Day 30 - Heading for Wine Country
5. februar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 21 °C
11:00
It’s moving day, and I’m heading around 150 miles North East into India’s foremost wine country, centred around Nashik. I’m currently in the back of a cab, making my way to Kalyan Junction, a big station on the suburban network out of Mumbai. My journey is very much a reverse of the trip up the mountain on Monday. 10 min hike to the tuk-tuk stand, e-tuk to the car park, crazy fast van driver down the last bit of the foothiils. Now I actually know how it works, it’s a pretty straightforward proposition.
What is less straightforward is my cab to Kalyan Junction. I have the same driver as Monday, Santosh. The road between Neral and Kalyan is in a significant state of disrepair. As is his cab. I don’t think it has any rear suspension at all to speak of, and the front springs are on their last legs. He’s fairly conscientious about avoiding the worst of the bumps, but as he spends 90% of his time shouting at someone on his phone, he does miss some. It’s a nausea inducing experience. It’s about 90 minutes up to Kalyan, but I suspect will feel much, MUCH longer…
12:10
Santosh deposits me *near* the station, but says he cannot get closer because the traffic is too bad. He’s not entirely lying. The traffic is awful. I’ll try and get some pics for you. It’s a head fuck. I make my way to the station, mainly to prove to myself that it is where I (and GoogleMaps) think it is, and then consider how best to spend the 90 minutes until my train departs. Definitely a toilet visit of some description required, and ideally a beer.
I set off in the direction of I know not what, conscious that I’m a big guy, carrying a lot of luggage, and doing my utmost not to bump into people. Ultimately, it’s a fruitless task, as the walkways are SO crowded with people, many carrying bulky items. I pitch up at a bar/restaurant a few hundred metres from the station, and order the coldest Kingfisher available. Down the mountain, the temperature is noticeably hotter. The mercury should nudge 35C today, and it feels it.
The waiter dude brings me my beer. It’s a Kingfisher Strong. Uh-oh. I’ve at least spotted it before ploughing into my 2nd, 3rd and 4th, as I so nearly disastrously managed to do in Cochin many years ago. Kingfisher Strong is a close blood relative of Tennents Super / Carlsberg Special Brew. It has a notable bitter twang in the palate, and is rated at ‘approximately’ 8% alcohol. The truth is that it’s typically between 8% and 11%. In the years since I was first hoodwinked by this little bastard of a beer, there have been strengthening in the regulations of Indian brewers to try and bring some consistency and control to the fermentation process. Everyone I speak to says that this has failed miserably. I shall be cautious. No-one needs a drunk Tim on the train to Nashik…
There’s a pervasive smell to Kalyan. I’m not 100% sure how to describe it. Were you to press me, I’d probably say it’s fetid. It’s almost like you’re constantly walking 10m from a toilet that’s overflowing. It could be a result of the part of town in which I find myself, but I suspect not. Maybe there’s been a plumbing catastrophe, and it’s only temporary, but I suspect not. It reminds me of my very first arrival into Mumbai, and the heavy blanket of odour that sits across the city. It was noxious to me on arrival, but even a few hours later, I barely noticed it. I’m always amazed at the human brain’s willingness and ability to adapt to most situations with which it’s presented. The new normal can become the new normal incredibly quickly…
13:30
Not gonna lie. Very nearly ended up the wrong train just now. I would like to be absolutely clear that correlation does not equal causation, and that my recent Kingfisher Strong escapade had nothing to do with my error.
From the bar, I manage to find platform 4, and find somewhere to sit down at what I think is the right end of the platform. Indian trains are LONG - typically about 650 metres, and are formed of 20+ carriages. You want to ensure you get on at or near the right point for your berth, or you could spend upwards of an hour trying to reach where you should be.
I check IRCTC’s website, and it says my train is running on time, and should arrive into Kalyan at 13:07. Sure enough, a train DOES arrive at 13:07, but it’s allegedly the 11011 train, not the 12071 that I need. To be certain, I check at the train manager’s carriage - yes, he has a whole one to himself. I ask if this is the Nashik train. Yes! Yes he nods! No equivocal head wobble here. Yes! Jump aboard! I do so. But something feels not quite right. The train carriages aren’t in the layout I was expecting. I’m supposed to be in coach C1, but there’s no C1. Where is C1?! I jump off, and ask a platform guard if this is the 12071 to Nashik. No, he says, that’s coming in fifteen minutes… I’m struck that much of life in India is choosing which version of two truths to trust. IRCTC say this is my train, but the human in front of me disagrees. Whilst tech in India has come a long way in recent years, I’m trusting the human on this occasion. 10 minutes later, my trust is proved to be well placed. My train arrives, and the a/c carriage car is blissfully cool…
22:40
Biryani! I’ve finally got my paws on an amazing mutton biryani, but more of that later.
The train journey passes in the flash of an eye. Just a shade over 2 hours. I spend most of it gazing out of the window, which sadly is the muckiest train window I think i’ve ever seen. The passing scenery is fairly arid, with occasional outbreaks of lush greenery around rivers or bodies of water. We pass through countless small villages, each showing a simple version of life in progress.
We pull into Nashik pretty much on time at 15:30. I ping my driver to check where he is, but he’s still 15 minutes away, I park up in the shade, using my rucksack as a seat. A very sweet chap called Mahendra asks if it would be ok to talk to me. He’s in his late 20s, and speaks pretty serviceable English, but likes to take any opportunity to improve. He works as an engineer at a robotics company - cool! We talk cricket, politics, and religion. We should probably fall out over one or all of these, but don’t. It helps pass the time.
Arriving at my hotel, I discover it’s several steps plusher than I’d expected. My room is proper smart. When I head down for dinner, I do so wearing an actual t-shirt, and sans bandanna, for fear of looking like an urchin.
Dinner is a treat. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and am pretty peckish. I order a chicken kebab of some description from the tandoor, and a mutton biryani, apparently cooked in the Hyderabadi style, not that I know what that means. The kebab is sensational. Highly spiced, hot with chilli powder, and incredibly juicy. The mutton biryani is beyond good. Tender pieces of goat, braised on the bone, and served with an incredibly tasty baked rice. It’s served with a dough dome over it, which serves to keep the steam in, and keep the rice moist and tender. I’ve been so excited to have a proper mutton biryani since arriving, and was sad to miss out on the chance to enjoy this special dish in Lucknow, where it’s revered to almost religious levels. This is a good stand-in though.
While I eat, there’s a guy warming up on the acoustic guitar. He noodles for far longer than I think is appropriate, and I start to worry that this is all he’s going to do. He eventually launches into some actual songs. I could swear that one of them is a cover of a Smiths song, only sung in Hindi. Maybe not, but you get the gist.
After an early start this morning, I can feel the fatigue around my eyes. I head back up to my room, and briefly consider chucking a movie on, before realising this is overly ambitious…Les mer
Day 29 - Matheran = Surprisingly Hilly.
4. februar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 19 °C
10:00
I took a Zopiclone last night, to ensure a good night’s sleep. It worked - to an extent. I’m deep in my sleep, until woken by a very loud doorbell just after 08:00. I pad to my door, and am met by a very enthusiastic chap who tells me it’s time for breakfast. Now, I know that breakfast is served between 08:00 and 10:00, so knocking me up moments after breakfast has started is pretty much a sackable offence. I clearly have a scowl on my face, as the chap looks a little crestfallen. Guilt ridden, I throw some clothes on and head for breakfast.
It’s served in a very pretty little courtyard by the swimming pool. There are 3 tables laid, and I suspect that reflects the incredibly low level of occupancy at the resort at the moment. It’s definitely not peak season, and I have to remind myself that I’m staying Monday and Tuesday nights, which are unlikely to be rush hour. The 08:00 unrequested alarm call makes sense now. I highly suspect that the service team are hoping to get everyone served ASAP - whether to crack on with other tasks, or take some time off, I’ll leave to you to judge.
Breakfast is unlike anything I've had on this trip, but redolent of breakfasts I’ve experienced on previous journeys, particularly when I’m further off the beaten tourist path. It starts slowly, but food continues to emerge from the kitchen until I have to request, beg that no more is brought. I start with a small bowl each of a tasty dhal, and an aubergine and yoghurt based concoction. Both very tasty. I’m given a chapati, a paratha, and a bready concoction, the name of which I couldn’t even begin to tell. I think there’s some coconut in there, but beyond that I’m clueless. As I finish the one that’s on my plate, the next one is immediately placed down. I’ve a mouthful of food, so can’t even decline. While he’s there, the guy decides that I need another paratha, and another chapati - just in case, like.
I finish the dhal and yogurt thing, and assume this means I’m done. Noooooo. First, the increasingly excited chap tries to offer me more of each. Not one to be done twice by the same ruse, my mouth is clear, and I quickly (but politely) say no. Next, I’m brought papads, some mint and coriander chutney, and some lime pickle. All delicious, but also rather unnecessary. I manage a couple of the papads, just to show willing. Surely that’s it now?
Nooooo. A big bowl of watermelon slices are presented to me. I wish I’d known about these before. I LOVE watermelon, and would happily have polished off the lot. As it stands, I manage a few slices, before pushing the plate away from me, feeling ever more like Monty Python’s Mr Creosote. A final platter emerges. I use the word platter to distinguish it from a plate, because a platter’s bigger, right? There’s yet more bread on it, toasted this time, and served with butter and jam. Now, I’m of the generation of British kids that didn’t leave food on the plate, so my instincts, my very DNA is telling me that I have to eat everything presented in front of me, whether I asked for it or not. The reality is that I just can’t fit much more in. I have a piece of toast, because I feel I’d be being incredibly rude if I didn’t. But I BEG the guy not to bring any more food. I don’t know if they were planning to, but I want to get ahead of the game…
The combination of Zoplicone and too much food takes me down. Back at my room, I can’t not have a nap….
16:44
I sleep for just over an hour, and then spring into something resembling action. Matheran has some great hiking opportunities to view points across the valleys that run down from the mountain. It’s noticeably cooler than at sea-level, but the sun is still warm and strong.
I head out a little before 12:00, initially heading for the enigmatically named All is Well Khandala Viewpoint Café. The views are stunning, and I suspect would be even moreso if the heavy haze that sits across the valley were to dissipate. I’m unsure whether this is due to wildfires (of which there are many in the surrounding area) or a general pollution haze, or maybe even both.
The town of Matheran is known as a hill station - a generic term applied to holiday towns that are (surprise surprise…) found at the top of hills. Their popularity is based largely around the ability of Indians to depart the steamy Summer in coastal cities, and head for cooler conditions in the mountains. This may come as something of a shock to you, but my hikes prove to be quite a lot hillier than I’d anticipated. To reach Echo Point, I walk for 25 minutes into the forest, and the path undulates more than just a touch. Most visitors are making the journey on horseback, but I’m stupidly determined to stick to movement on foot.
The views along my hike are again beautiful, but hazy. At one point I’m attacked (I’m not kidding) by a couple of monkeys. I think they’re attracted to the straps on the back of my rucksack. They keep jumping up behind me and trying to grab onto my bag. I quickly learn that the universal cat command of ‘psssssht!’ does not work on monkeys. Neither, sadly, does a stern ‘NO’ that I would use for a dog. Exasperated, I deliver a swift ‘Bhaad mein jao’ and this has a little more effect. They follow me for a couple of hundred metres, looking increasingly grumpy.
The sun is getting warmer. It’s up around 30C today, and I’ve walked about 6km. I definitely deserve a sharpener. There’s a bar in town, and I plonk myself in a booth. It’s the most stereotypically idiosyncratic Indian bar I can remember visiting - in that it’s entirely like every other Indian locals bar I’ve encountered off the tourist trail, but the individual characters I meet are unique. I spend a very happy couple of hours, day-drinking with gap-toothed locals. Our shared language map is not significant, but we form a bond over a fondness for beer, and a strong belief that a well structured forward defensive stroke is a thing of absolutely wonder.
Time’s getting on, and I want to rest up a little before heading out for an evening hike to a sunset spot. Maybe just a quick nap?
22:30
What a fun / odd afternoon and evening!
I head out around 17:30, conscious that I’m quite a bit further North than Goa, and sunset will be that much earlier. I’m heading for Lord’s Point, an acclaimed sunset viewpoint. I’m quickly conscious that I’m walking almost entirely downhill. I’m no idiot, and I’m fully aware that for every step downhill, there’ll be one uphill in return. After 10 minutes of clambering down some fairly steep gradients, I consider turning back. I have a quick word with myself, and head onwards.
It takes me pretty much a half hour to reach Lord’s Point, and the view is incredible, if once again a little hazy. I won’t see the sun get anywhere near the horizon, as there’s a fucking great mountain in the way, but it’s very pretty to look at.
I start the march back uphill. It’s tough going. I stop a few times, ostensibly to take a photo, but actually to rest and gulp some water. The return journey is markedly longer than the downwards version, and when I reach Matheran, I feel fairly smug about my achievement. I’ve done over 18,000 steps today, and the vast majority feel like they’ve been up or downhill.
I reason with myself that I definitely deserve a beer, so head back to Pramod, scene of my afternoon fun. I’m welcomed back like an intrepid explorer, and am quickly wrapped up in the conversation of the bar. I don’t understand any of it, but it’s fun to be included. I’m slightly shocked when some actual white people walk in. They’re the first non-Indian faces I’ve seen since leaving my accommodation in Morjim early yesterday morning. I somehow get conned into ordering 3 large Kingfishers, at which point the bifta starts getting passed around. Oh dear…
Whether coincidental or not, I can’t say - but I suddenly realise I’m acutely hungry. I’ve not had any food since my admittedly gargantuan breakfast, and I’ve done some moderate hiking since then. My guesthouse is apparently known for their food offerings, so I figure I’ll try there.
The dining room team seem a little taken aback when I tell them I’d like some dinner. It’s about 20:30, and dinner is allegedly served between 20:00 and 22:00. They hand me a menu (of sorts) which is not in English. I *think* it’s Hindi, but couldn’t swear to it. I stand no chance. I ask what’s good, and am directed to something that I neither properly hear, not understand. I agree.
The team set up a table for me in the courtyard, and then stand next to me. Not near me; next to me. They’re surreptitiously trying to take selfies with me in them. I ask if they’d like to take a proper photo, and they jump at the chance. Several times in fact. This town is full of drunks and lunatics. I suspect if I spent much more time here, I might get elected their leader.
