As I have mentioned in my previous blog, the roads in Goa are not the sole privilege of vehicles – they belong to anything, anywhere, anybody, anytime (when you think about it – they are a bit like a tarmac flavoured Martini really …) I personally think there is a huge market for a Goan computer game – dodge the person, the bike, the goat … Driving in Goa is not so much ‘Too Fast Too Furious’ – its more ‘Not Fast But Getting Furious’!
The frustration is that none of the normal rules seem to apply; driving the wrong way down a dual carriageway – not a problem, driving at night with no lights on – fine, stopping without any warning whatsoever – absolutely. When you drive in Goa, you must do so with the single minded concentration of a zealot. You must anticipate anything from any direction. I only became aware of how different driving here was when I received a phone call from the UK. Not wanting any distraction, I asked Holly to answer, ‘Just tell them I can’t speak right now – I’m overtaking an elephant’!
God forbid, any accident should occur whilst on the road – within seconds there will be a crowd of bystanders, each one desperate to share their version of events (very often this leads to heated words – so no rubbernecking – just keep moving people – nothing to see here…) I know this first hand, having been involved in an incident I can only describe as ‘girl meets bus’.
So, there I am, driving to Nerul. Gorgeous sunshine, light traffic on the road … As I approach the bridge made famous in ‘The Bourne Supremacy’, I fleetingly think of Bourne’s car flipping into the river and say a silent prayer of thanks for careful drivers who aren’t being chased by hired assassins. I kept my speed low, glancing around me for any bodies (animal/vegetable or mineral!) who looked as if they were about to leap out in front of my car. Needless to say, this focus provided its own distraction and a split second before impact, I noticed the bus. Now, the bus had been on my radar – obviously – it was in front of me – but as it hurtled towards Nerul, I was pretty confident that its momentum would continue. It didn’t. I forgot that buses can be flagged down anywhere and the bus will stop. No warning. No indication. Just stop. So, as the lady stepped out from the shade, her arm gracefully raised, the bus stopped dead. My car kept going and crunched into the rear bumper. Cue – shock, fear and the humiliation of thirty people – locals and tourist alike – peering down from the windows and reaching for their mobile phones. I hung my head – You Tube here I come – I thought wearily and shook my head.
The bus driver jumped out and I steeled myself expecting angry words and accusations – but none came. He just gestured to me to pull forward so that our vehicles could disengage themselves from their tangled embrace. But pulling forward didn’t not help one bit, the car and the bus just snuggled closer together like a pair of petulant teenagers who refuse to be separated. Feeling desperately sorry and embarrassed, I tentatively suggested reversing – this was met with much enthusiasm by the bus driver and thirty people who were now looking at their watches and sending me less than sympathetic looks. And so, we parted – in more ways than one. Once the bus and the car were two distinct entities again, the driver assessed the damage … bus – fine, small car – dented – and he decided that there wasn’t a problem at all and continued on his route with a cheery wave.
I was left in the car, stunned, in shock and crying. Several local people approached the car to offer assistance but upon seeing my less than groomed state (tearful mascara panda eyes are soooooooooooooooooo last season dahling) they retreated. A sobbing, stuttered phone call to Giles ensured help was on its way but eventually a very nice man stopped his motorbike and asked if I was ok. Snivelling, I replied that I was fine and that my husband would be along shortly. He patted my hand kindly and waited (some distance off – probably to avoid all the tears and drama) until help arrived.
Giles and his friend Samir again assessed the damage – they felt it was little more than a scratch whilst I wailed away like I was on the Titanic. The car was taken to a local garage whilst I was bundled into the car and taken for a drink to steady myself after all the excitement. So, crisis over but a real lesson in remembering that traffic works differently here and anticipation really is the name of the game.
