Heres the story so far............well it all started abit strange. I left a tearful Miller household early Friday morning and as the cab driver was struggling with my rucksack in his boot, asked if I was in the army and going off to serve the country. God help us if we have to rely on me to defend the virtues of freedom.
For some unknown reason, we had booked a 4 man youth hostal in Earls Court for the night before the flight. And it was here that I discovered that Steve Tant has the same breathing difficulties and, some say, harshly I think, the features of John Merrick. When I was awoken for the 15th time that night be non human sounds coming from his mouth, I could be found thumbing through the Yellow Pages for a local priest who could perform an exorcism at short notice. I'm not going to sleep for 6 months.
Arrived in Mumbai in the early hours of the morning and watched in disbelief as George not once but twice proceeded to drop all his exchanged currency over Mumbai airport. If he had done that outside there would have been a riot amongst the countless beggers. So much for my pep talk on the plane just before landing about trying to act like seasoned travellers and not the green backpackers we really are.
Cab journey to our pre booked hotel took about an hour and proved a good insight to the poverty that exists in such a major city. Row upon row of people sleeping on the makeshift roads, on the back of pick up trucks, on the roofs of the shanti towns, with hundreds of stray dogs roaming amongst them.
Had an explore during the daytime and these same people could now be found selling complete rubbish in their market stalls. Although I never felt threatened, we would get a few stares but I suppose thats not uncommon when you have the Elephant man walking with you.
Stayed in Mumbai for a couple of days before heading to Goa on a 13 hour overnight train journey. The day before, I had read that an Indian Transport minister had decided to experience the Indian Railway system by sitting in one of the lower classes. It was reported that he was ill for 8 hours after visiting the toilet. So with some trepidation and a slight buzz from the 10 immodium tablets I took before embarking on the train, I experienced the infamous Indian railway. To be honest, it wasn't too bad. I spent the first half an hour of the trip arguing with a huge Indian family about the bunk I was lying in. A train guard was called to resolve the issue and as it looked like the bunk was double booked, I refused to move. The mother of the family had to spend the entire 13 hours sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a shared bunk, whilst throwing dirty looks in my direction every 5 minutes. What she didn't know was that I hadn't washed in 48 hours, so I could hold my own when it came to anything dirty!
Arrived in Calangute in Goa and let the taxi driver find us a reasonable hotel. It soon transpired that Goa is out of its tourist season until November so there isn't a great deal to do or see. Being the very few Westerners here, we was prime targets for the abundance of hawkers here asking if you need cabs, or trying to sell you jewellery, second hand clothes, henna tattoos, body massages, a night with their Nan (at only 500 rupees, I can highly recommend). It would all start off polite, they would ask your name, where you come from, start up a conversation, and then hit you with their hard sell. Saying you are not interested, was like a red rag to a bull. When you had got away from one hawker, another one would stop you 5 minutes later. It got to the stage were I was introducing myself as Han Knees Vontoes Knees Vontoes, from Bavaria.
One method we have adopted to avoid the hawkers was to spend as much time as possible in the Arabian Sea until hey got fed up and went away. George would keep an eye out and as soon as one of them turned up on the horizon, we all pelted it into the sea, until the danger had passed. It was like spending a whole day playing cat and mouse when all I wanted to do was chill on the beach. Its became like the film Jaws in reverse. "Just when you thought it was safe to come out of the water....Hawker!"
However, in a moment of weakness in Anjuna, I fell for the charms of a pretty hawker, who said she would love me long time, and stupidly agreed to have a large black Henna tattoo on the inside of my left forearm. I dragged Dave and George with me as protection as she lead us into this tiny, dark, fly ridden, beach shack where 10 other hawkers pounced on Dave and George selling the same old crap. As the women got to work on my poor arm, with, what I hoped to be some profound Hindu script about freedom and travel, I could heard Dave and George failing desparately to fend off the other hawkers.
Half an hour later, I left the shack, blinking into the sunlight with Hindu wording on my arm that, for all I know, says "I am a dickhead" in Hindu, to find Dave and George weighed down with various clothes and jewellery. We had been fleeched big time and returned to our guest house with a pile of crap, what looked like kiddies writing on my arm, a few rupees lighter, but far wiser from our experience!
Steve then proceeded to tell me his horror henna tattoo from his Ibiza days where one of his friends had scaring for 2 years after the tattoo was removed. From that moment on I was sure I could feel my left arm burning! I awoke the next day half expecting my arm to be bright red and in need of urgent surgery, but was slightly disappointed to see it already fading, substantially enough to, probably, now say 'am a dick'. Wicked!
I've adopted to the heat and sun quite well, going a nice bronze already, but poor Dave and George are not so lucky. Although the scounge of our trip so far, I had to laugh at one hawker who, on our 10th day here, asked Dave if he had just arrived as he was so white!
Gandhi's revenge, along with the mozzies, have certainly bitten Steve and Dave so far as both have been ill, being unable to eat for several days. Luckily, I've been okay so far, touch wood, as the last thing I can afford to do is lose weight. I suppose I could lose my rucksack in a crisis, my passport - if I had to, Steve - most definitely, but not any weight!
We are working our way South of Goa, stopping in Calangute, Anjuna and currently Candolim, before heading further south where it gets even quieter (if thats possible), just chilling and having the proper holiday we planned for before heading off for adventure. When Dave leaves next week, I'm planning to go to Delhi and Agra in the North of India, although Steve is not keen on a 48 hour train journey, but we'll see.
Anyway, bronzed, blue eyed, blonde Swedish twins have just asked me to umpire their topless beach volleyball game so got to go! (the hallucination side effects from these malaria tablets are brilliant)
Please all email me with your news from back home!!
Hope you are all well and how gutted am I that I'm going to miss Take Thats reformation show at Xmas.
Love Stu x
