I am being woken up at dawn. It is 930AM…well it’s close to dawn. I slept well but my sleep was disturbed because of the time difference and humidity. Three cups of coffee and we’re off to explore. I get introduced to the locals as we make our way to the beach. “First time? Here with husband, yes?” Erm no… “Ohh…why you no marry? Sick?” No…just single… It is awkward.
First impressions of Goa
The beach is nice, overthrowing my beliefs of rubbish-filled dunes and dirty water. We head straight for the ocean. The water is 28 degrees, it’s like human soup. On the first day I can only sunbathe for an hour at a time as I am as white as a sheet. The beach is not packed, perhaps about 30 beach chairs in our area, each offering a well-needed shade for one or two stray pups. I’m told which ones are sterilised, recognisable by a bite-shaped cut-out at the top of their ears. At 12PM it is time for beer and dinner. There’s a bar shack for the regulars right next to us…introduction round…“So white! You alone? Where is husband?” Jeez…
This is pretty much the only place with a Wi-Fi connection so as a true West-Worlder I do my best to establish one and check the essentials. Two frustrating hours later the three Wi-Fi lines finally grace me with their presence in my iPad menu bar. All the while feeling judged which I am. I chose to ignore it by ordering another Kingfisher.
India is easy
At 4PM it’s time to head home, here the day is considered over. Pop by the shop, get some food and 25 litres of bottled water… It takes time for me to get used to the water rules – only bottled water for the kettle, only bottled water for brushing your teeth. My heart still skips a beat when I accidentally open my mouth in the shower (insert Charlotte in Mexico).
Home is boring… I pour myself the national beverage of dark rum with soda and mango juice, sit on one of the three balconies and start reading.
It starts getting dark outside at around 530PM and the not-so-subtle mozzy bites on my white pegs let me know it’s time to move back inside. The flat has a telly leftover from the mid-1990s which still looks pretty royal, probably hugely thanks to the cloth that was covering it, you know like the one your granddad used to carefully place to protect the screen from sunlight… After a few hours of watching a Sandra Bullock marathon with a constantly interrupted cable signal I feel lethargic not to mention a little motion sick. I can’t possibly rest this much…