When my food arrives, it is some fried rice with some interesting looking balls. Yes - I briefly consider whether they are ball balls, but a quick Google tells me that the hotel only serve pure-veg (i.e. vegan) food. The balls are good! I think there’s some minced cauliflower in there, a ton of fresh ginger, quite a bit of chilli, and some onion, along with some spices. It’s served in a sauce with some of the same flavours, and I think some cardamom. Alongside is a perfectly serviceable fried rice. After the beers I’ve had, it’s just a great way to soak up some of the booze. I finish eating around 21:30, and realise that most of the team has already fucked off. I think the low season / low occupancy combo means that they’ll take every bit of down time that they can.
I’m not mean-spirited, so quickly settle my bill, pad back to my room, and collapse in a heap on my bed. I’ve earnt my sleep tonight, for sure…Les mer
Day 28 - A Looooooooong Day.
3. februar 2025, India ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C
13:00
One train journey, as it turns out, is all it needs to restore largely my faith in the India I travelled through in 2007. But we’ll get to that…
I manage to sleep pretty well. I’m awake a touch before my alarm, but not disastrously so. I’m up and packed pretty quickly. There’s some small confusion when I get two different messages from ‘my driver’ for the journey to Pernem station, but I suspect there’s a gremlin in the Indian administrative machine. My ‘actual’ driver knocks dutifully on my door just before 09:00 to let me know he’s arrived, and I dutifully trot downstairs with my various bags a few minutes later.
The journey to Pernem takes maybe 40 minutes. I spend most of it saying goodbye to Goa. I’m sad to leave. I’d forgotten just how much I love this tiny Indian state. I/we WILL be back, for sure, and more quickly than the 12 year gap since our last visit.
Pernem station is a small, provincial station, certainly compared to the other junctions from which I’ve joined trains in the past month. We’re only 50 miles up the track from Margao, where the train originated. Despite this, the train is running late. It’s 45 minutes late leaving Margao - which coincidentally was only a 20 minute drive from where we were based in Patnem. I keep an eye on progress on the Indian Railways app, which is woefully slow to update. It matters not. I’m perfectly content sitting and reading my book until the train eventually arrives…
A weirdness of booking my trains a couple of months in advance is that I don’t know where my berth is. The train lists are typically written up just before the train departs, and the IRCTC (Indian Railway) website hasn’t had time to update with my specifics. I jump on board the train, and spend 15 minutes interrogating pretty much any passerby as to whether they know where I should be. I’m in the right carriage, but beyond that, I’m clueless. A guard finally takes pity on me, and shows me to my berth. It’s a 4 seater - similar to the one I travelled to Nagpur in from Agra. It features the same rock solid seating, so there’s that.
As I stow my bags, it’s occupied by one other passenger, who quickly introduces himself as Denzil. We exchange pleasantries while the train is waiting to depart. It’s only after we’ve left the station that he conspiratorially asks me if I drink beer. I’m not 100% sure what’s going on, but I say yes - beer is my favourite. He rustles around in his rucksack, and finally emerges with a bottle of Kingfisher Ultra. He says it’s not that cold, so needs drinking quickly. I respond in the affirmative.
With this friendship gesture behind us, we sit and chat contentedly for the next two hours. He’s 64, lives near Mumbai, and is on his way back to Mumbai from Kerala, where he’s been visiting his sister. We talk architecture, the change in Indian attitudes over the past 20 years, and cricket. About halfway through our chat, he passes me a second beer. It transpires he is diabetic, so has to avoid beer. I ask if that means he avoids alcohol completely, and he laughs the laugh of the demented. He passes me a plastic bottle in a black plastic bag. I sniff it. FENI.
I cannot express strongly enough how much this smell brings back a mishmash of pleasant and unpleasant memories. Feni is poison - literally in some cases. It takes the worst of moonshine tradition, and blends it with shonky hygiene and even worse taste. It smells and tastes rank. Its alcohol content is somewhere between 30 and 70%. Even the producer of the Feni can’t tell you exactly… I first tried it on my 30th birthday, and fell off my chair. To be fair, I’d been drinking reasonably heavily all day, but the Feni quickly and violently finished me off. Denzil offers me a swig, and I refuse, in the most polite but firm terms possible.
At one of our scheduled stops, Denzil slips one of the chai boys 100 rupees, and he (the chai boy) returns with a small bottle of local brandy, called Honey Bee. It transpires there’s quite the racket going on. India trains are meant to be dry, but are anything but. On my very first train from Mumbai to Goa in 2007, my colleagues and I bribed the guard to let us smoke in our compartment. It cost us maybe £2, and the guard didn’t even stop to think about it. It’s a very civilised form of travel.
Denzil is incredibly sweet. When the lunch guy comes around asking for out options, he orders for me (asking whether I want veg or non-veg), and asks for tourist spicy. He doesn’t check any of this with me, obviously. I think he’s quietly and slowly adopting me. He says I must message him when I arrive in Mumbai, as he would love to host me for dinner at his house.
To be clear, we have another 7 hours to go until we arrive into Panvel, where both of us will depart the train. I’m a little concerned about what he’ll be trying to offer me by the time we actually get there…
17:05
My 4 berth compartment is now full. It’s 17:00 in the afternoon, and everyone is sleeping but me. Good old Denzil is snoring away on the other lower berth, opposite me. He’s wearing a piece of clothing called a lungi - think a sarong and you won’t be a million miles away. It’s worn by many men and women in India, and I’ve always wondered whether it’s like a kilt - i.e. sans underwear underneath it.
Well, wonder no more. I currently have a less than ideal view of Denzil’s bum, winking at me across the compartment. His lungi has ridden up while he’s sleeping, and all modesty has been abandoned.
The hours since I boarded have passed incredibly easily. Lunch was brought around 14:30. A very tasty and hot vegetable biryani. It transpires that Denzil was NOT asking for tourist spicy earlier. He was saying that I don’t need tourist spicy - that I’ll be ok with whatever heat they bring. I am, but only just. I feel pin-pricks of sweat on my forehead and upper lip after just a few mouthfuls.
Around 15:00, we’re joined by a young lady, who immediately takes to the top bunk, and falls asleep. Another 40 minutes pass, and we’re joined my a middle aged gentleman, who immediately takes to the other top bunk, and falls asleep.
I’m momentarily tempted to sleep, but the bench is pretty uncomfortable. I’m also not down on sleep, so don’t really feel the need. Instead, I zone out, and watch the world go by…
20:30
Arriving into Panvel is quite the head-fuck. The station itself is utter chaos. It’s clearly a big junction station, with 12 platforms. It’s hugely crowded as a result, I learn, of the many people who live here and commute daily into Mumbai for work. There are about seventeen exits, and my driver, whose English is slightly worse than is absolutely ideal, is waiting at one of them. It takes a good 20 minutes to work out which one, and locate him.
We jump into the car, and he tells me it’s a roughly 90 minute drive up to Matheran. This is within expectations. I knew at the outset that today was gonna feel like a very long travel day. My remaining journeys will feel brief by comparison.
The roads out of Panvel echo the train station. Chaos and carnage, with just a dash of crazy. We’re on the highway towards Pune, and it’s fully 30 minutes before we get out of 2nd gear. I can’t see the surrounds too well in the dark, but I get the sense that Panvel is quite an industrial city. The train passed some pretty full-on works on the way into the city. In the dark, all I can see are hulking shadows denoting where the giant buildings are hiding….
23:15
It’s possible I may have made a small error in judgement. When my good friend Manas recommended a trip to Matheran, I gladly accepted his advice, booked a train ticket and a guesthouse, and didn’t really think much about it again until a few days ago.
It transpires that Matheran is a combustion engine free zone. In fact, no cars at all are allowed into the town. The only vehicles you’ll see are electric tuk-tuks. Now, my cab from Panvel was, I thought, going to take me all the way to my hotel. No. Oh no. No no no. We get stopped at the bottom of a mountain, and are told that I must take a different taxi up to the top, at a cost of 500 INR. Righto. I’ll wrangle with the cab company tomorrow - right now, I just wanna get to my hotel, and get my head down for some sleep.
The guy then drops me about halfway up the mountain. Apparently, even he’s not allowed past this point. I have to walk 5 minutes into the darkness, and then get one of the e-tuks up to my guesthouse. It is at this point that the cell service drops out.
I wait patiently at the e-tuk stand. There are a few young Indian lads sitting nearby. I approach, and ask what’s what. They tell me that the e-tuks stop running at 22:00. It is 21:58. I ask whether it’s likely another one will be along, and… I get an Indian head wobble. I push, I say that I’m actually going to need a verbal response. I get a ‘probably’ and sigh deeply.
Ten minutes later, a tuk-tuk appears in the distance, heading towards us. My hopes soar. My new friend Santosh waves the tuk-tuk driver down, and asks whether he’ll take me to my guesthouse. He’d apparently been planning to head home. He acquiesces, but there's a price. Of course there is…
We ride a further 3-4km up the mountain, and pull up at a cab stand. My driver points me further down the road, and tells me it’s another 7-8 minute walk. I dutifully don my various rucksacks and bags, and head into the distance. 12 minutes later, I’m beginning to doubt myself. I’ve walked past any semblance of a ‘town centre’ and appear to be exiting Matheran. I look at my phone, which has turned into an expensive and useless brick. I ask at a little street shack, and am met with blank stares. I ask one of the dogs running up and down the street, and am met with a bark. There’s one building that’s got lights on, up a few stairs from the street. I start up them, in the hope of finding someone that can direct me. I ask the security guard where Adamo is, and he looks at me like I’m an idiot. It turns out that this is the guesthouse I seek.
Check-in is blissfully quick, and I’m shown to my room. It’s very pleasant, but all I can think about is my bed. It’s been a 14 hour travel day today, and I’m feeling every single minute of it.Les mer
Day 27 - The Saddest Goodbye
2. februar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 26 °C
14:20
Neither of us has slept brilliantly. I think it’s last day blues syndrome, but Vicki is adamant it’s due to snoring. The truth is perhaps somewhere between the two. Irrespective of the cause, we’re both a little on the jaded side, and not helped by the 07:45 alarm. What fuckery is this? We’re quickly packed up and on the road by 09:00. Vicks plugs into an audio book, and I watch the last couple of episodes of The Agency - a cracking spy thriller type thing on Paramount+.
The drive is quicker than expected. I’d anticipated around 2 1/2 hours, but we’re pulling up to the terminal a little before 11:00. I’m gutted to be saying goodbye to Vicki. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks, but the joy I felt at our meeting 5,000 from home last Wednesday, is equally balanced by the sadness at saying goodbye at this end of her trip. Indian airports are highly reluctant to let anyone into the terminal who isn’t actually flying, so we say our goodbyes at the drop-off point, and I get back on the road.
In a fairly unsurprising turn of events, it quickly becomes apparent that my driver doesn’t know how to get to Morjim, my overnight stop. He could get there from Patnem, but not from Manohar Airport. As a result, I direct him from the back seat. We manage to avoid getting lost - just.
My hotel is fine. You can tell Vicki’s no longer along for the ride, as I’m back at the slightly rougher and definitely readier end of the spectrum. It’ll do for tonight though.
I haven’t eaten yet today, so head down to Morjim Beach. It remains a very beautiful little place, but has become even moreso a Leningrad-by-Sea than our past visits. It’s weird - the whole vibe is a bit dulled and moody by comparison to South Goa. Even the service team in the bar where I eat lunch are less friendly than their southern counterparts - no doubt in no small part due to being used to being shouted at constantly by the largely Russian tourists that dominate the beach. In the hour I’m in the bar, there are 4 separate instances of voices being raised by patrons towards the team working there. I’ve not heard a raised voice in 3 weeks, so it jars more than slightly.
Lunch is good. An aloo palak - potato cooked in a spicy and rich spinach sauce, mopped up with some roti. I power my way through it, washing it down with a couple of Kingfisher. I amble back to my hotel via La Plage, a French focused beach restaurant that is (or least was…) spankingly good. I book a table for dinner later.
Back at my hotel, I read for a little while. I’ve got aims on a deep and delicious nap. At LEAST 2 hours. I hold on until Vicki’s boarded, and her flight’s ready to depart, but having been assured she’s ok on her flight, for me it’s next stop sleeptown, and no stops along the way….
23:00
WHOA. My afternoon nap turns into an extended sleep. Just over 3 hours. I wake up a little confused, but ultimately very refreshed.
I mooch for a while, and have a shower. There’s some confusion (entirely my fault) with shower operation, and I only twig after I’ve had a pretty cold shower that there’s a switch for an immersion heater that I woulda/coulda/shoulda flicked before attempting the shower. Live/learn etc.
I mosey down to La Plage for my 20:00 reservation. It’s a bijou and bougie little place, just off the beach. The menu is a wonderful blend of local ingredients, classical French technique, and styles from around the world. My starter is a great example - a ceviche (South American) of Kingfish (Indian) with green curry (Thai) flavourings. It’s brilliant. Astutely balanced acidity, heat and sweetness, perfectly seasoned. A sensational dish. My main is more traditionally French - a fillet of beef served with a peppercorn sauce, and some sauté potatoes that have spent quite a lot of time getting to know some beef fat. The beef is beautifully flavoured and well aged. I’m not typically a fan of beef fillet, but this is given some extra bang by being barbecued, and the charred finish is delicious. It’s comfortably the most I’ve spent on a meal for one throughout my trip, but worth every rupee.
I head back to my hotel via the off licence and supermarket for some grocery supplies. My 3 hour nap earlier means I’m not particularly tired, but I’m conscious I’ve got another reasonably early start tomorrow. I read for a while, before drifting into a deep sleep…Les mer
Day 26 - Fond Farewells. Fish. Frolics.
1. februar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
17:00
Saturday is brought to you by the letter ‘F’ apparently.
Our early morning is thankfully peaceful, and I have the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Vicki has had a mere 9 hours, but is conscious she needs to start to return to a more normal sleeping pattern ahead of work on Monday.
We’re (fanfare please) out before 11:00, and head to Cow Corner for a farewell breakfast, and to say goodbye to Andrex and Rufus. Darron and Debbie drop in to surprise us. They’re already packed and ready to go, and have a few hours to kill before their cab up to Dabolim Airport. Omelettes all round. 3 x Choris omelettes, and Vicki’s usual cheese affair for her. DD are wowed by their food, and rightly so - it’s a brilliant dish. Double D also order a bottle of wine. I’m instinctively tempted to join them until I remember it’s well before sun/yard-arm territory.
We head down to Namaste for the last time, and grab a few beers in the sunshine. It’s properly hot today. There’s little to no breeze coming off the ocean, and it’s a melty one as a result. The sand feels scorching even through our flip-flops. Debbie sets forth into Margarita country, and Darron hits the White Russians.