But for every minor inconvenience on the road, there is always a balance – something that will surprise or delight you; be it an unexpected landmark shimmering out of the morning mist, a scooter carrying one man and a thousand bundles or children playing in the rainbow puddles by the side of the road. One of the funniest recent memories of a road trip has now been christened ‘girl versus cow’. So, to start, driving along the extremely narrow road from Anjuna to Vagator can be fraught with peril on any given day, but on this particular occasion, the kids and I were delighted to see a lovely white calf totter fresh from the fields onto the road. We were quite a distance away and so, slowed accordingly.
As we reached the baby cow, it lifted its head, proceeded to the exact centre of the road and promptly laid down. No way round it. At all. So, feeling all ‘Jurassic Park’ (you know that bit where one of the raptors causes a distraction so the rest of them can surround their prey) I looked around anxiously for Mummy and Daddy cow. No joy. And then came the swift realisation that I am actually scared of cows (who knew?!) so now, getting out of the car to move the little tyke on its way was now not an option either. Meanwhile, the calf was chewing its cud carefully and regarding the crazy English woman and three kids (who were all hung out of the windows, encouraging the little cow to moooove – must be a family fear of bovines …) with a bewildered expression.
After ten minutes, yes ten minutes, of gentle coaxing – the calf won this particular round of ‘chicken’. I looked around to see if I could turn the car without falling into paddy fields (not good) or a deep pond (even worse). Luckily, a guy on a scooter, who had obviously enjoyed the spectacle, calmly dismounted, moved the calf in two seconds flat and sped on his way grinning…(Bet that’s on You Tube now as well *sigh*)
So, baby cows and buses notwithstanding, a drive in Goa is always an unforgettable experience. Try it and see!!!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
There’s a rat in my kitchen …
The great architect Geoffrey Bawa (who is so often quoted by my husband) once said, ‘Life in the tropics is about living out of doors’. What he neglected to mention were the bugs that also enjoy this state of grace; the millipedes, the ants, the ruddy mosquitoes etc, etc. For those of you who are fans of the work of Mr Spielberg – you will recall ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom’ – over the past few weeks, I have felt like the female leading character, Willie Scott, frantically trying to detach some creature which is clinging to my skin/hair/clothes (delete as appropriate) whilst screaming and running from room to room. Yeah, I can see you laughing, but believe me – my flesh has been punctured so many times, I am beginning to resemble a large, human pin cushion – or should that be insect blood bank? I suppose I should be more philosophical – I am actually sort of a philanthropist – you know, keeping several subspecies of insect alive …
Anyway, back to the tale. Our first house. Anjuna. Around 10 pm. Starry night. Wine. Sounds idyllic doesn’t it? Until you include the creature highway above our heads. Yes, as Giles and I sipped our glasses of Madera Rose – overhead the house was springing to life. The rafters overhead became the animal kingdom’s equivalent of the M25. We watched frogs calmly overtake lizards, squirrels (or are they chipmunks?) rush home to feed their young and then there were the rats …
Now, don’t get me wrong – I am definitely an animal person but rats just do nothing for me. Maybe it’s their whiskers, the pointy face, the teeth or the fact that a rat, Scabbers, betrayed Harry Potter – I don’t know. But, let’s put it this way – I’m not too keen on rats.
So, unfortunately, it got to the point where glasses needed refilling. I kept glancing over at Giles – but his mind was mulling over Leeds United’s latest defeat and I didn’t want to add to his misery by asking him to use his legs (legs might make him think of the player’s legs, those very legs that seemed unable to score a goal for the Mighty Whites…) I sighed theatrically – no response – so strode purposefully to the kitchen, flicked on the light and froze.
Sat on top of the fridge like an overeager sentry with a fully loaded Kalashnikov was the biggest rat I had ever seen. Immediately, my mind scrambled for an explanation – was this divine drinking intervention? But I knew I was faced with a situation that no woman should ever find herself in – a massive dilemma – forgo the wine and run or face that rat down?
