GOA: BEACHENDERS

I arrive at the airport, to catch my flight to Goa. I'm still drunk! I know this because:

1. I have just been ripped off by a taxi driver, by paying double what I should of done for a trip to the airport, and I didn't even argue with the driver. I just hand him the money.

2. My breath smells so much of alcohol that if you put a naked flame next to it, I'll probably blow up the whole airport.

3. I'm trying to read magazines in the shop, even though I can't understand them because there in Hindi!

I roll up to Paula's hotel (Yes she's back "working in India") around noon, feeling dreadful! It's rather a relief at the other end, to find she is feeling just as bad as me.
"I'm really hungover" she moans.
"Good, because so am I!" Well we made be different in so many ways, yet we are just the same in others. We both have an afternoon siesta, to aid our recovery.

The days that I'm with Paula again, follow the same routine as last time. which really is quite a pleasant way to pass the time. I realise on this visit that Paula has kind of turned into some kind of crazy Brigitte Bardot type, with all the local dogs, as she keeps saving half her meals to feed them. She beckons them in off the beach and secretly feeds them under the table. I don't think this pleases Johnny the owner of the bar too much as him and his staff keeping kicking them out (literally) as there are dogs everywhere. This makes Paula feel more sorry for them and she continues to feed the half starved beasts, and so the circle continues.

In the last decade, Russians have invaded London, with their new found wealth. It's not just London either. They have invaded Goa too. A lot of people are negative about Russians abroad, but to be fair, I couldn't be happier as they make the British abroad actually look good for once because:
1. They are whiter and burn more than us.

2. They have the worst dress sense in the world.

3. They can drink more than us and hence get more drunk!

All out win I say? We are all sat in Johnny's bar one night when we are challenged to a game of pool by a Russian aircrew. They have had quite a few drinks and so have we, so it's seems quite even. That is until the Russians start plying us with vodka. This gives them unfair advantage as they can drink it like water, with no effect, where as we get more and more drunk. It's like the Cold War all over again, and after a match that is longer than War and Peace, as no one can focus anymore, the Russians win. Oh well, they still dress bad though!

Paula returned home, and I decided to return to Paloem and pick up where I left off. I went back to my same simple little hut. I found Rob again much as I left him roaming from the bar to the beach. In fact nothing had really changed in the 2 weeks I had been away. The same faces still mill around, doing the same routines. This is a place where the same people come year after year for the season, to the same hut, to do the same things, to see the same faces. I guess it's like some weird community.
"Hello Darling!"
I turn to see Rodney a middle aged man, leaned against the bar swigging cheap rosé from a glass like he always is. I had meant Rodney on my previous visit. I think he might be an alcoholic as I've never seen him sober. I usually find him in the mornings passed out on the sofa outside his room with a kitten sat on his head, while he snores. It's the same kitten that lives in his room. He pretends not to like it, but I know he does. As a leaving present from my last visit Rodney had poured a jar of Valium into my hands after I told him I was taking a 12 hour bus journey to Mumbai.
"Are you mad! Your going to need these. Take yellow for just a hit, and the blue ones if you really want to knock yourself out!" He says leaving me stood there with my palms full of pills, that are spilling onto the floor.
I join him at the bar.
"How was Mumbai? Did the Valium help?" He asks.
"Oh yes! It was great!" I lie. Of course I didn't take any. God knows what was in them. Viagra?

I've come to realise in life, I'm not good at routine. Maybe that's why I travel. Maybe that's why I do the job I do. I like change, or maybe that's what I'm use to? So it's surprises me that I fit into the daily of routine of Paloem so quickly and easily. I get up early every morning and sit at the bar and have banana pancakes, which I'm always served by Sam a little Nepalese guy who becomes my favourite member of staff, due to his dryness and cheeky charm. I then head to the beach where I find my regular chair and umbrella. I take in the morning sun and cool off in the sea every now and again. I hide from the mid day sun in one of the numerous beachside bars, order lunch and read my book. When it is cooler I return to my same spot for more sun. After his daily game of frisbee with his mate Paul, Rob comes and joins be for a beer and our usual late afternoon chat. It's during these chats we put the world to rights. I didn't know Rob that well before Goa. I thought he was a little grumpy. He still is but underneath it all: the not liking being touch or being round lots of people, I realise he's a good guy. I like him and always look forward to our regular chats. After the sun goes down I head for a cold shower (A hot one is not an option) and change and head to the bar, where I'm surrounded by the regulars. There is the old hippy with no teeth who has been coming here since time began. There is the English married couple who are a bit rock n roll and got married on the beach, but then lost their wedding rings on the same beach when they had an argument and threw them at each other, and they got lost in the sand. Then there is the two English guys who I think our a couple but it appears their not as one starts flirting with me one night. My next door neighbour is a former Crystal Meth addict who has written a book on her past addiction. The other neighbour is former party girl in Ibiza, and who looks set to be a party girl in Goa. Then there is the owner, who apparently when he gets drunk, gets naked, so he's not drinking while I'm there, which is probably a good thing. Oh and of course there's Rodney. Many characters, with their own past and their own stories to tell. Due to this there is always some drama or scandal going on. It's like Eastenders or Beachenders as it becomes know.
At night I sometimes sit on my own outside my little hut. The local dog who I call Santa's little helper (As he looks like the dog from the Simpsons) is always there to greet me. So I sit there with my beer, stroking Santa's little helper, quite happy in my solitude, until I realise I'm being eaten alive by mosquito's and the dog has fleas, then I make a sharp exit.

During my stay, the nights become hotter and hotter. It's over 40 degrees in the day sometimes. The air is sticky and it becomes impossible to sleep. My crap ceiling fan that looks like its going to fall down any minute does little to help. After a couple of sleepless night, I'm looking through my bag, when I spot all the Valium that Rodney gave me. "Well it couldn't hurt to try one?" I think. So I pop one. It is Valium, and really good Valium as I'm out for the count in no time. I carry on popping the pills for the rest of my stay and there is not one more sleepless night had. The joys of Valium. Thank you Rodney.

It becomes time to leave and my trip to India is over. For once I'm not sad to go home. In fact I'm looking forward to it! It's not that I haven't enjoyed India. I have! It's been everything I expected it to be: Food poisoning; adventure; drama; dirty and funny, but this trip was not about running away from things anymore. I had a reason to go back, it was time to put down some roots again after living out of a bag for too long again. I had to go and find a home again.well for a little while anyway, until the bug takes me again. Once a traveller, always a traveller I guess?