Cows & Christmas On The Beach

Bike collection day came and went with the perceived amount of hassle living up to expectations! Upon arrival at the depot I was presented with a damaged motorcycle and then shown a bill for additional storage costs, No money changed hands and the GS is now fully serviced and ready for the impending departure to pastures new.

Arambol is renowned on the backpacker circuit for being the hippy quarter of this fine stretch of coastline, they have been coming here since the 60’s and it looks like quite a few never made the return journey home. They come in one size only, long hair, usually dreadlocked, beads and bangles wrapped around every available wiry body part and a war cry of “no, no 5 rupees” is often heard as you walk past a greengrocer bargaining hard over two carrots and an aubergine. The other characters come in the usual shapes and sizes, from Germans with their shoe string thongs and obscure hair cuts (and I don’t like the women’s get up either) and miserable Russians who only drink and eat in the Russian owned bars and cafes then strut around with bronzed shaven chests and wearing loin cloths, to the good old Brits that plod around like it’s Camber Sands looking for double egg, chips and a pool table. Oh, and one rare species, the couple of “overlanders” that rode all the way here on their motorcycles, yeah, they’re too kool for skool.

Israel did have a massive presence here up until the Mumbai bombings and shootings of November 2008 but have now been officially warned off by their foreign office so most have stayed away. It seems to be a double-edged sword for the locals because the Israelites spent a lot of money and partied hard, the few we’ve met have been extremely likeable and Arambol, including the shopkeeper’s pocket, is emptier without them.The beaches here are as a picture perfect as you can get with miles of unbroken white sand swarming with tiny crabs meeting shallow cliffs covered in coconut palms and jungle, it’s a shame that every local shopkeeper and domestic tourist sees fit to leave all their waste on the beach for the stray dogs to devour, obviously the plastic bottles eaten give them enough energy to run around yapping at the holy cows that leave a trail of dung in their wake as they amble through the town at five in the morning.

Having always done something for most of my life, the time spent doing nothing in Arambol is starting to feel mundane, the coast is idyllic, the food good and cheap, we have an apartment that is ideal for our needs and more but I find myself dreaming of days gone by and wishing I was back on the road. I should swallow this silently and do my best to do so, but Caf seems to have picked up on my vibe, probably because she feels the same! I miss not knowing what’s round the corner, the uncertainty of a strange town and what it may throw up, the excited feeling you get when you’re outside your comfort zone, people staring and pointin g, children clapping and waving as you pass them by, but if I’m being honest with myself, I think the challenges from now on will be run of the mill and fairly straightforward. India, so far, has been the most difficult place to travel around but I think that’s more to do with my attitude and what I have experienced up to now rather than India itself.But we are getting closer to our leaving date of January 4, Caf is getting ready for her first ride for nearly two months and, it’s CHRISTMAS DAY

Weird, for some reason I’ve just looked up to a beautiful clear blue sky and realised I haven’t see an airplane vapour trail for what must be about three months, strange, oh well.