We stared at each other across the abyss – Ratty and me, me and Ratty. Neither of us quite sure what to do. I could hear the pounding of blood in my ears and considered whether I would escape this confrontation a) intact or b) alive. Ratty made the first move though. He let loose an unearthly squeak and I screamed right back causing Tommy (the dog mentioned in the previous chapter) to release all his anger management demons. He flew past me, hit the fridge and the rat flew into the air. Time slowed to the pace of a Kung Fu fight sequence. Sarah – still, snarling dog – leaping to catch rodent, rat spiralling towards human.
That was it. I completely freaked and ran backwards with a speed that surprised everyone – including myself. I found myself wedged between the kitchen and the cupboard – the cupboard which now provided the rat with its only means of escape. As the furry one hurtled towards me, teeth bared, shrieking shrilly (or was that me?) – I saw my life flash before me eyes! But, luckily for me, Penaque chose this moment to enter the fray and between the two dogs – let’s just say, poor Ratty’s minutes were numbered.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I made my way gingerly into the kitchen, scanning every shadow with an intensity that would have made Jason Bourne proud. Satisfied that there were no more surprises in store, I went to the fridge and praised the Lord as the golden glow it contained, revealed a cool, green bottle with my name on it.
I returned to my seat, probably suffering from some rat induced post traumatic stress disorder and Giles met and held my gaze. ‘Everything ok ?’ I sipped my wine, considering my response – should I answer from my point of view? The dog’s ? Ratty’s? ‘Well,’ he prompted, ‘What was all the commotion about ?’ I swirled the rose liquid round my glass before speaking … ‘There was a rat in the kitchen – what are we gonna do?’
Anyway, back to the tale. Our first house. Anjuna. Around 10 pm. Starry night. Wine. Sounds idyllic doesn’t it? Until you include the creature highway above our heads. Yes, as Giles and I sipped our glasses of Madera Rose – overhead the house was springing to life. The rafters overhead became the animal kingdom’s equivalent of the M25. We watched frogs calmly overtake lizards, squirrels (or are they chipmunks?) rush home to feed their young and then there were the rats …
Now, don’t get me wrong – I am definitely an animal person but rats just do nothing for me. Maybe it’s their whiskers, the pointy face, the teeth or the fact that a rat, Scabbers, betrayed Harry Potter – I don’t know. But, let’s put it this way – I’m not too keen on rats.
So, unfortunately, it got to the point where glasses needed refilling. I kept glancing over at Giles – but his mind was mulling over Leeds United’s latest defeat and I didn’t want to add to his misery by asking him to use his legs (legs might make him think of the player’s legs, those very legs that seemed unable to score a goal for the Mighty Whites…) I sighed theatrically – no response – so strode purposefully to the kitchen, flicked on the light and froze.
Sat on top of the fridge like an overeager sentry with a fully loaded Kalashnikov was the biggest rat I had ever seen. Immediately, my mind scrambled for an explanation – was this divine drinking intervention? But I knew I was faced with a situation that no woman should ever find herself in – a massive dilemma – forgo the wine and run or face that rat down?
We stared at each other across the abyss – Ratty and me, me and Ratty. Neither of us quite sure what to do. I could hear the pounding of blood in my ears and considered whether I would escape this confrontation a) intact or b) alive. Ratty made the first move though. He let loose an unearthly squeak and I screamed right back causing Tommy (the dog mentioned in the previous chapter) to release all his anger management demons. He flew past me, hit the fridge and the rat flew into the air. Time slowed to the pace of a Kung Fu fight sequence. Sarah – still, snarling dog – leaping to catch rodent, rat spiralling towards human.
That was it. I completely freaked and ran backwards with a speed that surprised everyone – including myself. I found myself wedged between the kitchen and the cupboard – the cupboard which now provided the rat with its only means of escape. As the furry one hurtled towards me, teeth bared, shrieking shrilly (or was that me?) – I saw my life flash before me eyes! But, luckily for me, Penaque chose this moment to enter the fray and between the two dogs – let’s just say, poor Ratty’s minutes were numbered.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I made my way gingerly into the kitchen, scanning every shadow with an intensity that would have made Jason Bourne proud. Satisfied that there were no more surprises in store, I went to the fridge and praised the Lord as the golden glow it contained, revealed a cool, green bottle with my name on it.
