing us to dance. We managed to make a quick getaway and leave the two high Ruskky's to continue their party as a duo.
The day we left, Paul our Russian neighbour informed me of his disappointment in me, remarking in his broken English "no drink, no drugs, no nothing"
Paul couldn't hide his disappointment
The others have flown home and we are now off to Hampi by night bus! Whoopi!
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