Well, here we are in Goa. It's certainly a step down in terms of chaos, I can tell you.
We got up early on Wednesday and went to the ghat to watch the sun come up over Varanasi and the Ganges. The place was rammed before it was light; when do people in Varanasi sleep? The whole city, it seemed, had been up all night, lobbing fireworks about. The first night of Diwali was spectacular. Kids were chucking fireworks about, going back to duds, throwing firecrackers at each other; it was all rather worrying - we were expecting dismembered digits to come flying past us at any second. Huge bangers, loud enough to be felt in the chest were being set off at extremely regular intervals. You lot think the Sakky Roaders like their loud noises? They're not even born compared to this lot. All night, all night, the noises continued and it was still kicking off in the morning. Madness; wonderful, wonderful madness.
Up on the rooftop restaurant, we got drunk with the lovely Polish Anna and the not so lovely Canadian Yalli. He complained about the food, moaned that McDonald's in India doesn't taste right (silly toss rag - it tastes the same the world over; that's the point) and that Washington D.C. has perfected the burger. Well, fuck off back to D.C. and leave the rest of the world to the rest of the world, shag wit. And then he shot off without paying for his meal anyway. There was a lot of monkey trouble on the rooftop, and I was given the honour of wielding the monkey stick. It seemed to ineffective, and at one point, Danny had to brandish a chair and wave it threateningly in the direction of a particularly bolshie tamarind. "Back! Back, ya bastard!" All conversation had to be conducted at a roar due to the noise and by the end of the night, I was pretty pissed.
So, up at five, yadda, yadda, yadda, and off to the airport at half eight. Already, the roads were fucking chokka - I've no idea how anyone gets anywhere in Varanasi. Also, where in fuck are they all going? They can't all be to meetings and shit. I'll never know. The flights were painless, if delayed, and we arrived on in the evening, sun pretty much down.
Our apartment is wonderful, but the owners got on my tits a bit. They were an incredibly good looking couple with a beautiful child and a nice dog. Picture fucking postcard. The bloke was pretty well built, tall, and looked like The Rock. Although they were very nice people, they made me sick and I do hate them. We paid up and buggered off to Pedro's where I was greeted as Richard (fuck knows; don't ask) and given a hug. It always feels like coming home. The boys may have my heart but Goa has my soul.
The roads here are so civilised! There's traffic, sure, and plenty of it, but it mostly stays on the right side of the road and is only worrying, not balls out terrifying. It's a pleasant change, I can tell you. At night, the roads are practically empty. It almost doesn't seem right, and Danny was somewhat nonplussed by the relative lack of insanity and pants shitting horror. Some people are never fucking happy...
Yesterday was spent on the beach at Pedro's, doing absolutely fuck of all interest to anyone but ourselves, but having a whale of a time. Danny had himself an interesting haircut that makes him look a little like Jimmy Somerville. It's a good look.
We walked along the beach last night, and tiny points of phosphorent light were washed in the waves, glowing bright green before fading away. All along the line of the surf, the lights were glowing. Although the beach was rather spooky at night, these different types of fireworks were beautiful. We wandered up to a beach bar and two young women came in. Turns out that they were Indonesian. I don't believe that they'd drunk alcohol before. They were smoking fags and trying to work out how to hold them properly. They were falling about, giggling, taking drags but not inhaling. Danny demonstrated to them the proper method. One of them tried it, coughed up a storm and left her bar stool to reel off and puke her guts up. By the time they left, three drinks later, they were a billion sheets to the wind and started to walk in the wrong direction to where they were staying. Only the insistence of the bar staff got them off in the right heading. I cvan only imagine the state of their room this morning...
Mind you, things weren't a whole lot better for us by the time we left Pedro's at about half one. It was full of Indians on their Diwali holidays and, by God, do Hindus like a drink. They're like dark skinned Irishmen. We only left because they were putting chairs on tables around us. I think we'd still be there if politeness hadn't decreed that we do the right thing and fuck off out of it. All in all, a very pleasant first day in Goa.