I returned to my seat, probably suffering from some rat induced post traumatic stress disorder and Giles met and held my gaze. ‘Everything ok ?’ I sipped my wine, considering my response – should I answer from my point of view? The dog’s ? Ratty’s? ‘Well,’ he prompted, ‘What was all the commotion about ?’ I swirled the rose liquid round my glass before speaking … ‘There was a rat in the kitchen – what are we gonna do?’
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Accidental Tourist??!!
Homer Simpson once famously said ‘The road less travelled is sometimes less travelled for a reason’ and at times, over the past few months I have kind of got his point. For those of you that know me, you will know my previous stay in Goa was dogged by the kind of luck that casinos love – i.e. – not good. Nothing at all to do with the country, but decisions made on the spur of the moment, a variety of hospital stays and a tropical illness didn’t really help that much.
So, cue return to good old Blighty for the coldest winter on record and some real soul searching – not the ‘what should I do today?’ kind but the ‘what do I want from life?’ kind. (Also got to love trying to defrost your car in -17 conditions!!!) And finally, the decision was kind of made for me – by circumstances that I couldn’t control. And as with all things that are ruled by fate, there was a time of fear, misunderstanding and pain before a clearer path began to emerge – the road was leading me back to Goa – whether I liked it or not!
So, after ‘Star Wars’ came ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and so our story went with Goa. On 30th January 2011, we packed those bags once again and headed through the lush green fields of England to the otherworldly environs of Heathrow – a stasis between home and a world once left behind – the sequel had begun …
Mumbai airport was as chaotic, hot and amazing as I remembered, but trying to negotiate its labyrinthine ways with six large suitcases, four carry ons, three tired children and a partridge in a pear tree was no joke. At times I wished I had Sam Gamgee (or even ruddy Gollum) to at least carry a bag if nothing else – but finally, we arrived in Goa. It felt as if we had never left and she welcomed us back with the most open of arms, but her charms were nothing compared to the utter joy on my husband’s face as we stepped through the gates and … I knew I was home. I was reunited with the man I love and the children were with their Dad – as we left the airport, mine weren’t the only eyes that were swimming with tears.
Giles had found us a house in Anjuna and as we drove through the towns and sights I knew so well, I wondered what would greet us. Of course, photos were sent over the internet, but they did not do the first ‘Casa Knapton’ justice (and yes, there is a second house – but, as they say, that’s another story!) Set in a blossoming, verdant garden, the house was (and still is) surrounded with a wraparound porch (many a glass of wine was consumed there after hours I can tell you!!!), bedrooms festooned with swathes of mosquito netting and a family to help with maintenance – Harriet and her husband, Vinod, and the gorgeous moppet Sweety – sweetie by both name and nature. Little did I know, a further trio were to be added to the mix – two dogs and a cat. Penaque – a soft, spotty dog and Tommy – a dog with more anger management issues than Mike Tyson – not towards us, you understand - WE equalled family - but anything that moved; a bird, a cloud, a bike – you get the drift. I mentioned trio – the final member was a cat known …erm … affectionately as LB. The initials stood for – well I’ll let you work that one out – but on the first night we were there, he decided to climb up my silk dresses, greet us with a dead baby rat and steal every bit of food he could get his little paws on – so LB was duely christened and was adored by Sophie.
Ah, yes, that brings me neatly to the children. Holly, as expected, has mixed feelings about her return to Goa being at the age she is, however, Sophie (Fuff) and Oscar – well, they have turned feral. Hair brushing, showers, and teeth brushing are but a distant memory and any attempt to get them clean is met with the toughest resistance since the Second World War. In fact, the sounds emanating from the bathroom come shower time often resemble the Blitz – explosions, screaming, hiding under furniture and that’s just me and Giles.
