No Itinerary

Greetings from Bogmalo Beach, right by Dabolim airport in Goa. Bogmalo isa bit less like the palm fringed paradise I was in with Nicole up in North Goa.

It’s actually a bit more like Margate.

It’s very popular with British tourists, especially the “me an’ t’ wife ‘ave been comin’ ‘ere for 15 years” types.

I’m doing my advanced open water dive certification here and once I’ve got that I’m going to take a trip to Pidgeon Island to do some diving. I’m really excited about the divin, it’s something I’ve always wanted to get back into but just never had the money.

The hot water heater in my hotel bathroom isn’t earthed, every time I touch the hot tap I get strung out like a flag. Ah well, who needs hot water anyway. At least I save money on hair gel this way, one touch of the hot tap and my hair’s spiked straight away.

Everyone I’m diving with has cool underwater cameras so hopefully I’ll be able to post some pics of me underwater.

Day 12.

Although we didn’t manage to see a favela or a football match in the end, our last few days in Rio were still pretty fantastic. We saw an incredible lightning storm from atop sugarloaf mountain, danced till the wee hours in Lapa (like Notting Hill Carnaval, only every day!) and watched loads of football, and volleyball on the beach. I have lost count of how many bikinis we have seen, all of them tiny. Amusingly everyone we have met who is non Brazilian (including me) is finding they can only just squeeze themselves in the ´Grande´ size. There are some larger Brazilian ladies so lord only knows where they get their swimwear from.

We also saw the Rolling Stones on Copacabana beach the night before we left Rio (in Brazil – the ´holling stones´). I say saw in the loosest of terms as actually we saw very little of the Stones themselves. But nevertheless it was a fantastic party in a fabulous setting

After leaving Rio we travelled 18 hours by bus up to a beautiful seaside town Porto Seguro. We spent a lovely 2 days chilling under palm trees on miles of white sands during the day and drinking Caparhinia and Cachaca shots at night. This also gave Jo time to recover from the seemingly endless string of injuries and illnesses she has been plagued with since we arrived. Fortunately she has maintained a brave face and sunny disposition throughout.

Following another 10 hours bus ride (the worst yet – freezing cold, no blankets) we arrived in Salvador to spend Carnaval. The costumes, drums and music are pretty amazing so far although I am pretty sure the best is yet to come. We are still getting ripped off despite trying to haggle with our broken Spanish and very basic Portugese but have so far avoided the pick pocketing and groping which is custom during carnaval.

So lets talk about spitting shall we? Indian men spit a LOT, they just adore having a good old spit.

Sometimes they’re chewing paan, a paste of berries and spices wrapped in leaves (betel nut leaves?). Paan makes their spit red and can stain walls permanently. Often if you go into a slightly less-than-posh indian building the walls of the stairwell are covered in loads of diagonal red splashes from years of paan spits.

When they’re not chewing paan that doesn’t mean they can’t still have a good old spit though. Then though, you get the joy of the preceeding SNOOOOOOORT! and then the loud HOOOOOICK! before they loose off a proper loogie (usually aimed towards my feet).

Now in a city like Mumbai these can be coming from any direction, sometimes they might be from a bus window above you, others from a rickshaw driver as he whizzes past. No-one has spat upwards at me from below ground level yet, but I’m sure it’s merely a matter of time.

However, the best time is if you’re in a quiet resort, maybe a hill station or on a beach. Then you may have the luxury of thin walls allowing you to experience the -

DAWN CHORUS!

Imagine the sound of frenzied hocking and snorting echoing through the peace of your resort, seemingly coming from every direction. Broken up by the occasional stacatto HARUM-HUM-HUM cough to bring up every tiny piece of lung butter.

The only thought that passes through your mind as you experience this wonderful phenomenon is: “I wonder which of these guys is cooking my breakfast”.

Stunning.

So my message to the majority of the male Indian population is this:

NO!

BAD!

STOPPIT!

Thank you for listening.

Today there was a cow in the street, nothing unusual there, certainly not in India where cows are sacred to Hindus and can wander unmolested wherever they like. This cow was peeing, again nothing noteworthy.

However, there was a man standing behind the cow catching its wee in a tiny plastic bag. He didn’t seem concerned, nor did anyone around.

Anyone who can enlighten me as to what the purpose of this is, gets their own bag of cow wee.

Answers on a postcard.

After today I’m officially a free man.

WooHoo!

No idea where I’m supposed to go next though. Maybe some scuba diving is in order.

Hi All,

I’m back at work today so I have time to do you a full post of our week in Goa. Nicole is back in the UK now make sure you look after her for me…

We were staying in the North of Goa in a place called Mandrem, it is really undeveloped and a real piece of paradise. We were in the Riva beach resort which I can definitely recommend if you like huts on the beach and don’t care if you don’t have *all* the luxuries of home. From our hut we could see straight to the beach, which was over a comedy Indiana Jones style rickety bridge. Usually with at least one unconscious dog on it.

Goa’s beaches are beautiful, no wonder it’s so popular. Endless stretches of soft white sand, perfect climate (30 degrees every day) and constant sunshine. Nicole, of course immediately got a lovely tan, I was less lucky.

Away from the beaches Mandrem is totally undeveloped, the roads are little more than dirt tracks. Even on the beaches, the restaurants and bars are little more than huts.

The most developed place (and I use that term lightly) in our area is Arambol beach. It’s popular with Hippies, and looks a little like someone has transported the Big Chill festival straight onto a beach. Nice restaurants though, and a good place to watch slightly freaky hippies doing wierd hippy stuff. Tai Chi and yoga I expected, but the wierd games involving pushing a stick at your friend who avoids it in a funny floppy way were a bit too hippy even for me. At least there weren’t too many bongos.