Wurzel and Zoe pitch up for a while, and we all say a fond farewell to each other. Not 100% sure when we’ll all be back together. Vicks and I may go to Sancho Panza’s Summer festival camping thing, as it sounds like a LOT of fun, and loads of our new friends will be there…
We pop in to Round Cube for a sharpener, and to say goodbye to our friends there. Honestly, it’s been a hectic, and emotionally charged day…
We settle back at our room for a rosé (me, obvs), rest and refresh before heading over to Palolem later.
00:15
An evening of highs and lows.
We jump in a tuk-tuk over to Palolem Beach around 19:30. Our driver is an angry little chap. His horn seems to be broken, so he takes to shouting and swearing at other vehicles/passers by.
Just walking into Dropadi, the smells of fish and shellfish on the BBQ are tantalising. We briefly consider the menu, before opting for a kingfish. When our favourite waiter dude brings over some specimens from which to choose, there’s one that is probably just too small, and that is almost definitely too big. We opt for the bruiser. We’re also presented with some incredible looking prawns, and it would be rude not to. We also can’t say no to some more of that amazing crab butter on toast that we had the other night. Fortunately, we’re both whatever the next one up from peckish is…
The crab butter toast is sublime. Some Indian kids set off fireworks in front of us. It’s a somewhat lacklustre display. Lacklustre is the last accusation that could be applied to the prawns that turn up in front of us. They are sensational. Absolutely perfectly cooked, super-juicy, and incredibly tasty. We’ve gone for a simple herb and garlic marinade, and it works brilliantly with the shellfish. Huge handfuls of nom.
The kingfish arrives to great fanfare. We’ve opted for simplicity to accompany it - some simple butter roti, and some stuffed naan. It’s a veritable feast. The fish is sensational - blackened in places from the BBQ, with enough heat in the marinade to keep things interesting. The flesh is moist, giving and a stunning texture. A dish for the ages. It is, however, just a little more than we can manage. We do, we believe, a bang up job, leaving only the merest morsels on the plate.
As we’re readying to leave, we tell our waiter dude that we’ve been visiting Dropadi for 15+ years. It transpires the restaurant has been there 23 years, and several of the same staff have been there the entire time. It is, without doubt, the best food we’ve enjoyed together in Goa on this trip. Nothing too fancy - just very high quality ingredients, treated simply, and cooked accurately. It’s a winning combination.
We jump back in a tuk-tuk to Patnem Beach. England are playing Ireland in the 6 Nations in Dublin tonight, and I’m keen to watch if I can get the tech to play ball. Happily, the tech stars align, and I get a pretty decent stream of ITV. Jams and buffers a few times, but actually pretty decent.
The first half is a typically tight and edgy affair. England are 10-5 up at the break, and just about deserve to be. They’ve played with more structure and discipline than Ireland thus far, but Ireland look like they’ve got a couple more gears to go through. The second half is, sadly, a fairly ons-sided affair. The final scoreline of 27-22 flatters England. Ireland were out of sight with 15 minutes to go, and a couple of junk time scores from England don’t paper over the cracks of their inexperienced team. They’re a good side, who need time together to flourish. Ireland are pretty much the finished article though, and run out deserved winners.
Curses.Les mer
Day 25 - The Final Countdown
31. januar 2025, India ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C
15:45
Not gonna lie - today’s been a breeze. There’s a small interdiction when Vicki is woken up at 07:15 by the kid in the room next door vociferously playing outside ours. She pops her head out the door, and has a swift and stern word with the parents, before quickly falling back to sleep. I, on the other hand, am awake, so crack on with the day.
I wake Vicki at 10:30, and we head out for some food a little later. Cow Corner - again. Their food’s just great, and it’s in a lovely setting. Vicki has another omelette, whilst I branch out into paratha with dhal territory. Delicious.
We head to Sea View for a beer / coffee, and both read for an hour. Honestly, it’s an incredibly slow paced, and yet incredibly attractive pace of life.
We head back to our room. More reading, more chilledness, a glass of wine for me in place of a snooze. I’m almost (ALMOST) a little tense about returning to the faster paced travelling life on Monday…
23:30
Suitably rested and refreshed, we head out around 17:30 for sunset and some food. We’ll head over to Palolem tomorrow to have a last dinner at Dropadi, so tonight we eat at our favourite of the Patnem eateries, Casa Fiesta. Couple of drinks as the sun goes down…
Vicki is hankering after a pizza, and has a more than acceptable version with anchovies and olives. I have an Achari chicken kebab from the tandoor which is fantastic. The marinade is similar to the tikka spice paste so commonly used, but includes some pickling spices, and some vinegar, which gives the final dish a great little hit of acidity, and some extra complexity in the flavour.
Around 19:00, we set off down the beach to Columb Bay, the location for tonight’s last party of the LHM event. The venue’s great. A real Balearic feel to it, and it’s got plenty of cool little hangout spots. Jim (one of my cooking buddies from yesterday) is spinning when we arrive, and is dropping a cool mix of chunk and groove.
The rest of the music is pretty eclectic. It’s neither of our favourite parties of the fortnight, but we enjoy ourselves. I don’t think this style of house is ever gonna move me in the way that some of the deeper and darker stuff that I normally play does. It’s cool enough to listen to, and fine for background. It’s more Vicki’s thing, but she’s not completely sold on tonight’s playlist. She has a few somewhat vigorous dances though.
We hang out with DD, Worz and Zoe, Milly and her other half (Dave?), and the time passes everso easily. It’s soon enough 23:00, and kicking out time.
There’s an after-party at a club a couple of clicks to the South of Patnem Beach, but we’re not tempted. We’re looking forward to a chilled day tomorrow, seeing Darron and Debs for a beer before they head off, and a banging dinner at Dropadi, and don’t want to do anything that might put these laidback plans at risk…Les mer
Day 24 - Cooking up a Storm
30. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
15:30
I’m up at what feels like an incredibly early time for the past couple of weeks - 09:00. My cooking class doesn’t start till 11:00, but I’m not 100% sure exactly where it is. I head off at 10:00, stopping for the very briefest of conversations with my mole-esque wife, who declares something in fluent mumble, and goes back to sleep.
I decide to walk over to Palolem via the main road, while the sun’s not too hot. It’s a bit up hill and down dale in parts, but I’ve got plenty of time. Walking along the main road into Palolem, I find where I’m pretty sure the class is going to be. I stop at a nearby café for a coffee.
I pitch up at the cooking class a few minutes before 11:00. Jim and Milly from our extended party gang are here, as is Darron. Also a couple of young (early 20s?) French women who are currently studying in Singapore, and who have headed over to India over the Chinese New Year celebrations. Also Ash and her other half, whose name I probably hear but instantly forget.
For the next 3 hours, we’re treated to a masterclass of cuisine from India generally and Goa specifically. Rahul is our Jedi-Master, and he teaches us to make 6 different dishes, all using different techniques or styles of cookery. There’s a mushroom masala dish, similar to the okra one that I’ve enjoyed so much at Art Resort; a traditional Goan prawn curry; a butter chicken masala; a humble dhal; a concoction the name of which I’ve forgotten, but which is a kind of cabbage and prawn stir-fry, but with traditional Goan flavours; and finally, the method to cook roti properly at home.
All of the dishes are excellent. The standouts are the dhal and the cabbage stir-fry thingy. The dhal - I finally feel like I understand what it is that elevates this incredibly humble dish to such heights. This may not come as a huge surprise, but it involves quite a lot of butter…
Lunch is sensational - a thali of our dishes, with the chapatti we made earlier, which I’m pleasantly surprised to find are excellent.
Post lunch, I waddle down to Palolem High Street to grab some cash. We’re running a little short, and need a decent chunk for our cab back up to the North on Sunday. Soon enough, I’m in a tuk-tuk heading to Patnem Beach, and the promise of an ice-cold Bira Blonde. Vicki has had a suitably lazy morning/afternoon. Up around 12:00, and out for some fun with Andrex the dog, at Cow Corner. We’d planned to head over to Agonda this evening for a sunset beach party, but it’s been cancelled. As a result, we’ll reserve energy, and have a slow and lazy day…
21:45
The afternoon creeps by in a maelstrom of nothing. Around 16:30, I posit that we should probably get cleaned up, and Vicki concurs.
Refreshed, we pad down to the beach, and find DD in Round Cube. We stop for a sharpener, then head further down the beach to Namaste to watch the sunset. It’s not a classic. Any sunset here is worth taking the time to experience, but the haze at the horizon robs us of the majesty of some of the sunsets we’ve seen in recent days.
Around 19:00, we order some food. 90 minutes later, we are still waiting. Darron asks a couple of times if there’s any danger of our food actually arriving. There are a couple of big tables that arrived after us, but whose food is delivered first. We suspect subterfuge. Finally, FINALLY - some food emerges. I have a better than decent chicken seekh kebab, which is really very tasty. I just wish I had the roti I’d ordered to go with it. Vicks, Darron and Debs’ food arrives a little after mine, and is also very good. Darron treats himself to a proper 1970s style chicken Kiev, and has a broad smile plastered over his face as he eats it.
Tonight’s not a late one. With the cancellation of the Agonda sunset party, we’re on a lazy go-slow. Vicki and I head back to our room around 21:30. We’re a little surprised to find a small pool party in progress. There are maybe 10 Indian kids (20ish?) sat around the pool, with a speaker emitting some questionable Indian hip-hop, and bottles of cheap alcohol strewn around them. Fair play to them, but hopefully they’re not gonna be noisy for too long…Les mer
Day 23 - Hitting Our Groove
29. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
22:30
Our days comfortably meld into each other. I’m awake a little after 08:00. I catch up on some paperwork, and then realise around 10:00 that I’m still a bit tired. I pop my head down for another quick zizz, and wake up 90 minutes later. Deluxe.
We collectively get up around 12:00. We’ve nothing planned today until this evening, so we’re in no rush. We head to Cow Corner, which is becoming something of a staple. Vicki has her fave omelette again, and I have a cracking fish-burger. Ultra crispy, lightly spiced, and served with some amazing chunky chips. Properly banging.
We’re umming and ahing about possible naps. I feel like I could snooze, but actually just need a chilled afternoon. We reconvene around 16:00, when Vicki proposes a beer at Round Cube. An excellent notion.
It feels hot today. The air certainly feels more still than recent days. A couple of Bira Blondes nicely hit the spot. I could put roots down, but we’ve got the formings of an evening plan. We freshen up, and head North down Patnem Beach towards Palolem. We slightly accidentally find a much easier path to get to the beach, that doesn’t involve quite so much mountaineering.
We head for Art Resort for sundowners, and to have some of their amazing kebabs from the tandoor. Chicken for Vicki, and a stunning fish kebab for me. Not 100% what fish it is, but wouldn’t surprise me to find it’s kingfish. It’s marinated in a spicy cashew based sauce, then roasted in the fierce heat of the clay oven. Outstanding.
We head up to Palolem Beach Resort, where tonight’s festivities are taking place. It’s pretty busy when we get there, and we’re starting to recognise more and more of the party crowd. We find DD easily enough, and bump into Brummie Steve, who I met at Feather Touch on Friday.
The music’s good - some of the best I’ve heard since arriving into Goa. Chunky, with some funk and grit. A winning combo.
Palolem Beach Resort has changed beyond all recognition. I stayed here in 2007, when my planned accommodation at Ordo Sounsar wasn’t fully constructed when I arrived. The slightly sad, terraced concrete rooms have been done away with, and in their place are detached wooden huts that look pretty good.
We’re not planning a late one, so head off around 22:00. We’re both looking forward to deep and delightful sleeps tonight…Les mer
Phil Perry is a promotor/dj who original ran the infamous Sunday Full Circle parties in Colnbrock, and before that parties at Queens Reservoir. He also owned 'The Lounge' in Kingston. Believe he now lives in Oz, or that way. [Matty]
If you can be arsed to read this https://i.discogs.com/9s6sl2BRrbkLoGRfkPKTrfec9… it may give some insight. [Matty]
Day 22 - The Day After the Night Before.
28. januar 2025, India ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C
15:00
We wake up around 12:00. Perhaps not the most restorative sleep I’ve ever had, but it’ll have to do. I don’t feel as bad as I probably deserve to, but I’ll take it.
We head out for some food at Cow Corner. I have my heart set on a Bloody Mary, but my dreams are dashed. A G+T is an acceptable substitute. Vicki has a 4 cheese omelette, and I tuck into a chorizo pulao - which is both hot and very tasty. It’s also huge. I don’t quite make my way all the way through it, but give it a decent go. We befriend a little cat who we christen Rufus. He sleeps contentedly next to us.
Our room is being cleaned back at the hotel, so we sit by the pool for a while. I’m feeling pretty jaded, and suspect a nap is in my future…
23:30
Nap didn’t happen, but I enjoyed having a rest, write and read. We head out at 17:30 to walk over to Palolem. The walk is much easier, now we actually know where we’re going. We park at Art Resort for sundowners. The sunset isn’t particularly promising, but ends up being pretty spectacular. Crazy beautiful colours after the sun has dipped below the horizon.
Dinner is at Dropadi with Double D. We’ve been looking forward to this. Dropadi is, for us, the best seafood restaurant in Palolem. We’ve been visiting the restaurant for upwards of 15 years, and have always been incredibly well fed. Our waiter brings some kingfish out to us to choose. There’s one that is the perfect size for the two of us. We share a starter of crab butter with toast. Exactly as it sounds. Delicious. Darron has a Cafreal prawn dish - a hot and spicy powerhouse. When our kingfish arrives, it is sensational. So beautifully cooked, moist and flaky, and a suitably hot tandoori marinade. Tremendous.
We jump in a tuk-tuk back to Patnem, and head to Round Cube for a nightcap. It’s not long before we’re ready for more sleeps…Les mer
Day 21 - Leper Valley
27. jan.–9. feb. 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 24 °C
17:00
I sleep pretty well again. Close to 8 hours, and only waking around 08:20. My stomach has been well behaved all night. There are still some cramps kicking around, but I think it’s the wind-down from the worst of it. Hope so, at any rate. I wake Vicki at the agreed 09:30, but realistically she’s not quite ready for today. She eventually wakes up at 10:30, and is on far finer form.
We head up to Cow Corner for some breakfast, only to find it’s closed on Mondays. We’d largely forgotten what day of the week it was. We head to Sea View instead, and have some pretty decent omelettes for breakfast. We’ve no firm plans until this evening, so spend some lazy time on the balcony outside our room, in the pool (me), and just generally chilling out.
