This morning's sad goodbye is to Laura (Michael is in the shower). I am super sad to say goodbye to these guys as they've been awesome company the entire trip (despite being hit hard with sickness). I am hoping they will come over to London for a weekend otherwise I will head over to Frankfurt - in the meantime there's always good old Facebook!
Keen to move onwards and southwards, Erin and I commandeer a dedicated driver for the day for the princely sum of £28. Our plan is to get an overnight bus or train down to Kerala later this evening / tomorrow via Palolem, a recommended Southern beach in Goa.
Driving out of North Goa we go past a number of schools where the names make me chuckle. My favourites include Little Flower High School & Chubby Cheeks High School. Clearly I would have done my studies at the latter and be very proud to have that on my CV. No doubt it is a fine academic institution.
Having realised it's a Sunday and the central ticket office in Panjim is closed we head to Madgaon to enquire and book tickets for our journey south skipping the state of Karnataka and heading straight to Kerala.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever tried to a) find the correct train in India or b) successfully bought a ticket? If you have - I bow to your greatness!
We queue for 30 minutes in the foreigners queue which is also for military and senior citizens. It doesn't move and neither do any of the other long lines in the crowded ticket hall. We eventually work out (with the help of some Ukranian tourists) that a form needs to be completed in order to buy a ticket detailing names, addresses, ages, journey details, train numbers, class required and inside leg measurements (OK not the latter I'm exaggerating). After the queue proves to not be moving Erin tries a number of strategies to get the info and tickets faster. I keep our spot in the queue in the hope that the issuing ticket officer decides to light a fire up his bottom whilst Erin scouts another solution. Eventually the station supervisor tells Erin to head straight to the front of the queue. We both feel a touch guilty about this however the young soldiers at the front are very kind and let us make our enquiries. We are told which train we need, it's number and fill in the form. Submitting the piece of paper we are told by the rather unhelpful and unfriendly man at the counter (his bottom still perfectly comfortable) that we have filled the form in incorrectly with no further advice. A local man (who appears to be with the soldiers) helps us to complete the form correctly and we resubmit. We have chosen 2AC (second class with Air Con) but are informed there are no seats left so we must please change our forms to read 3AC. The form is handed back to us through the grates and past the official's pen (which sits next to him on the desk) where we are asked to change the number 2 to 3 which we do and resubmit to him again. He reinspects the form, asks for our passports and eventually issues us with a ticket. We begin to appreciate just how much Ricky (and the back office) has done for us and how seamless things have been to date!! We are super happy we've managed to do it ourselves, high fiving each other in the knowledge we will be leaving from Madgaon at 21:30 on the 18hr sleeper train to Ernakulam and are now free to enjoy a day on the beach.
Sunny, our driver, takes us on the 1hr drive to Palolem beach and we are led down a narrow track road with market stalls, shops and restaurants. Despite some concerning similarities the vibe here is a lot more relaxed than the North and there is no honking! We head onto the beach and it's a beautiful sweeping crescent shape. Palm trees drunkenly lean over the miles of sand and there is a bond style island in the distance. It's LOVELY and I finally understand what the fuss is about. I'm gutted that the others only got to experience North Goa and am really surprised that our tour didn't bring us here instead. (A big thanks to Angela W for the recommendation!).
We settle ourselves in a pristine bar/restaurant/beach hut village called Ciaran's and enjoy some masala chai and a mouth watering fresh hummus and salad wrap. I leave Erin with Shantaram and head to catch some rays. It's an afternoon of reading, snoozing and relaxing with minimal distractions (there are still some local happy snappers but luckily Erin picks up most of the slack for both of us). The water is like a bath and we share the beach with a few cows - seems like these creatures have a good old life in India (albeit steak is starting to appear on menus the more south we travel).
We find a shower where we rinse off our day and grab dinner at another lovely beachside place called Cuba Goa. We sit on soft style seating at a candlelit table on the floor looking out onto the Arabian Sea. Chill out music plays, clandestine groups gather on the beach and beach bbqs, cooked on half cut oil drums, sizzle fresh seafood.
South Goa has redeemed the rest of her state admirably.
Before long it's the one hour journey back to the station and, with the help of another kind local (who gives us his number in case we need anything) we're safely on the train with our backpacks. Conditions are pretty much the same as our previous sleeper train - this time I take the top bunk and Erin takes the middle bed. The beds are tight for space, with a modest amount of head room but it's cosy. We are sat stationary on the platform for an hour and just as I start to get comfy in my little den, I notice a cockroach climbing out of a crack in the carriage ceiling 30cms above my face. I chase it back into the crack with a pen. A few seconds later it reappears so I chase it back in again. This game continues for a while until the train starts moving, AC starts and it disappears. My eye is trained on the crack for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure I blinked.
Blocking the thought of the cockroach crawling over me in the night, or worse still, me eating it, I am rocked to sleep by the gentle lullaby motion of the train ready to enjoy my final week in India.
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