The beautiful beaches gave Nicole lots of chances to be sporty and play cricket and volleyball. I took the opportunity to keep my blood alcohol level up. We also made a sandcastle/fish/whale thingy.

Of course no romantic holiday would be complete without beautiful sunsets, Goa does not dissapoint.

Nicole, quit your job and get back out here! India’s far less fun now you’re gone.

Hello from a lovely week in Goa…

Apologies for the short post but we are stuck in the airport at Goa. Its been a very stressful week. Sometimes we’ve had to decide where to eat, anything up to three times in a given day. It was horrible waking up and walking outside our little hut by the beach. We swam and sunbaked and drank in the warm temps - tough.

The moonlight strolls along the beach were pretty hard work too.

Sounds like you guys are getting the full flavour of South America already. Hope your trip is as restful and exciting as ours. Have safe travels!

Steve and Nicole x

Here are some images of Goa:

After weeks of anticipation we are finally in Rio. Our arrival in Brazil was marked with chaos almost immediately. After gettting through the enormous immigration queue we tried to find our luggage in a baggage hall full of people trying to get out of the airport and many carousels with no bagged on them. After some enquiry we established that our luggage would arrive on carousel 7. This actually meant, lying somewhere abandoned on the floor in the corner of the room!

Bags in hand we took a bus into Rio which was slow but non eventful. Got our first sight of some of the favelas and the more seedy parts of town before arriving at our hostel which shares a street with Cartier and ]other very exclusive shops. It seems Ipanema is the Knightsbridge of Rio. The hostel is lovely with pool, bar and plenty of nice people (unfortunatley nearly all from London!).

After we had settled in we spent our first day on the beach. Despite the hassle of people trying to sell you things every 5 minutes it is a stunning place to be. Feeling slightly security concious we decided to attach our bag to the sunlounger. As we got up to leave (after arguing with the vendor about the cost of the said lounger) we realised the bag was permanently attached! Thankfully we were not too far from the hostel so I ran back and grabbed our penknife (thanks everyone at AMA!!) to set us free.

Next day we decided to negotiate the buses. I had never actually envisaged how big Rio actually is, so everything takes ages. We went first to Santa Theresa, a beautiful cobbled hill where everyone travels by streetcar, and then up to Christ the Redeemer. Of course, having no idea of the distance involved we did not realise we had signed up for a 40 minute hike up a mountain, to then find we still had to take a minibus to get to the top. Thankfully en route we had met a nice Danish family with better command of Portugese who took us under their wing and made sure we got to the top. Apparently the views of Rio are stunning, but unfortunately it was a little too cloudy so we didnt get to see the full panorama. Finding yourself sailing upwards above the trees in a glass elevator to get to the statue was pretty amazing however.

The last couple of days we have been taking things a little more easy, doing some shopping, cooking and lots and lots of walking. Today we hope to go to a favela (our hostel runs tours) and tomorrow to a football match. In the evening the Rolling Stones are playing for free on Copacabana beach´. Nearly 2 million people are expected so I am sure it will be a little crazy! Then on Sunday we leave Rio and travel up the northeast coast towards Salvador for Carnaval.

Today we fly to Rio! Thanks to everyone who came along to our leaving drinks this week, and to those who couldn’t make it, we will see you in the summer…..Here are some photos

This weekend, I went to a Hill Station called Matheran (which when said in an Indian accent sounds a bit like Matalan :)). Hill Stations are effectively resorts out in the countryside, Matheran is unique in that it (blissfully) doesn’t allow cars so you get the clearest air in the area. To begin with I had to get local trains for about 3 hours, getting Indian trains is an experience but kinda fun because you feel like a celebrity, everyone stares a bit if you’re white.

I arrived at Neral, the closest train station, where I took a rickshaw up a windy hill road reminiscent of a black ski run I did in Chamonix. (The James Bond one, Mark ) The rickshaws aren’t allowed in so you get dropped about 4km from the actual site. From there your only options are to walk, get pulled in an old school human-powered rickshaw, or get a horse.

The horse people start hassling you as soon as you enter, you don’t even need to haggle since there are always about three or four of them and they keep trying to undercut each other. Eventually, I took pity on one, since the horses I could see around me were strong and well-fed and in the distant past I have actually ridden horses so I though why not. As soon as I agreed, instead of motioning towards one of the big healthy animals around me, the horse guy ran away into a nearby paddock and came back with CHAMPION THE WONDERPONY. The thing was barely taller than my shoulder.

Unfortunately he wasn’t having any of my protests, so I end up sat on this tiny horse with everyone I pass laughing at me from their impressive mounts.

Champion wheezes his way to the top of the mountain and I’m deposited in Matheran to run the gauntlet of the vendors and guys on commission to one or other of the hotels.

I find my own hotel (hah!, no-one’s getting any commission out of me today) and meet a couple of chaps who I spend the evening with, they were from California, although one was originally from Mumbai and had moved to America about 7 years ago. They showed me how to play a game called Carobs (or something like that) which is a kind of cross between Tiddleywinks, Air Hockey and Snooker. We had an excellent dinner in the hotel and then got up early the next morning to watch the sun come up.

Before breakfast we went for a walk to see a few of the different views and features of Matheran. Including the everpresent monkeys.

After breakfast I said goodbye to my new friends and went for a long walk around Matheran, before heading home.

On the way back I got stuck in Kalyan Junction because of Muslim protests against the Danish cartoons, lucky no-one clocked I was white.