Around 14:00, Vicki proposes a drink on the beach, and who am I to disagree with such sound judgement. We park at Round Cube, and watch the world go by.
We end up staying a few hours, and having some food. I have my first Goan prawn curry of the trip, and it’s fantastic. Hot with chilli powder, sour with tamarind, earthy with cumin. Mopped up with some steamed rice and tandoor roti, it’s quite the dish. Vicki revisits the Haryali chicken kebab she had a few days back, and it’s also in the very very good category.
Round Cube sits next to a street of shops that runs down to the beach, with some steps at the bottom of the road. While we’re hanging out, we hear something that sounds similar to a crow, but is not quite. When Vicki goes to investigate, it turns out to be an ultra-drunk tourist. He’s apparently been hitting the spirits pretty hard today, and is trying to commune with the many birds that occupy the nearby rooftops… He also sings. Very, very poorly.
03:00
Wow. This place is incredible. There’s something life affirming about raving outdoors, particularly in the heat of the tropics. We arrive at Leopard Valley (or as Darron has christened it, Leper Valley) around 21:00, and are struck by the beauty of the place. It’s huge - must accommodate 1,000 people, easily. It’s far fancier than other clubs I’ve been to in Goa - a smart swimming pool (which no one is jumping in - yet), a funky bar area, a cool DJ booth. The bar serves Bira beer, and I try their White (wheat) beer. Several of them. DD pitch up around 22:00 with Annalea in tow. We cavort, we make merry. It’s very much fun. The music isn’t exactly my bag, but it’s fun enough to listen to, and I’m mainly here for the company. We meet some randoms, have some boogie, and the time passes effortlessly. Around 02:30, we decide we’ve perhaps had enough for the evening. We pour ourselves (me) into a cab (WOW), and make for Patnem.Les mer
Day 20 - Roasting Hot Sunday...
26. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
17:00
The swings and roundabouts of Irvine sleeping are in full effect. I have a cracking sleep, much needed. Nearly 9 hours, which is going some for me. I wake up around 09:30, and gently nudge Vicki, as we’ve agreed an early (relatively) morning to get out and have breakfast. She is not best pleased. It transpires the 40 hours of sleep she’s had over the past three nights have caught up with her. She couldn’t sleep until 04:30 last night, and needs more naps before the day can start. We ultimately decide on a waking time of around 11:30, and when that time comes to pass, she’s in a much happier place.
My stomach appears to be behaving itself today, which is not so much a relief, as just very welcome. Was getting a little bored of the tummy jips. Around 14:15, we head over to Agonda, to meet DoubleD, Worzel and Zoe for lunch. We’re aiming for Kopi Desa, run by a European couple, and apparently serving a half-decent Sunday roast. Now, I’m not convinced by this. Our roast season in the UK runs from maybe September until April/May time. Roasts outside of that window are absolutely permitted, but they tend to be a rarity. BBQ is our summertime food king. So the idea of a full on Sunday roast in temperatures that promise to hit 35C today? Not so immediately attractive.
Kopi Desa is a cool little place. We sit and wait for 15 minutes for the others, because we don’t know in whose name the booking is. There’s a booking at 15:00 for 6 people in the name of ‘Adam’ but we can’t be sure if that’s Wurzel or not. It transpires it is. While we wait, I have a cracking mocktail called a Basil Smash - basil, mint, pineapple and ginger. Delish.
The food menu is varied, and there’s a ton of stuff I like the sound of, but I’m not here to be a spoilsport. I do the decent thing, and order roast lamb, which I suspect will be roast goat. When the food arrives, I’m more than pleasantly surprised. The meat is tender and very tasty, the potatoes are better than a lot that I’ve had in pubs in the UK, the gravy is meaty and has great depth of flavour, the Yorkshire is a pretty good example. It does feel a little strange eating this most British of meals in the Tropics, but I can’t fault the effort. I manage a couple of beers with my food as well. Not entirely sure how that’ll pan out later, but it’s part of my strategy to test how my stomach’s doing.
Chatting to DD, it sounds like a bunch of people have been sick the past few days, so I’m not alone. Lots of upset stomachs, some fevers, some vomiting. It could be that we’ve coincidentally caught some food poisoning from a dodgy batch of ice at one of the party venues, but most are beginning to think there’s a sickness bug doing the rounds of the party attendees… I briefly wonder whether I’ve brought the bug I had in Agra down to Goa with me, but keep that one to myself.
22:05
My stomach seems to be coping well with what I’ve thrown at it so far today, so I head out around sunset to catch up with DD, Vicks, Worzel, Zoe and some of the other party people. The sunset is a spectacular one. There’s a fishing boat on the sand in front of us, and the sun is setting just to one side of it. It’s a brilliantly clear evening, and we witness the sun taking its final steps beneath the horizon. Very special.
We have a few drinks. I read a little, we chat a little. It’s a very easy going pace of life. There’s some football showing in the bar - a Spurs game I think. Not interested…
Vicks and I decide we’re a little peckish, and probs wanna eat something this evening. We’re right next door to Casa Fiesta, who we think do the best BBQ fish on Patnem Beach. Their display is, as ever, awesome to look at. Countless snappers, bass, and prawns. A couple of smaller kingfish that we briefly wonder if we could manage between us. A huge bluefin tuna = easily 1.8m long, and a big kingfish, maybe 1.2m. We opt for a snapper. We’ve not had a whole fish on the BBQ since we arrived, and they look particularly good tonight.
It is. A brilliant, brilliant piece of fish. Served on the bone as a whole fish, and crisped up beautifully on the BBQ. The tandoori marinade complements without overpowering. Just a sensational bit of cookery, and a sensational meal. A few fireworks are set off just down the beach from us. Most power into the sky, and detonate far above us. One seems to be a bit of a damp squib, and explodes all too close to the ground for our liking.
Big day tomorrow, and my beloved needs to top up on her sleep, so early night for us…Les mer
Day 19 - Welcome to Brown Town.
25. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 26 °C
22:00
It’s highly possible that feeling much better yesterday led me to go at it a little harder than I perhaps should have. This devil-may-care attitude has come back to bite me in the figurative and literal ass. My stomach spends most of the day cramping, at times very painfully. My diet today consists of plain rice, water and flat carbonated drinks. Not the very funnest of days.
On the up side, Vicki banks a further 13 hours of sleep, Debbie unblocks her Chakras, and the time that I DO spend out of the room is of the most chilled out and blissful type.
Here’s hoping it’s Sunday funday tomorrow…
Didn’t take any pics today, so am stealing one of my beloved’s instead.Les mer
Day 18 - Feet in the Sand
24. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 23 °C
16:45
I sleep pretty well, and only wake at 08:30. Vicki, predictably, sleeps better, and only wakes around 11:00. Magical. At some point on this trip, she’ll stop sleeping 10+ hours per night, but it’s a ways off yet…
We head out for a late breakfast to Cow Corner. I want another of those Choris omelettes, and I want Vicki to meet Andrex the dog. Success on both fronts. We also meet 4 cats. None of the cats are ‘big’ over here. Adults weight perhaps 2kg tops. The kittens are particularly scrawny. Our boys at home could comfortably eat any of them as a mid-morning snack. They’re awesomely cute though, and one of the 4 we meet today is a very shouty boy.
Post ‘breakfast’ (it’s nearly 13:00), it’s time for hat shopping and beering - not in that order. We try and get a card advance from the main money changer in Patnem, and are told it’s a no go. We’ve got enough cash to last until tomorrow, but we’ll need to head over to Chaudi in the morning. I have a couple of Bira Blondes at Round Cube while Vicks tucks into an iced coffee. There’s a much stronger breeze on the beach today. The sea close into the beach is MUCH choppier, and a flag down at the waterfront is rippling in the wind. Vicks successfully haggles a hat down from 500 INR (£5) to 300, and is pleased with herself.
Back at our room, I decide it’s probably time for a nap. I read for a while, before drifting into a blissfully deep sleep for a little over an hour. My alarm wakes me with a bit of a jolt, and from a slightly bizarre dream.
Probs time for a quick shower, then over to Palolem for sunset….
23:15
What a fun evening!
We pick up Debbie, who’s having a cocktail at Namaste, and proceed to walk over to Palolem via Colomb Bay. It’s 17:30, and the raw heat of the day has passed. It’s still beautifully warm, but cooling. We get a little lost clambering over the hill between Patnem and Palolem, but not disastrously so.
We emerge onto the very southern tip of Palolem beach as the sun starts its sprint for the horizon. We park at up Art Resort, that I visited on Sunday. Debs and I share a bottle of Chenin Blanc and Vicki is delighted to find an alcohol free Heineken available. We collectively fill our boots.
Darron’s not feeling his very brightest and shiniest, so we crack on with some food without him. A veritable feast arrives - okra masala, palak paneer, a few different chicken kebabs, and lashings of bread fresh from the tandoor. It’s quite the dinner.
Debbie accidentally orders us another bottle of wine to share, and I’m beginning to see where the evening is headed.
Sated, and noticing that time is creeping on, we walk the full length of Palolem Beach (about a mile) to the very North end, to a place that used to be called Dreamcatcher, and which is now called Feather Touch. Walking down Palolem Beach at night is an eye opener. There’s a LOT more neon lighting than there used to be, and many of the businesses look a lot more permanent and fancy than they once did. Many retain their slightly dishevelled charm though.
We hear the party long before we see it. There’s maybe 250 people here - average age I’d say is mid 50s, and it’s properly bouncing. Feel good, happy house music. Bit of a moment when the DJ (Simon Dunmore) drops Prince’s Controversy, one of my (and Vicki’s) all time favourite records. Some of the DJing is a touch agricultural, but it’s a party atmosphere. No-one could give less of a shit.
We meet a random guy called Steve, who originates from Birmingham, but who has lived in Goa for the past 8 years. Amongst various other topics of conversation, he invites me to spend the day with him tomorrow, feeding chicken carcasses to birds of prey - kites, eagles, the occasional osprey. Can’t say I’m not tempted.
Debbie gets chatted up by some American idiot, who decides that her declaration of, “I’ve got a life partner who’s not feeling well,” is an open invitation to have a crack. Wanker.
There’s an after-party on till 03:00 in the middle of Palolem but Vicks and I are both ready for sleeps. We jump in a tuk-tuk back to Patnem, and are headed for bed not long after 23:00…Les mer
Day 17 - The Incredible Sleeping Wife...
23. januar 2025, India ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C
14:30
She’s awake, she’s awake!
After a shade over 15 hours of sleep, my beloved wife is awake, and ready to take on (what’s left of) the day. She has an innate ability to sleep like this. We both think the last time she did so was when we were in Bangkok back in April, and had had a long overnight journey with not much sleep, preceded by a hectic few days (for her) of work before departure. She’s a bloody marvel, a freak of nature, a sleep thief.
I, on the other hand, have been awake since 08:00. Had a slightly ropey night’s sleep, and had to get up at 02:00 for a somewhat emergent bathroom trip. Couple more visits through the night. Nothing too horrific - but probably just something I’ve eaten or drunk that’s not quite sitting as planned in my stomach. I feel a touch jaded this morning as a result, but need to get over to Chaudi, the nearest town, to get some more cash. The reluctance of local bars and restaurants to accept cards means that I need to top up.
The ATMs are India a bit hit and miss. I find one in Chaudi that will accept my card, but will only allow me to withdraw 10,000 INR at a time. That’s about £90, and won’t last long. I’ll check out the money exchangers at Patnem Beach, to see if any of them can do a cash advance on one of my credit cards.
I’m back at Patnem by 11:20, less than 30 minutes after I left. I said I’d give Vicki another hour or so of sleep while I’m out. I’m not quite feeling up to food, but have a masala chai and a banana lassi, on the basis that some caffeine would be nice, and the curd in the lassi should be good for the tum.
Around 12:00, I head back to our room to find Vicki in the deepest of sleeps. I figure that if you can’t beat them… I wake up around 90 minutes later, and gently nudge Vicki to life. She declares that she needs one more 30 minute nap, and then she’ll be ready to go. She wakes for what I think/hope will be the final time at 14:10. It’s an extraordinary achievement. One of her very, very finest.
22:55
My stomach’s still not in the very best of conditions. Not tragically broken, but I’m taking it easy today. Shortly after Vicki wakes, we pad down to the beach in search of a very late breakfast / moderately late lunch. The guys at Round Cube do well - my palak paneer is the best I’ve tried yet. The beach feels quite quiet today, and we find ourselves wondering whether the Wednesday party at Kala Bahia was a late one for many.
We decide to forego the sunset party at Agonda, and focus on rest today. I have a couple of minor toilet incidents, but feel well / confident enough to hit the beach to watch sunset. It’s a belter. Incredible colours. We watch it from the laid back comfort of Om Shanti’s beachfront deck, and it’s quite the breath-taker.
We’re both peckish, so order some food. A plain fried rice for me (in the interests of stomach recovery), and a chicken curry for Vicks. BOSH.
Vicks pops out around 21:00 to meet Darron and Debs for a quick drink. They’ve somewhat bizarrely found somewhere on Agonda Beach that serves a competent Sunday Roast. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but we’ll head over there Sunday to check it out…
By 22:30, we’re both flagging. Vicki’s been awake for almost 8 hours straight, and is urgently in need of more sleeps…Les mer
Day 16 - Fresh Meat.
22. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 23 °C
12:15
I sleep pretty well - sans Zopiclone in the end. Not that I decided against it, but just completely forgot to take one. I wake up around 07:00 feeling pretty bright-eye and bushy-tailed. I check on Vicks’ flight, which is somewhere over the Arabian peninsula, and looks to be arriving a little ahead of schedule. I mooch for a while, and head out around 09:00 for some breakfast, to a cool little bijou place called Cow Corner. They have a very cute little puppy, who I immediately christen Andrex.
It’s only a 300m walk from our hotel, but the sun is already beating down. Feels like a warm one today. Breakfast is a Goan sausage omelette, and is delicious. Goa was colonised by the Portuguese from 1510 to 1961, and there remain some clear links to Iberia - in the language, food and culture. Choris is a locally made pork sausage, which shares a ton of DNA with xorico/chorizo from Iberia. Air-drying meat doesn’t work brilliantly well in the humidity of Goa, so the tradition has become to pickle the meat in vinegar before it’s stuffed into a pig gut to mature. It’s flavoured with chilli powder, paprika, garlic, ginger and cumin. Here, they’ve been crumbled and fried to a crunchy finish, and added to a fluffy omelette. Banging.
I meander back to the hotel to get packed up. The reception folks weren’t entirely committal on what time I could get into our new room, but I’m hopeful It won’t be long past midday.
