The attack of the killer crows
Trip Start
Jan 16, 2004
1
5
11
Trip End
Sep 18, 2004
Benaulim, India
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
The biggest predatory problem we've encountered in India to date (and I say to date because there's a fair chance they're getting ready for round two), is an attack from a the one animal you think you should be safe around, a crow! From the rooftop, barely two or three foot above my (James') head, the accused swooped under the cover of suprise element, to attempt a daring grab and fly of my head. Sharp claws as well, like nothing i've ever seen or felt dig into my head before.
Aside from our brush with nature, imagine beach, sun and the novelty of an ocean (Arabian) that is actually a tad warmer than you'd want a bath to be. That's Goa, our second former Portuguese colony after Macau.
We've seen very little history, and stayed clear of forts, temples and monuments. Two weeks are nearly up and we've barely lifted a leg from the sunbed. Yes, we feel a little guilty at coming so far and seeing so little, but atleast we are now recharged and ready to face another train journey, Mumbai and an early morning flight to Bangkok.
Goan life, when not rudely interupted by crows, falling coconuts (outside our bedroom door!), the occasional English biker or the odd washed up hippy, is taken easy and you won't find anyone rushing around here. Besides, the temperature is now creeping up, and you couldn't rush anywhere even if you wanted to.
Service at the beach shacks / accomodation / restaurants is dependant on whether Pakistan are playing India (we are in the middle of five one day cricket internationals), and further depends on how India are doing at the time of requested service. There are also plenty of massages available, but again I would suggest avoiding anything after an Indian defeat.
The internationals themselves are abit of a landmark politically, and have all been extremely close, tough fought encounters. It's finely balanced at 2-2, and so for the sake of eating well this evening, we're hoping Sachin Tendulkar can improve on the miserble statistics he's churning out at the moment. My own (James') inadequacies with the bat, have once again been highlighted after being caught and bowled from an inviting fifth ball in the slightly less energetic beach version of the game.
In the absence of amazing landmarks, we will instead bring you a snippet of Goan life and a couple of the charachters (both savoury and unsavoury) we have met. First of all, it is important to stress that life here is so laid back that most people would struggle to find anything to get upset about.
Several days into our stay we found one unsurprisingly English, embarassing and hooligan type of biker that you'd rather stayed at home. Order has now been restored and the Police have asked that he and his family leave Goa, but not before he offered 10,000 rupees to one of the barmen to quit his job working for the owner that our biker was disputing the large bar tab with. How you can tell fifteen whisky's from sixteen when you're that worse for wear, i'll never know.
Anyway, let me tell you about Postcode Man, or Sheeva if you want to use his correct name. Sheeva strolls around the local bars and restaurants carrying the Times of India broadsheet, but actually sells anything from postcards to walking tours of the local paddyfields. He wears a Jewson t-shirt and certainly has the Jewson lot. Nothing amazing about that, but, tell him where you're from and he'll give you the postcode in seconds.
"Ipswich"
"Err, Suffolk.... IP1"
Close enough, could be a lucky guess though.
"How about Lowestoft, Vicky comes from Lowestoft"
"Is that Suffolk"
"Yes, but nearer to Norwich"
"Probably, let me see, I should think.... NR32"
He's a bit of a local celebrity around here and can speak fluently in over seven languges. Unofficially, he can give you drips and drabs of most languages, as a nearby Swedish couple have found out. However, the caste system in India holds Sheeva back and he can't, despite being far cleverer than most Indians in high paid jobs, get any further up the ladder. We had a particularly long debate about the pitfalls of the British media and a sermon on why we should purchase a copy of the politically un-affiliated "Times of India".
We've met plenty of people that are travelling or enjoying a couple of weeks rest in the sun. One guy even reckoned he'd had the best steak of his life at the "Lucky Star" restaurant. It might just be me, but I wouldn't have thought you'd come to India for a particularly good piece of steak!
The same guy also reckoned the begging and persistant beach sales people were impossible. Up to a point, Lord Copper. I have nothing against people coming to India for the beaches of Goa only, they are fantastic, but trust me it's a little different in Rajasthan or Agra (particularly on the Holi festival!!) and i'm sure we haven't even seen anything near the worst of it. If you're ever in India yourself, bring Vicky. The aggresive sales people of Anjuna's wednesday market are only just recovering from their most difficult customer in a long time.
As for the falling coconuts, we're sure it's only a matter of time before someone comes a cropper. If you have seen Cast Away (Tom Hanks film) you will sympathise with the hour or so it took us to break through the green outer skin and the nasty blisters a swiss army knife can give an amateur desert islander who'd remembered to pack his penknife.
"No win, no Fee" insurance companies are probably still telling you that Mr Smith has succesfully won twenty thousand pounds worth of compensation. In Goa you can take a Dolphin trip on the same basis "No see, no fee". The touble being that the skipper is going to get his money out of you, even if you're out there for eight hours. I got away with a couple of hours, while Vic got several hours sleep recovering from a bout of Delhi Belly. Bit of a dissapointment really, you don't get very close to the dolphins anyway.