I'm going to have to give up smoking all over again. Fuck, fuck,. fuck...
We got up early on Wednesday and went to the ghat to watch the sun come up over Varanasi and the Ganges. The place was rammed before it was light; when do people in Varanasi sleep? The whole city, it seemed, had been up all night, lobbing fireworks about. The first night of Diwali was spectacular. Kids were chucking fireworks about, going back to duds, throwing firecrackers at each other; it was all rather worrying - we were expecting dismembered digits to come flying past us at any second. Huge bangers, loud enough to be felt in the chest were being set off at extremely regular intervals. You lot think the Sakky Roaders like their loud noises? They're not even born compared to this lot. All night, all night, the noises continued and it was still kicking off in the morning. Madness; wonderful, wonderful madness.
Up on the rooftop restaurant, we got drunk with the lovely Polish Anna and the not so lovely Canadian Yalli. He complained about the food, moaned that McDonald's in India doesn't taste right (silly toss rag - it tastes the same the world over; that's the point) and that Washington D.C. has perfected the burger. Well, fuck off back to D.C. and leave the rest of the world to the rest of the world, shag wit. And then he shot off without paying for his meal anyway. There was a lot of monkey trouble on the rooftop, and I was given the honour of wielding the monkey stick. It seemed to ineffective, and at one point, Danny had to brandish a chair and wave it threateningly in the direction of a particularly bolshie tamarind. "Back! Back, ya bastard!" All conversation had to be conducted at a roar due to the noise and by the end of the night, I was pretty pissed.
So, up at five, yadda, yadda, yadda, and off to the airport at half eight. Already, the roads were fucking chokka - I've no idea how anyone gets anywhere in Varanasi. Also, where in fuck are they all going? They can't all be to meetings and shit. I'll never know. The flights were painless, if delayed, and we arrived on in the evening, sun pretty much down.
Our apartment is wonderful, but the owners got on my tits a bit. They were an incredibly good looking couple with a beautiful child and a nice dog. Picture fucking postcard. The bloke was pretty well built, tall, and looked like The Rock. Although they were very nice people, they made me sick and I do hate them. We paid up and buggered off to Pedro's where I was greeted as Richard (fuck knows; don't ask) and given a hug. It always feels like coming home. The boys may have my heart but Goa has my soul.
The roads here are so civilised! There's traffic, sure, and plenty of it, but it mostly stays on the right side of the road and is only worrying, not balls out terrifying. It's a pleasant change, I can tell you. At night, the roads are practically empty. It almost doesn't seem right, and Danny was somewhat nonplussed by the relative lack of insanity and pants shitting horror. Some people are never fucking happy...
Yesterday was spent on the beach at Pedro's, doing absolutely fuck of all interest to anyone but ourselves, but having a whale of a time. Danny had himself an interesting haircut that makes him look a little like Jimmy Somerville. It's a good look.
We walked along the beach last night, and tiny points of phosphorent light were washed in the waves, glowing bright green before fading away. All along the line of the surf, the lights were glowing. Although the beach was rather spooky at night, these different types of fireworks were beautiful. We wandered up to a beach bar and two young women came in. Turns out that they were Indonesian. I don't believe that they'd drunk alcohol before. They were smoking fags and trying to work out how to hold them properly. They were falling about, giggling, taking drags but not inhaling. Danny demonstrated to them the proper method. One of them tried it, coughed up a storm and left her bar stool to reel off and puke her guts up. By the time they left, three drinks later, they were a billion sheets to the wind and started to walk in the wrong direction to where they were staying. Only the insistence of the bar staff got them off in the right heading. I cvan only imagine the state of their room this morning...
Mind you, things weren't a whole lot better for us by the time we left Pedro's at about half one. It was full of Indians on their Diwali holidays and, by God, do Hindus like a drink. They're like dark skinned Irishmen. We only left because they were putting chairs on tables around us. I think we'd still be there if politeness hadn't decreed that we do the right thing and fuck off out of it. All in all, a very pleasant first day in Goa.
I'm going to have to give up smoking all over again. Fuck, fuck,. fuck...
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