Contact from Vicki! She’s landed, navigated her way through immigration, and is in her cab heading southwards. It’s a good couple of hours from the new airport in the North of Goa, so we’ll hopefully see her around 14:00. Maybe I should kill some time by heading out for a beer. Oooh - Rosé in the fridge! That’ll do…
22:30
I write this as Vicki lies next to me in bed, gently purring as she sleeps. Bless - she’s had a tough day. She arrives a little after 14:00, and it’s great to see her! It’s also slightly strange, being 5,000 miles from home when we meet. I don’t *think* we’ve ever done anything quite like this before - travelling separately, and meeting in such a far-flung location. She’s managed a few hours of sleep en-route, including a good doze in the cab down from Manohar Airport, but I suspect today will be a low-powered one.
We head out for some lunch, and pitch up at Namaste, on the beach. Vicki’s on the lookout for alcohol free drinking options, but I’ve not seen any since I arrived in Goa a few days ago. She makes do with a banana lassi today, and declares it delicious. A lassi is part smoothie, part milkshake, and uses yoghurt as its base. V tasty. Vicki has a palak paneer, and also declares this delicious. I opt for a chicken xacuti, a wonderfully complex and smoky curry that’s indigenous to Goa. I’ve cooked it at home, and can attest to the complexity of the spice blend used in the curry. My recipe uses 18 different spices or flavourings. Where I’d feared this would lead to a massively confused dish on the palate, the spices are actually added at various stages of marinading and cooking, meaning their flavours are distinguishable. The one I have today is awesome - hot with both fresh chilli and chilli powder, and comforting.
There’s a party this afternoon on Colomb Bay, which sits between Patnem and Palolem beaches. We’re a bit non-plussed, as this has always felt like a bit of a hinterland to us, with much clambering across rocks needed to get from one to the other. We’re a little surprised (but not shocked) to find that there has been some significant development of the area. Several bars / restaurants, a small market, and some accommodation options. One of those new bars is Kala Bahia, the party venue. It’s a very cool spot, overlooking the water, with a decent sound system set-up. We arrive around 17:00 and pick up our event wrist-bands for the next week’s festivities. We grab a drink with Darron and Debbie.
I have to head back to our room, as I’ve a work call / job interview this evening at 18:30. Vicks decides to come with me, as she’s flagging more than just a little after intercontinental travel.
My interview is less interview, and more catch-up - with a couple of folks I used to work with at SHL. We quickly decide we’d like to do more of that, so get into specifics of what the job will look like, when I’ll start etc etc. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d had some nervousness about how quickly and readily I’d be able to rejoin the workforce. That’s largely based on having been out of the workplace for a little over 18 months, but also in no small part on the basis of age and relevance of experience. I’ve been humbled by the interest I’ve had in the past couple of weeks since updating my work status on LinkedIn to state that I’m open to work opportunities. I’d fully expected to take 3-4 months before finding the right role, culture fit and purpose. Having done so before I’d even planned to start my job search is gratifying and satisfying.
We collectively decide that heading back to the party at Kala Bahia is off. Vicks needs a really good sleep overnight to fully recharge her batteries, so she can go fresh at it from tomorrow. I briefly think about leaving her to sleep, and heading over on my own, but I’ve not had a nap this afternoon, so decide instead that a quick visit to the beach to eat some banging fresh fish is in order. We share a kingfish fillet and a couple of monster tandoori prawns. SO good. We womble/wobble back to our hotel, and Vicki declares she’s going for a MINIMUM of double digits of hours of sleep. I set an emergency alarm for 10:00. HOLD TIGHT.Les mer
Day 15 - Howzat?
21. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
16:30
I was awake later than planned last night. I drifted off around 02:00, having stayed up to finish the book I was reading. I’d set an alarm for 10:00, but am wide awake around 07:30. I try to go back to sleep, but it’s not happening. The AC unit in our room is a bit fritzy. Keeps turning itself on, and back on again - and beeping loudly each time it does so. As a result, I turned it off overnight, and relied on the ceiling fan to cool me, and it just wasn’t quite up to the job. On my way out for some breakfast, I stop in at the front desk, and update them of my cooling based woes.
I head down to the beach for some breakfast, and park up at Tantra Café. A lot of these beach front resto/bars are much of a muchness - same view, same drinks, same food, so much so that it often becomes a case of habit as to which one visits. Analee, Ashley and Natalie were sitting here last night when I was chatting to them, so figure I’ll give it a go. A cheese omelette and pot of masala chai hit the proverbial spot.
Darron and Debs are up and about. Also heading down to the beach for food. They join me at Tantra, and we contentedly watch the world go by for a couple of hours. Darron declares beer at exactly 12:01, and who am I to disagree with such powerful and concise decision making. Around 13:00, I pad back to my hotel.
I can feel an afternoon nap in my very near future. By 14:00, I’m fast asleep, and remain so until my alarm at 16:00. Couple of hours of top-up is exactly what I needed. There’s a beach cricket game happening between 16:00 and 18:00, which I’ll go and watch, but treat myself to a glass of rosé on my balcony while the sleep washes out from me…
22:30
DD and I meet at 17:00, and head down to the beach. We’re not entirely sure where on the beach the cricket game will be, but we guess correctly it’ll be near Namaste, which is kind of an unofficial central meeting point for the LHM crew.
The quality of the cricket is generally poor, but interspersed with moments of genius - on the part of the batters, the bowlers, and occasionally the fielders. Maybe 40 people have turned up to provide some moral support. We sit/stand around and gas. We seek regular refills from Namaste. I meet a few more of the ensemble cast. I know how poor my memory is for names, so I’m gonna just have to wing it over the next couple of weeks.
I’m not sure there’s a score being kept, or even sides particularly. It’s a lovely way to hang out, watch the sunset, and commune with fellow party-goers.
Around 19:00, I suddenly notice my hunger. I’ve not eaten since my modest omelette around 10:00, and need to feed. I head back to Round Cube, as their food looked great yesterday, and they have Bira Blonde in the fridge. Someone’s chucked on a CD of rave classics - early 90s piano house and 808 laden tunes.
I order a chicken Haryali kebab with some roti and raita. It’s outstanding. I make a biryani using a similar recipe back home, but the burnished, char-grilled flavour from the tandoor elevates it. I’m tearing chunks of roti, and grabbing greedily at the pieces of chicken, so hungry am I. My good friend Buppy brings me a replacement beer unbidden. He’s a good, good man. The total for my beers and awesome dinner is £8. Bargain.
Despite my afternoon snooze, I feel pretty jaded around the edges. I think the generally poor sleep of the past couple of weeks is still with me. I could happily stay out for more beers, but decide to treat myself to an early night. Oooh, and maybe a Zopiclone. BOSH.Les mer
Day 14 - Monday = Moving Day
20. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
13:00
I wake up with just the merest hint of beer-based grogginess. Yesterday ended up being quite a beery day. Today’s moving day, but Patnem is only a couple of clicks down the road from Palolem, so it’s no great shakes. I’m packed up and ready to leave by 11:00. I dump my bags at the hotel, and head out in search of sustenance.
I aim for Papaya’s, the beachfront guesthouse we stayed at in Feb 2013. It’s a lovely place with a very relaxed vibe. We’d have happily stayed here again, except that the bed last time was SO uncomfortable that both Vicki and I slept poorly throughout our visit.
I steam through a masala omelette for breakfast, and wash it down with one of Papaya’s world class iced-coffees. A cat befriends me. I shall call him Melvin.
22:00
I’ve had the best day of doing absolutely nothing. I get checked into my room at 14:00, and quickly determine nap. Only an hour or so, but ultimate luxury. I get up and spend some time relaxing by the pool. It’s hot today - properly sweaty. I somewhat begrudgingly get showered, and head out around 17:00 for sunset.
Debbie and Darron had a later than planned night last night, and are just emerging. I pop in to see them at a pizza place quickly, then head down to Round Cube for sundowners. They have in Indian beer - Bira Blonde - to which I could get quite attached. I have several. Definitely more than 4, definitely less than a million. The sunset is its usual spectacular self. Something about sunsets in this part of the world that I just find so life-affirming.
I head down the beach for a walk. I’ve not been hugely active today, and figure 20 minutes of beach walking should do good cardio type things. I walk past many arrays of sensational looking fresh fish, and mark a couple of in my mind as targets for dinner. I meet 3 of the cutest little puppies. I christen them Snap, Crackle and Pop. They’re adorable.
I head back to Casa Fiesta, largely because their fish display was my favourite, and the BBQ guy wanted to chat to me about fish. Large glass of Chenin Blanc please, a fillet of Kingfish, and a jumbo bad boy prawn. Oh. My. Christ. It’s incredible. I went for a simple lemon and garlic dressing for my fish, and it complements the dense, meaty texture perfectly. The prawn is other-worldly. The Kingfish is every bit as amazing as I remember. It’s a cousin of Mackerel, but one that grows to over a metre long. It has the punchy flavour and oily texture of mackerel, but with a finer, more delicate texture. Sublime. I’ll bring Vicks back here over the next couple of weeks, as she’ll love it.
I’m briefly tempted to head over to The Mount, where tonight’s party is happening, but decide against. Walking back up the beach, I bump into Analee and Ashley, who Debbie introduced me to last night. It feels like a decent chunk of the beach population is here for the music festival. I’m sure I’ll meet more/most of them in time…Les mer
ReisendeI remember at Papayas me and Vick had bruises on our hips from the hard beds - pretty sure we used the cushions off the sunbeds for extra cushioning!
Tim's TravelsWe certainly did! I haven't had a chance to sneak a peek into one of the cottages yet, but will keep t rying...
Day 13 - Sunday Fundays
19. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 25 °C
12:50
The last few kilometres of the cab ride were pretty sketchy, but as you can tell from the fact that you’re reading this, we made it. Hilia, the owner of my guesthouse had kindly stayed up to welcome me to Palolem. I fall, almost instantly, into bed, and am quickly asleep, with the AC purring gently above me.
I wake around 08:00, which is earlier than I’d have ideally liked, but later than I’d feared. I feel pretty well rested, and decide to go for a morning walk. My bearings are a little off. Palolem Beach is a stunning, c. 2km long crescent shaped beach. I’ve typically stayed at the northern end of the beach, but find myself at the southern tip on this stay. I aim for the beach, using the position of the sun as my guide, and manage to find it after not too many false starts.
Walking onto the beach stops me in my tracks. Staring first left, to the South, then to the right/North, it brings back physical and mental memories of previous visits, of some incredibly happy moments in my life. At the far end of the beach is a small island that I christened Jeff Island on my first visit to Goa. The sun sets beside it, and is one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen. I’ll head back to the beach later to watch it in all its glory.
I walk for maybe 20 minutes, and end up at the main beach road in Palolem. There seems to be less commerce activity actually ON the beach in Palolem. A lot of the guesthouses and bars/restaurants used to encroach way down on to the sand, so that particularly at high tide, there was a fairly limited amount of sand on which to walk up and down the beach. Whether it’s a response to falling demand, or (more likely IMO) a restriction by local government agencies, I’m not sure.
i manage to buy a vape in downtown Palolem, but it needs charging. Instead, I resort to my emergency cigarettes. Vicki made me promise to always travel with a pack, just in case… I park up at a cafe called Kansas, order a coffee, and light up. The first couple of drags are deeply unpleasant, but I quickly normalise. I’m conscious that I must look incredibly cool - at least 30% cooler than usual. I have a decent imitation of a Shakshuka for breakfast, and contentedly people watch and read for an hour or so. I’m pleasantly surprised to see some fairly young travellers in Palolem. Walking down the beach earlier, I’d have put the average age of western travellers at somewhere North of 60. Clearly, the younger crowd are hanging out in this hipster haven of flat whites, smoothies and avocado toasts.
I walk back along the road through Palolem village. I feel so incredibly relaxed here already. It’s not that the past 10 days have been stressful per se - but I’ve felt like I’ve always been switched on. Illness didn’t help. As we drove down from the airport last night, I could feel myself switching off, and I’m incredibly excited for the next two weeks of not switching back on.
Debs and Darron are heading out for lunch today, and then heading over here to Palolem as Darron’s playing at a bar later. I decide to forego the lunch part of proceedings, but I’ll hook up wit the later at 9pm Bar. It’s a mere 3 minute wobble down the road from my guesthouse. On the way back to Hilia’s I pass by a bottle shop that’s advertising a locally brewed craft beer. Gotta try some of that…
16:30
I’ve had a great afternoon. Almost nothing happened. I head from Hilia’s to the beach, and set up shop at Art Resort’s bar/restaurant. We were gonna stay here back in early 2022 I think. We didn’t in the end, because the Indian government had enforced incredibly stringent visa rules for UK travellers, as revenge for the UK closing its borders to Indian travellers during the worst of the pandemic. Petty doesn’t come close. We went to St Lucia instead, and it was glorious.
Anyways, the bar area at Art Resort is lovely - right down on the beach, with a cool (and cool) covered area. Today, there’s an afternoon Blues gig happening. A guy that I would guess is in his 70s playing more than decent Blues guitar on an acoustic, with a little harmonica accompaniment.
I order a Kingfisher, and am brought a large bottle - 650ml I think. i order another, but ask for a smaller bottle, and am brought a large bottle - 650ml I think. I ask for a third, and - guess what?
The sun is shining, and I gaze out at the beach for much of the time I’m sitting here. There’s a guy riding a bicycle up and down the beach. I think he does 5 full laps during my tenure. Maybe he’s lost, maybe it’s exercise. It matters not. There’s a thronging mix of beach inhabitants. Plenty of Indian tourists, plenty of western tourists. A real mix of ages as well - some young travellers (by which I mean in their 20s) and some as old as 70 at a guess. There are some kids of various nationalities,
A couple that sound like they’re from Manchester sit down next to me and order some food. Amongst their order is an okra masala fry, which - when it turns up - looks and smells sensational. When they’re finished, I ask if it tastes as good as it looks, and yes - it does. I’ll be back for some later. My plan (if you can even call it that) is to head back to my room, freshen up, then come back down to Art Resort for sundowners, sunset, and a quick bite, before heading over to 9pm for Darron’s gig.
Sounds simple, right?
22:15
The sunset down at Art Resort is a bit of a moment. I can’t exactly remember the last time I saw a Palolem sunset, but it’s been far too fucking long. I sit and stare for quite some time. The world continue to go by as I watch. The sun starts to hint at the horizon. I order some food - that okra curry the Manc couple ordered earlier, plus some tandoor roti. Banging. The okra curry is just sensational. I’m sure there’s nothing particularly complex about it, but it’s one of the nicest things I’ve eaten in quite some time.