But the place – well, Anjuna rocks. Not with noise (though there is the occasional party) but it is one of the most chilled places on earth. Our first house was less than a minute from the beach and on Wednesdays, it was (and will be again in the not too distant future) surrounded by the beautiful madness of Anjuna Flea market. Even during the monsoon, I love the spirituality of Anjuna, and to live within it brings you a peace that is difficult to imagine. Many a night, I have sprawled out on the day bed, staring at the stars, listening to the soft, seductive voice of the sea and my worries have dissipated into the ether...
So, cue return to good old Blighty for the coldest winter on record and some real soul searching – not the ‘what should I do today?’ kind but the ‘what do I want from life?’ kind. (Also got to love trying to defrost your car in -17 conditions!!!) And finally, the decision was kind of made for me – by circumstances that I couldn’t control. And as with all things that are ruled by fate, there was a time of fear, misunderstanding and pain before a clearer path began to emerge – the road was leading me back to Goa – whether I liked it or not!
So, after ‘Star Wars’ came ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and so our story went with Goa. On 30th January 2011, we packed those bags once again and headed through the lush green fields of England to the otherworldly environs of Heathrow – a stasis between home and a world once left behind – the sequel had begun …
Mumbai airport was as chaotic, hot and amazing as I remembered, but trying to negotiate its labyrinthine ways with six large suitcases, four carry ons, three tired children and a partridge in a pear tree was no joke. At times I wished I had Sam Gamgee (or even ruddy Gollum) to at least carry a bag if nothing else – but finally, we arrived in Goa. It felt as if we had never left and she welcomed us back with the most open of arms, but her charms were nothing compared to the utter joy on my husband’s face as we stepped through the gates and … I knew I was home. I was reunited with the man I love and the children were with their Dad – as we left the airport, mine weren’t the only eyes that were swimming with tears.
Giles had found us a house in Anjuna and as we drove through the towns and sights I knew so well, I wondered what would greet us. Of course, photos were sent over the internet, but they did not do the first ‘Casa Knapton’ justice (and yes, there is a second house – but, as they say, that’s another story!) Set in a blossoming, verdant garden, the house was (and still is) surrounded with a wraparound porch (many a glass of wine was consumed there after hours I can tell you!!!), bedrooms festooned with swathes of mosquito netting and a family to help with maintenance – Harriet and her husband, Vinod, and the gorgeous moppet Sweety – sweetie by both name and nature. Little did I know, a further trio were to be added to the mix – two dogs and a cat. Penaque – a soft, spotty dog and Tommy – a dog with more anger management issues than Mike Tyson – not towards us, you understand - WE equalled family - but anything that moved; a bird, a cloud, a bike – you get the drift. I mentioned trio – the final member was a cat known …erm … affectionately as LB. The initials stood for – well I’ll let you work that one out – but on the first night we were there, he decided to climb up my silk dresses, greet us with a dead baby rat and steal every bit of food he could get his little paws on – so LB was duely christened and was adored by Sophie.
Ah, yes, that brings me neatly to the children. Holly, as expected, has mixed feelings about her return to Goa being at the age she is, however, Sophie (Fuff) and Oscar – well, they have turned feral. Hair brushing, showers, and teeth brushing are but a distant memory and any attempt to get them clean is met with the toughest resistance since the Second World War. In fact, the sounds emanating from the bathroom come shower time often resemble the Blitz – explosions, screaming, hiding under furniture and that’s just me and Giles.
But the place – well, Anjuna rocks. Not with noise (though there is the occasional party) but it is one of the most chilled places on earth. Our first house was less than a minute from the beach and on Wednesdays, it was (and will be again in the not too distant future) surrounded by the beautiful madness of Anjuna Flea market. Even during the monsoon, I love the spirituality of Anjuna, and to live within it brings you a peace that is difficult to imagine. Many a night, I have sprawled out on the day bed, staring at the stars, listening to the soft, seductive voice of the sea and my worries have dissipated into the ether...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)