I briefly consider a rest before heading out, but time is against me. I said I’d meet DnD at 9pm at 7pm. Confused? Me too. I get to 9pm a little before 7pm, and am told to do one, fairly abruptly. Come back at 19:30 is the message. I pop next door to a place called Mandala. When I walk in, there’s banging psytrance playing, and I settle down in a comfy chill out type area with a Kingfisher. Moments later, a dog voms all over the cushion on which I’m sitting. Happily, Debbie arrives, and distracts me.
Darron’s been allowed into the bar next door, and is having great fun playing his heart out. This isn’t an ‘official’ part of the London House Music agenda, but plenty of the same people are here. I meet some new friends, cackle with Debbie quite a bit, and decide that a decent night’s sleep is gonna be my friend.
Tomorrow, Patnem, and all that that will entail….Les mer
Tim's TravelsNope. All gone... Don't think anyone's built anything on the site either. Am trying to track down Serafin. He's apparently 'somewhere' in South Goa, but that's as far as I've got! He did set up a place on Agonda, then one on Talpona Beach, but neither are still going...
Day 12 - South a bit, West a bit...
18. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 22 °C
18:00
A cracking sleep. A touch over 8 hours, and I wake with my alarm. I’ve a few hours before I need to check out, and about 6 until my driver will come to take me to the airport, so I luxuriate for a while.
Around 10:00, I spring (lies) into action. First, a shower. About midway through my shower, just as I’m at peak lather, the water runs cold. I emit something akin to a shriek, and jump backwards from the water, very almost doing myself a major mischief. The water does not run hot again. Curses.
I’m packed and in the bar dead-on 12:00. The bar has finally been restocked - hurrah! I treat myself to a Kingfisher Premium. Sad as it is to say goodbye to Pench and the very kind team at Tiger in Woods, I’m ready to move on. I’m actually looking forward to some baking sunshine in Goa.
Mr Prakash arrives a little late for our 14:00 pick-up, but not disastrously so. I’m always amazed at how sanguine I am about time in India compared to the UK. It helps that I’ve got plenty of spare time in my day, but even so - I just kick back and read my book until he turns up.
This is pretty much the opposite of the drive down to Pench. I largely slept through that, and after 10 minutes on the highway, wish I was similarly fatigued today. We have around 7 very near misses during the journey - one with a dog, several with rickshaws and cars, and one with a truck that almost gives me a heart attack. For each, I’m stamping on the invisible brake in the back seat… It’s worst in central Nagpur, through which we have to drive to reach the airport. The road is perhaps 3 lanes wide, but there are typically 7 vehicles trying to occupy those 3 lanes. It’s not difficult to see why Indian roads are regularly judged the most dangerous in the world upon which to drive…
Mr Prakash drops me off at a restaurant that sits right next to the departure area at Nagpur Airport. It’s a little after 16:00, and my flight doesn’t leave until 21:15, so I’ve a bunch of time to kill. I’m conscious I’ve not eaten anything today, and thought a bite and a couple of beers close to the airport would help burn through some of that time. The restaurant has some Sula wines in stock. Sula is one of the better known (and better quality) producers of Indian wine. The climate in parts of India is actually pretty good for some grapes, and the standard has been improving throughout my time visiting the country. I have a half bottle of a Chenin Blanc which is really pretty good. Oaked, with some good acidity, flavours of apple and pear. Decent.
I have my first palak paneer of the trip. This is a staple favourite of both Vicki and I, and it’s something I make at home as well. A rich, spinach sauce with paneer - an Indian cheese that sits somewhere between halloumi and mozzarella. Not the strongest flavoured, but has a great texture for cooking, and can stand up to grilling / tandoor roasting if needs be - a tandoori paneer kebab on the BBQ is a thing of veggie bliss. My dish today is great. It provides heft and ballast, but with subtle spicing, and just the right amount of chilli heat.
I’m attempting to smuggle my vapes to Goa. I knew when I booked my flights that this would be my day of reckoning. I have two vape kits with me. One will travel in my hold luggage, packed away very securely with my electric toothbrush. The other, I will disassemble, and pack in various part of my cabin baggage, so it hopefully least resembles a vape. I’ve got other nicotine products to get me through if that worst occurs, but I’m hopeful that at least one of them will join me in Goa…
19:30
They will not. After much planning and scheming, after much thought and ideating, after much packing and repacking, they’re both taken by the folks at the security check. I’d largely forgotten the strangely Indian practice of x-raying your hold luggage before you check-in at the airport. It’s not the worst idea in the world, but it does rather work against my needs at this point in time. As a result ALL electronics must be carried in your cabin baggage, and this is my undoing. The security guard is very kind, just points to where they are and gently demands I hand them over.
Turns out, I would make a terrible smuggler. Debbie is giving me the down-low on where I can stock up with disposables in Palolem/Patnem, and the awesome Vicks will be bring me a new battery on Wednesday that I left at home for emergencies…
On the up-side, there’s a cool little bar in the departure area, and they also serve wine. Another Sula offering, this time their Shiraz Cabernet red blend. Also decent. Maybe lacking a bit of structure and tannin, but certainly not offensive,
23:45
The flight was quick and painless. I think the guy sitting next to me is on a plane for the first time. He’s maybe in his late 20s, and everso excited about the whole thing. He badgers the dude sitting by the window into leaning forward during take-off so he can excitedly film the whole thing. He’s travelling with a group of about 10 other young guys, all of whom seem similarly excited. If there’s an Indian equivalent to LADS LADS LADS then this is it.
We land a little ahead of schedule at 22:30. Dabolim Airport has had a MASSIVE glow up since I was last here 12 years ago. The entire terminal building has been replaced, and where it previously felt like a crowded cattle market, it now feels bright, open and spacious. Our bags arrive quickly, no doubt the beneficiary of a modernised baggage handling system, and I’m quickly into my cab.
My driver is actually from the less crazy end of the Indian driver spectrum, for which I’m grateful. Unfortunately, his headlights don’t appear to work, for which I am not. This is not such a problem on the big dual carriageway that leads away from the airport, as there’s excellent overhead lighting. A little further South where the streetlights disappear, not so much. I pop my headphones on, close my eyes and tilt my head back. Hopefully, this will not be the last entry in this journal…Les mer
Day 11 - A Day of Several Halves
17. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 16 °C
21:55
This day has seemed longer than entirely necessary. The alarm is an unwelcome intruder at 05:30. I could definitely have slept a good bit longer, and I find myself breathing a sigh of relief that this will be my last early wake up call for a good couple of weeks. It feels warmer than yesterday morning, but hardly hot. It’s still fleece territory. I just have time for a quick chai before my driver arrives. It turns out to be Mitan again, about which I’m pleased. He was both a good driver, and fun to be around. I notice he’s in a different jeep, and ask what’s what. Apparently they swap jeeps every day on rotation, which seems like a fair thing to do.
At the gate, we pick up our guide for the day - BR. I ask him what it stands for, and he says several very, very long words. When I look confused, he says that’s why it’s BR. We’re into the park at 06:45, and taking route 3, to the West. BR says it’s his favourite route, and I can quickly see why. It’s the part of Pench that inspired Rudyard Kipling to write The Jungle Book. The comparisons are easy to make. It’s much rockier than the other side of Turia gate - and with sparser foliage, which in turn makes wildlife spotting easier.
As is often the case, we open our morning with some spotted deer, some sambar. We stop by a tree, and BR points out an owl. I’m looking where he’s looking, but still can’t see it. It’s SO well camouflaged that it takes me several attempts to figure it out.
It’s not long till we hear our first alarm call, and it’s not far from us. There’s a spotted deer calling, and also a red-faced macaque. BR says this means a leopard is around. We close in on the alarm calls, and park up to wait. We quickly hear a sort of muffled grunting noise, which I recognise from my time in Africa. Yes, it’s a leopard, but she’s calling to a mate, so won’t be going anywhere. If we can’t see her now (we can’t) we won’t for quite some time. I ask BR if it’s worth waiting to see if the mate turns up, and he tells me it could be 5 minutes, it could be 5 days. Male leopards are apparently quite the playerz.
We set off in a northerly direction, and spend a little time birding while we wait for the next alarm call. There are some beautifully colourful birds in this part of the world. The green bee-eater is a personal favourite, but the various kingfishers are also beautiful to look at.
We hear another alarm call - langurs this time. It’s a ways off from us, so will take some time and effort to locate. We set off in the right general direction. We can see dust ahead. We’re not alone in the hunt. We’re getting closer and closer, and can hear a sambar that has joined in the warning chorus. I adore the collective that exists amongst animals. They’re all intent on looking out for each other, as well as others of their respective species. There’s a genuine what hurts one of us hurts us all mentality, which is so sadly lacking from much of human society in the 21st century. The langurs and spotted deer get on famously, and hang out together all the time. This, I’ve not really seen in Africa…
After a good 30 minutes of tracking, we come to a large clearing with a copse of trees behind it. Pounds to pence the leopard is in that copse of trees. The animal calls are constant. Everyone’s telling everyone else exactly where the predator is. The copse is maybe 60m from the track, and leopards are fiendishly difficult to spot at much closer distances. There are a few rustles in the grass, but no substantive sighting. The leopard suddenly decides to go aerial, and climbs one of the trees. I’ve seen cats climb before, obviously - but not one of this size, and so elegantly. In seconds, this 100kg cat is halfway up a not particularly substantial tree. I keep expecting to hear branches cracking and breaking, but no. And there she stays. I manage to get one photo of her - mainly her tail and her bumhole. Probs not one for the scrapbook. It is, however, always a heart racing moment to see a leopard in the wild.
We spend the next hour unsuccessfully tracking a male tiger that lives in this part of the park. Tons of alarm calls, but they’re moving around pretty quickly, which suggests that he is also on the move, and probably hunting. A little after 11:00, I suggest we call it a morning, and head back to the gate.
I spend most of my lunch break in the reception area connected to the only router on the property. Bit naughty - they advertise their rooms as having fast WiFi, but it’s bullshit. I asked the manager about it on day one, and got an Indian head-bob. I immediately knew which version he was using…
My driver arrives around 13:30 for my afternoon safari. It’s a new driver, and a new jeep. This bench in this one looks to have a *bit* more padding than the one I had yesterday afternoon, and my nethers relax a little… What’s a touch frustrating is that the driver has turned up with his kids in tow. I’d put them at 3 and 5? They’re babbling away contentedly while we bounce across the journey over to Khusapar. This does not bode well. Safaris aren’t exactly meant to be silent, but when 10 jeeps are gathered around a spotting of a tiger or a leopard, the done thing is to keep your trap shut.
We arrive at the gate bang on 14:00, and follow a parade of other jeeps into the park. Much like yesterday, the first 90 minutes or so is the very slimmest of pickings. Really not worth the bother. We spend a full 40 minutes in one stretch parked at the side of the road waiting for something, for anything to make some noise. Nothing does. Well - the kids do, obviously. I don’t think it’s remotely fair to ask a 3 and 5 year old to sit perfectly still and to be completely quiet for 4 hours. Of course I don’t. That’s cruel. That’s why I wouldn’t take them on this kind of jeep safari…
We end up spending a full 2.5 hours doing sweet fuck all. What we DO do, is a carbon copy of yesterday afternoon’s safari. Around 17:00, we start to hear a couple of alarm calls - one from a langur, and one from a nilgai (a large antelope). We tear off towards the calls. It takes us a bit of work, but around 17:20, we find 4 langurs sitting in a tree, making tons of alarm calls towards the West of us. A leopard was spotted here earlier, and that’s what they’re shouting at. We try and work a way round to where the langurs are shouting. Sadly, our time runs out about ten minutes later, and we have to head back to the gate. Honestly, a bit of a waste of an afternoon.
On the drive back from Khusapar, Mr Driver Dude takes a detour from the usual route. At first, I’m not sure why. It quickly becomes apparent that he has errands to run:
1) To drop the kids off at home (not a euphemism)
2) To pick up some grocers
3) To pick up and subsequently drop off what I’m pretty certain is a lump of hash.
Now, any of these in isolation would be enough to gently irk me. All three together just combine to piss me off quite significantly. Grrr.
Back at Tiger n Woods (which, by the way, is NOT a play on the golfer’s name) I ask for a beer. There is literally only Kingfisher Strong left, and that’s a road down which I really don’t wish to travel this evening. I ask if there’s anything else, and it takes a good few minutes of stilted dialogue with Ajay to learn that yes there is, and yes I can. Rum and Sprite, with a good squeeze of lime. I don’t suggest you try it. Sickly sweet, despite the lime. Needs the bite of ginger to be remarkable…
So, moving day tomorrow. Really looking forward to getting down to Goa and putting my feet up for a few days. It’s not all tiaras and unicorns, this travelling lark. What with rushing around, illness, and some early mornings, I’m ready for some proper R+R. And some beer. And some fish. And to see my awesome wife! Probably in that order, actually.
PS - only a few photos shared today. Bit of a story about that. It involves my camera running out of battery midway through transferring them to my MacBook, and it transpiring that I don’t have the required charger component with me. Fucksticks.Les mer
Day 10 - Tiger, Tiger
16. januar 2025, India ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
12:45
My alarm at 04:30 is not the most welcome thing in the world. Still - I dutifully jump out of bed. It’s pretty chilly in the room, and I don my safari clothes as quickly as I can. It’s still properly dark outside, and it’ll be a few hours before the sun starts to bring warmth. I leave my room just before 05:00, and head for the central restaurant area at the lodge, which is deserted. There’s no activity at all. I suspect treachery. Someone turns up a little after 05:00, and offers me a cup of chai, which is much needed. Raji turns up around 05:30, and clarifies that my jeep will be here around 06:00, not the advertised 05:00. It’s just as well Vicks isn’t with me, as she’d be FEWMIN at the lost hour in bed.
My driver ultimately rocks up at 06:15. Checking with him, that’s because the park gates don’t open until 06:30, and we’re only a few minutes drive away from them. I’ll know better tomorrow.
As we arrive at Turia gate, the dawn is slowly beginning to break. There are hints of light at the horizon. It’s still fresh, and most of the other folks are wearing big, warm coats. I’m quite enjoying the temperature, I’m wearing a micro-fibre fleece type thing, but also shorts.
As we head off into the park, we immediately start seeing wildlife. Initially some spotted deer, the most common large mammal in the ecosystem. A little later, a sambar, the largest mammal in the park. There are countless monkeys in the trees, peacocks here and there. We’re here for cats though.
Safaris in India are a more forensic process than Africa, where I’ve spent the majority of my time in the bush. In Africa, ecosystems like the Masai Mara and Serengeti are littered with mammal wildlife. Every turn of the head brings a view of animals doing animal things.
In India, the game needs searching out more. We spend most of the morning tracking - looking at pug marks (tracks) on the sandy road. We spot some tiger droppings on the road, and my guide for the morning, Rohan, jumps out of the jeep to inspect them more closely. He declares them fresh, and points to some pug marks that are heading in the opposite direction. We turn around, and head to the other side of a copse of trees. We spend 10 minutes parked up with the engine off listening for monkey alarm calls, and trying to work out where the tiger might have gone. The search is ultimately fruitless, but I enjoy talking to Rohan about the different sounds of the forest, the varying calls that the monkeys and deer make.
We stop for breakfast a little before 10:00. There’s a sudden rush of excitement as a tiger is spotted not far away. My driver, Mitan, puts the hammer down. We’ve been serenely making our way through the park at maybe 20khm, but he’s now hitting 50-60 clicks, and doing his best Colin McRae impression. The paths through the park are not smooth, and I’m seated at the back of the truck over the rear axle. Bumpy doesn’t come close.
We’re quickly around to the other side of the lake, and catch an all too fleeting view of Lakshmi, a 5 year old mother of 3 x 4 month old cubs. She’s on her own at the moment though, likely out hunting for her family. Even at 100m, she’s majestic, and so graceful. There’s a lithe fluidity to the movement of tigers that I think is only rivalled by the leopards I’ve seen. Several times as she walks through the forest, I lose sight of her, so brilliantly does her fur camouflage her. Orange and black stripes don’t necessarily suggest themselves as the best camo, but trust me - they work. They make her look slimmer too…
She’s moving through the park, and we head a little further around to try and keep up with her. Other jeeps have joined us now, and there’s quite the little convoy building. Whether she’s sensed this, and decided to steer clear, or has just headed in a different direction, I don’t know, but we don’t see her again. It’s pushing on past 11:00 now, and the park closes at 11:30 until the afternoon safaris, so we head for the exit. We’ve been out for nearly 5 hours, which is long enough.
I’m looking forward to a bit of rest and chill time before the afternoon’s adventure…
20:20
Bit less rest time than I’d have liked. It turns out my afternoon safari pick-up time is 13:30, so I’ve really only got 90 minutes between excursions. I’d hoped for, well - maybe 3? I skip lunch as only had breakfast at 10:00, and use the down time to chill in my room.
I’ve a different driver this afternoon and a different guide. I’m more used to safari experiences where these are consistent across the lifetime of the safari, allowing you to build a bond and an understanding with them. I’m not suggesting this is to the detriment of the experience, but it’s different, and I find myself wondering how it’ll work out. I’m also going in through a different gate this afternoon - Khursapar, which is 20km South West of Tiger in Woods. Now, the roads out here aren’t the best, but they are at least paved. The route to Khursapar gate quickly leaves the tarmac, and hits the country back-roads. More of those bumps I talked about earlier… It’s a good 25 minutes to reach the gate, by which time my balls are starting to bruise.
For some unknown reason (and I did ask, but the security dude didn’t know), my phone is taken off me at the gate. Use or carry of a mobile phone is verboten in this part of the park. it seems very strange to me that different parts of the park would have such different regulations applied to them. Thankfully, I’ve got my SLR with me, so I’m not worried about using my phone for photos, but surely that won’t be the case for many/most?
We head into the park at 14:00. I’ve always understood safaris at this time to be limited in scope as the predators that are the highlight for many are sleeping off whatever kill they made earlier in the day. And this proves to be the case today. We spend a good 2.5 hours variously driving around on the off-chance, meeting lots of other fauna - particularly birding, and sitting stationary with the engine turned off listening out for alarm calls. It’s not the very most exciting of experiences, but I enjoy spotting some bird species I’ve not seen before.
Around 17:00, the sun starts to droop toward the horizon, and dusk settles in. We hear our first alarm call, maybe 2 clicks to the North of us. My driver (nameless. I did ask, but he didn’t understand me…) sets off at quite the pace in that direction. More bouncing, more discomfort. My guide, Rupesh (he has a name tag) explains in his broken English (which is WAY better than my basically non-existent Hindi) that there’s a large male that wanders this part of the park, and has been spotted on quite a few consecutive days. We arrive to the source of the alarm calls, and there are already 3-4 jeeps parked at the side of the track. The alarm calls are being made by grey langurs, a subspecies of the monkey family. Typically, you’ll hear one alarm call at a time. When we pitch up, there are several echoing over each other. They’re clearly het up about whoever is on the hunt.
For an hour, we track the tiger - using monkeys calls, pug marks, and just watching movement in the bush. We even see the telltale swish of moving grass on a few occasions, but that’s the extent of it. In this kind of dense woodland, if a tiger wants to remain invisible, it will. Even 20m from the track, it’s all but impossible to keep sight of them. This one is hunting, so in ultra stealth mode - we never stood a chance.
We spend a touch longer than anticipated tracking the tiger, and as a result, have around 10 minutes to make a typically 30 minute journey back to the gate. They close at 18:00, and there are steep fines for being late. I’m unsure if I would have to pay, as the ‘guest’ of the park, or the driver/guide would have to pay. I strongly suspect the former. Mr Driver (for I have so labelled him) is clearly on my side, and wants me to avoid a fine. It’s a calamitous and hair-raising ride. If it’s not the bouncy-bouncy ball ache, it’s the slamming on of brakes causing my knees to smash into the steel frame of the seat in front of me. Still - we make the gate with about 30 seconds to spare…
Back at Tiger in Woods, determine that a week is long enough to go without beer while I’m travelling, and treat myself to a Kingfish. This quickly becomes 2…
22:00
Dinner was another banging Thali. They’re such a great way of eating Indian food. A great dhal, an incredible vegetable curry that I ask the name of on three separate occasions, and I’m still not convinced I actually know, and a mutton curry. I think I actually said no to the non-veg option, but communication is not always the clearest here.
I briefly consider a third and final beer, but decide against. Whilst my alarm call isn’t *quite* as ridiculously (and erroneously) early tomorrow, it’s still earlier than is absolutely ideal. Bed time for Tim…Les mer
Day 9 - What the Buggering Tits?
15. januar 2025, India ⋅ ⛅ 22 °C
04:30
Yes. 04:30. My first overnight train has not gone to plan. It arrives on time at 21:45, and I’m quickly boarded, I’m in a 4 passenger compartment, but am the only occupant at the moment. The guard *thinks* there’s some additional folks joining later in the journey. Hopefully I’ll be asleep by then, and they won’t be noisy. Around 23:30, I try to get some sleep. The ‘bed’ feels mighty uncomfortable. Whilst I’m a far better sleeper than I used to be, there are limits. This is the most uncomfortable place I’ve ever tried to sleep, and I’ve spent most of a night in the holding cells at Guildford Police Station… That was deluxe compared to this. FFS - the ditch I slept in when I was 17 was better than this. I listen to audiobooks, and will myself to sleep - and that never works.
At our first stop, Gwalior, an Indian couple board. I’m tucked up on the lower bunk, where the guard directed me. I cheerily say hi to the couple, and am met with obnoxious rudeness. The husband accuses me of being in his berth. He thinks I should be on the top bunk. I tell him calmly and politely that he’s wrong, and he can check with guard if he wishes. He does not. He wishes to harangue me until I give in, and I’m not going to. He’s an idiot - if he’d asked nicely, saying that he’d prefer to be on the same bunk level as his wife, who is on the bottom bunk next to me, I’d have acquiesced. Because he’s a rude little fuckwit, I do not. He heads off to find the guard, who confirms that yes - the guy is an idiot. Idiot man DEMANDS that they be moved to somewhere they can both be on the lower bunk. He hits all the Karen stereotypes, and is getting increasingly incensed. I’m trying not to chuckle.
The guard finds them a berth elsewhere. Anything for an easy life, I suspect. It means that I am due to be alone in my carriage for most, if not all of the journey = RESULT. I try once again to go to sleep. Three hours later, I’m in agony. All of my joints are burning - ankles, knees, hips and shoulders particularly. It’s like trying to sleep on a park bench. Whilst my Humira prescription has been phenomenal at stopping the regular acute arthritic episodes I’ve suffered from over the past 10 years, there’s still enough lifetime damage in those joints that I can no longer sit crossed legged for any length of time, kneel down without wincing. This sleeping set-up is not at all pleasant. I know from the way my hips, ankles and feet are feeling that I’ll be limping a little/a lot for the next few days.
It’s so utterly different to my admittedly 17 year dated experience. I slept brilliantly on most trains I travelled on. When Vicki and I went on our first trip together in 2008 to Goa, we took the overnight train from Mumbai to Goa. our shared recollection is of padding, comfort, and pretty decent sleep. Around 03:30, I give up, and start investigating flights from Nagpur to Goa in a few days. I can’t do another two overnights like this. I’ll get about £40 refunded for my two train rides, which coincidentally is almost exactly the IndiGo fare for a flight. I’m sold. I quickly make plans to spend a couple of days on Palolem Beach before heading over to our hotel in Patnem.
I’ve got a whole blog post in the works, which will look at my experience in 2025 vs 2007, and particularly trying to to understand where experiences have changed, whether it’s me, whether it’s India, or perhaps a bit of both… HINT - it’s a bit of both.
12:30
I spend most of the night watching some TV, a movie, and doing some reading. It’s long night. I don’t feel too exhausted just yet, but I suspect that’s gonna catch up with me later. I need to eat something so I can take some painkillers. After a few days of upset stomach, I’m not risking taking NSAIDs on an empty stomach. Around 06:30, the light starts to creep up to the horizon. It’s slow and methodical - a slight greying at the horizon, It’s the first time I’ve been able to see the landscape the train is passing through. We’re travelling at around 130kph, which for Indian trains is godspeed. The carriages buck and yaw across the tracks Just as well I’m not trying to sleep at the moment, as this would have woken me, for sure.
Soon enough, the sun is poking through some early morning mist. The surrounding landscape is quite hilly, and with the addition of lush, verdant forest, it’s unlike any scenery I’ve ever come across in India. It reminds me of the greenery the Ella to Kandy train runs through - the tea plantations and thick mountain forests. Beautiful.
We’re tracking close to time. Looks like we’ll be maybe 15 minutes later into Nagpur, which over a 12 hour journey is basically not late at all. I’m struggling though. Pulling on my trainers is a painful mission - hobbling to the bathroom and back even moreso. I silently curse the designers of these ridiculous sleeping benches. I mentally compose a very strongly worded email to Indian Railways.
We pull into Nagpur at 09:50, around 25 minutes late. Carrying my bags over to the parking lot is a challenge. I’m shuffling along, wincing with pain through gritted teeth. Predictably, i have to walk up and over a large footbridge, which is just unpleasant. I finally make it to the exit, and meet Mr Prakash, my charioteer today and on Saturday. He sets off at a clip towards his car, and I limp along behind. Getting out of Nagpur takes about 15 minutes, then we’re into a fast highway cruise. I decide to have a doze.I fall asleep instantly, and only wake up as we pull off the highway onto a small road into the bush. There are a bunch of signs for different accommodation options for Pench. Pench is everso slightly smaller than Bandhavgarh, but has a higher density of tiger population. There are something like 90 tigers across the 1,100km2 of the park. While 12km2 per tiger might sound like a lot of ground to cover, it’s actually not. Tiger sightings are NEVER guaranteed, but I’ve got every chance here.
We arrive at my lodge, which has the slightly troubling name Tiger in Woods. I don’t *think* they’re suggesting that tigers will come and sit on my balcony, but I’m not 100% sure. My room’s lovely. Dark, varnished wood, a very comfy bed, big bathroom, cool balcony. My first safari is tomorrow morning. An afternoon of chills and zizz awaits…
21:30
Lunch was a fab veg Thali.A paneer dopiaza, a dhal, and a mild vegetable curry featuring a couple of vegetables that I doubt I could pick out of a lineup. They’re all very tasty, but the paneer dopiaza is my favourite. It’s spiky with chilli, but has a beautiful depth of flavour in the gravy. These are served with a Brinjal (aubergine) pickle, some roti and some papad. My first Thali of this trip, and it’s a belter.
While I’m eating, Raji (who appears to manage the resort) chats to me - usual Indian conversation stuff. Where are you from / how old are you / are you married / what work you do / how much you earn. Indians are not afraid of direct questioning, and will happily accept it in return. He also asks if the heat levels in the food are ok for me. I’m the only Western palate at the lodge at the moment, but he wants to make sure the food doesn’t blow my tastebuds to pieces. The food in front of me is, to my tastes, just about right. Some initial heat from fresh chilli, and the gradual growth of heat from chilli powder. He smiles. I suspect this means his kitchen aren’t gonna have to cater especially to the firangi.
Back at my room, I need more sleep. I think I managed about an hour in the car earlier, but I need a top-up. I drift into a deep, harmonious sleep, waking with my alarm after a good couple of hours. I actually feel pretty refreshed. Darron calls for a quick chat. Sounds like he and Debs are having a great time in Goa. The music festival we’re there for kicks off in earnest tomorrow, and runs for a couple of weeks. The promoter shared the full list of parties and events today. I think our biggest challenge is gonna be picking and choosing which to do, and which to miss, in the interests of having some chill time.
Dinner is served between 20:00 and 22:00 at Tiger in Woods, but I’m just not hungry after my earlier Thali. My jeep safari leaves at 05:00, and I negotiate an 04:30 alarm call. This will hopefully involve a steaming cup of masala chai. I determine that sleep is the best friend I can make right now. I just about manage a shower and some teeth-brushing before collapsing into bed. Excited about tomorrow, but nothing’s gonna get in the way of my sleep…Les mer
Day 8 - Speechless.
14. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 12 °C
15:00
Took me ages to get to sleep last night. I think/hope this is because my body doesn’t need the extra snooze anymore, and is sufficiently rested. Thankfully, the DIY project concluded around 00:30, so at least my wakefulness was peaceful. I started to doze off around 02:00, and think I drifted into a longer sleep around 03:00.
I wake with my alarm at 08:00, not feeling too jaded. I’ve decided to forego any food until after I’ve been out for a wander. I don’t want to provide unnecessary ammunition to my stomach. I’m showered (much needed) and packed by 10:00, and leave my bags at my guesthouse for the day. Somewhere along the way, my rucksack lock has got damaged, so need to pick one up today. My pack’s either been in my line of sight, or in my locked room throughout my trip so far, but I’m more conscious of security on overnight trains. The security at my guesthouse doesn’t seem like the best, so I pack my valuables into my day pack, and head off to the Taj East Gate, just 100m from my hostel.
On arrival, the queue to enter is shambolic - even by Indian queuing standards. It’s not folks buying tickets - there’s a separate building for that, or you can buy them online. This is for people with tickets, and there are 6 different queues depending on a variety of factors - one being gender, one being nationality (Indian vs foreigner), and even price of your ticket. Now, the only indication of which queue is which is at the very front of the queue, where there’s a teeny-tiny little printed card for each queue, which is entirely illegible unless you’re stood right next to it. Genius. I’m directed to three incorrect queues before finding the correct one.
Through this first Herculean trial, it’s time to deal with the security portion of proceedings. There was nothing like this on my first visit. A quick check of the ticket, and through you go. I'm unsure what the cause of the additional security checks is, but they're thorough. I put my rucksack through the scanner, then walk through a metal detector. When I go to collect my rucksack, I’m told it’s too big - it needs to go into the cloak room. This is fine. At the cloakroom, the attendant tells me that my day pack can’t go in the cloak room because it contains valuables - my laptop and iPad. I ask him if there’s another left luggage facility nearby, and he dismissively waves me away. I walk away, calling him a sister-fucker almost under my breath. Peering back over my shoulder, I can see he’s stuck between pride ay my knowing a favourite Hindi curse word, and fury at being called a favourite Hindi curse word.
Back at Joey’s, the reception dude takes pity on me, and says there’s an unused room I can use for my luggage for the day, giving me a bit of breathing space. I put my essentials into my little sling bag, pop by camera around my neck, and head back to the East Gate. Now that I’m an expert in the queuing matrix, I head straight up the male, foreigner, full ticket queue - only to be told I’m in the wrong place. As I’m re-entering, I have to go in a separate entrance. If you ever wonder why India has high levels of employment, it’s because of jobsworthery (not a word) such as this. Finally back at the security checkpoint, I’m told that my vape isn’t allowed inside the monument. I must put my sling bag, containing my vape into the cloak room. This means a fresh encounter with the man that I have just called a sister-fucker. To be fair, he does the decent thing, and accepts my bag, but I’m immediately wondering whether there’ll be anything missing, or perhaps some form of punitive addition when I collect it.
FINALLY into the monument park, I can feel my excitement levels rising. I can remember the raw sensation of visiting the Taj Mahal on my first India trip, and the views I’ve had of the mausoleum across rooftops have done nothing to diminish my fervour to see it up close. The first building is a magnificent gateway in red sandstone, with ornate Pietra Dura features. This sculpture style is staggering, and covers most of the mausoleum building. What looks at a distance to be painted or inked on is actually an inlay technique. Fiendishly complex grooves are cut into the white marble, before corresponding shapes in black marble are laid into the gaps. On the mausoleum itself, the entirely of the Quran is recreated using Pietra Dura, and it’s one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen…
Walking through the gatehouse, I emerge into the stunning gardens in front of the mausoleum - that world famous view down the central ponds up to the glowing marble edifice. Now, I’m here late morning, and my last visit was at dawn. Even so, I can’t believe the numbers that are here. Perhaps it’s the ubiquity of digital photography in 2025, but the crowds seem staggeringly immobile. I have a rye chuckle at some folks taking very earnest selfies. A favourite pose seems to be holding out your arm, so that it *looks* like you’re holding the spire at the top of the main dome.
The view down to the mausoleum is mesmerising. I find a little corner to one side of the main throng to have a sit down and contemplate. It’s just jaw dropping - one of the most incredible things on our planet. If you ever have the chance to come and see it, just do it. I wander around with an inane grin on my face for a couple of hours. Up close to the main mausoleum, I’m speechless at the scale, intricacy and beauty. It took 20,000 men 22 years to build. It was commissioned by Shah Jahan, to commemorate the death of his beloved wife. As tributes go, it’s a fairly spectacular one. Sadly (for him), he was imprisoned by his own son, at the Red Fort, a few kilometres across town. I’m not entirely sure what his transgression was. It can’t have been *too* bad though, because his son granted him the favour of life imprisonment in a cell with a view over to the Taj Mahal, so he could gaze towards his wife for the rest of his days. What a love story, huh?
Back at Joey’s, I reason it’s definitely time for some food. I’ve got about 6 hours to kill until my train this evening. I’ve got some chores to do, but need to test my stomach a little first. LET’S GO.
19:00
I’ve spent the remainder of the afternoon at Hippie Café, the rooftop place at Joey’s. I had fleeting plans to head off to some of Agra’s other attractions - Agra Fort, the tomb of Itimad ud-Daulah. I’m minded that I’m still recovering though, and not at full match fitness. As a result, an afternoon of reading in the hazy sunshine feels pretty special. I have an aloo parantha - a chargrilled bread stuffed with a lightly spiced mashed potato concoction, served with a pot of cucumber raita. It’s wonderful - a hug of a dish. My stomach doesn’t even hint at objections.
There’s a kite festival today. Or rather, there’s a Hindu observance called Makar Shakranti, which is frequently celebrated by kite flying. The guys at Hippie Café rope me in, providing me with a basic bitch kite. I am, it’s fair to say, not a good kite flyer. Across the rooftop view of Agra, there are countless practitioners that put me to shame. I quickly relinquish my kite, and settle instead for watching others having fun. There are kids as young as 3-4, there are adults in their 40s, and everything in between. Apparently, age is of no great import. As the sun sets to the West of me, there are kites, bird murmurations, and just the haziest warm glow to the sun. Kinda magical actually.
I’ve had two whole meals today, and haven’t yet had to resort to urgent toilet trips. This is stunning progress. I’m gonna take it easy for the next few days. I’ll be spending 3 hours at a time in a bumpy jeep on Thursday and Friday, and don’t want to do anything that could interfere with my enjoyment of safari time. My plan is to stick to fairly bland foods - rice, bread, maybe the odd dhal - and avoid booze. Oh, and I think I’ll probably stick to veggie food when I’m not in Goa, and even there it’ll probably only be the spanking fresh fish that’s landed daily by the local fishing boats.
I’ve also decided to stay here at Joey’s as late as is practical, in case my train has another substantial delay. I don’t *think* it should, as Agra is the first station out of Delhi, but you never know. Proximity of a decent toilet, cool people and comfy seating is much more attractive than the alternative. It’s also getting pretty chilly out, and I don’t fancy sitting around in it unnecessarily…
22:30
I would like to issue a retraction. Yesterday, I intimated that this train will take 18 hours to reach Nagpur, and potentially 24 hours with delays. LIES. It’s 12 hours. I should be pulling into Nagpur around 09:30 tomorrow morning, or early afternoon if things go awry…
Anyways.
Around 20:30, I figure I should probably get my shit together. I need to repack a touch, and I’m conscious that long train rides need a bit of preparation and planning to make sure what you need is where you need it, when you need it. This is even more true as I’m in a shared compartment with at least 1 and possibly 3 other passengers. I’ve travelled in these compartments before, and they’re comfortable, spacious and clean. Pissing off your colleagues banging around at 02:00 trying to find a bottle of water can put a real dampener on team spirit.
I jump in the back of a tuk-tuk, and we scream off to the other side of the city, where Agra Cantt Station is located. It’s been a few days since I rode around a busy city, and the nighttime driving is particularly shocking/hilarious. We wing at last 2 pedestrians on this relatively short journey. For those unfamiliar, the auto-rickshaw/tuk-tuk so ubiquitous across much of Asia can best be described as a a flying tin-foil death trap on wheels. The driver sits on a single seat at the front, basically on top of a whiny 2-stroke engine and a single wheel. At the back, there’s a two wheel rear axle, on which is placed an uncomfortable bench of sorts. Comfortably, they’ll fit 2-3 Westerners. I have witnessed them carrying 9 children to school. Tuk-tuk drivers simply don’t appear to have grasped that the fundamental design of the vehicle is a wedge. They see a gap that the front will just, JUST squeeze through, and who gives a shit what happens at the back.
I was in the back of a tuk-tuk once with two other travellers heading up to Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. I’d just come from Agra, where the weather was a balmy 25C. In Umaria, where we jumped off the train at 04:00, it was about 3C. I was inappropriately dressed. We huddled together in the back of a tuk-tuk for the near 1 hour journey up to the town bordering the reserve. About 2/3 of the way there, the driver realises we have a flat. We passengers jump out and look blankly at each other, wondering what happens next. The driver motions to two of us to lift the tuk-tuk so he can change the tyre. Jan (for twas his name) and I look at each and start laughing. Supermen, we are not. The driver insists though, so we give it a go. It’s deeply troubling to this day just how light the thing was. Fuck knows how it’d hold up in a head-on collision… I’m fine taking them around towns, where the speed is low. Longer distances and on main roads - forget it. I’m getting picked up in a car tomorrow morning at Nagpur to head up to Pench - my Bandhavgarh surrogate on this trip.
Interesting. I just involuntarily thought it’d be nice to have a beer while I’m writing. That hasn’t happened in about 5 days. Onwards! Upwards!Les mer
Day 7 - Food. Actual, solid food.
13. januar 2025, India ⋅ 🌙 11 °C
15:10
I’m already declaring today a success. I sleep well, and don’t recall having to get up once during the night to use the toilet. When I do, things are improving. For those of you familiar with the Bristol scale (and if you’re not, why not?) I’ve moved from a 7 to a 6, and this is cause for great joy.
I spend what’s left of the morning mooching, checking out how my stomach feels. Around 13:00, I decide it’s time to brave the outside. I’m not planning to overstretch myself. My guesthouse has a rooftop café, to which I head. The sun is warm on my skin, the sky is hazy but clear, and there’s a stunning view of the Taj Mahal about 300m to the North of me. I sit for a while, and take it in. The view is by no means a replacement for the visit I have planned tomorrow morning at dawn, yet it excites me nonetheless.
The menu is a blend of Indian and global dishes. Tempting as a Dhal Makhani is, I’m not ready to test my stomach to that extent. Cheese omelette and some dry toast - that’s the one for me. I’ve honestly no idea how my belly’s going to react, but there’s only one way to find out. I’m staggeringly hungry. Even the dry toast tastes delicious. The tastiest omelette I’ve ever eaten was the Omelette Arnold Bennett, at the Hand and Flowers, Tom Kerridge’s 2 Michelin Star pub in Marlow. Soft, baveuse eggs, excellent parmesan cheese, topped with the very best of smoked haddock, and a glaze of Hollandaise, raw egg yolk and béchamel made from the poaching liquor from the smoked haddock. Divine.
I tell you what though - this one’s a close second, despite containing only egg and Paneer.
I decide not to press my luck. I could definitely eat more, but want to see how this modest feast settles. Passing by reception, I pick up my laundry, and head back to my room. HOLD TIGHT FOR FEEDBACK.
23:50
I know you’ve all been on tenterhooks. The short answer is could have been better, but could have been a lot worse. I don’t feel up to any excursions this afternoon, but neither am I writhing around on my bed in agony, interspersed with frequent toilet dashes. I’ll take it. I’m definitely on an upward trajectory, but it’s slower than I’d have liked.
My tour guide for the sunrise tour of the Taj Mahal tomorrow contacts me to let me know it’s likely going to be foggy first thing tomorrow, so we should reschedule for late morning when the sun will break through. The Taj at sunrise (when the sun’s actually shining) is a thing of staggering beauty - but there’s much less shock and awe if it’s shrouded in mist. I’m not entirely disappointed not to have to set an alarm for 05:30, if I’m honest.
The afternoon passes in a spate of dozes, some reading, and a movie. I downloaded a ton of stuff to my iPad before leaving the UK. The extended bed-rest I’ve had over the past few days means I’ve burnt my way through much of it. I’ve still got plenty to read though, so am well covered for my 18 hour, overnight train ride tomorrow night. Well, I say 18 hours - the average delay for this train is around 90 minutes, but can be more like 4-5, so anywhere between 18 and 24 I guess…
Around 23:00, I decide to get some sleep. Despite not needing to get up at 05:30, I still wanna be up in half decent time tomorrow. Perhaps 15 minutes later, a loud banging starts outside my door, for what I’m not initially sure. Could be some urgent maintenance I guess? It continues for the next 10 minutes, which is not at all cool. I’m sure I’m not the only one trying to sleep. I stick my head out my door, and find a group of Indian guys trying to break into one of the rooms next to mine. When I say ‘break in’ that reads like something nefarious is happening. It’s not - it’s a broken lock. A couple of the guys standing around and watching work for the guesthouse. They look at me as I peer round the corner, and I manage a very British ‘tut’ allied to a modest shake of the head, such is my distaste. The noise continues for another 15-20 minutes, and comes to a temporary close with the sound of smashing wood. Clearly, some sort of ingress has been achieved. I roll over, and try to sleep - only to be startled by the sound of hammering and drilling. Clearly, the repairs to the door are going to happen right now. I’m apparently not sleeping until this racket has subsided, so sit up for a while, waiting for abatement…Les mer
Day 6 - Nothing of Note Happened
12. januar 2025, India ⋅ ⛅ 13 °C
23:30
Nothing of any note happened today, and yet - it was a far happier day than yesterday.I slept fitfully through the night, waking on many occasions to run to the toilet. I’m variously cold and shivering, and hot and sweaty - pretty standard fever type stuff. I wake for the last time around 11:30, and actually feel pretty rested. The stomach cramps are still there, but less frequent, and less painful. I’d already concluded today would be a day of nothing, and stick to this plan with commitment.
At some point in the afternoon, I wonder whether some food would be a good idea. I definitely feel hungry, but ultimately decide against it. A liquid lunch of the most dull kind for me today.
I doze a couple of times, read quite a bit, and watch a couple of movies. My stomach continues to improve, and is starting to feel pretty hollow. I’m conscious that I’ve really not eaten much since Thursday, and nothing at all in the past 36 hours.
I’m still managing to be sanguine about the experience. It is what it is and so on. A hint of disappointment is starting to creep in. The intended recreation of the latter part of my 2007 trip is really not going brilliantly so far. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY I’ll feel up to a visit to the Taj either tomorrow or Tuesday…
No photos today, for which I hope you'll thank me.Les mer
Day 5 - A Day to Forget
11. januar 2025, India ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C
16:00
No wake up / mad panic / toilet dashes during the night. Success! I sleep pretty well - maybe a shade under 8 hours, but good restful and REM sleep. I’m ready for anything! All I’ve got to look forward to this morning though, is packing and leaving. My train’s not till 15:30, but I need to be out of my room around 12:00. I mooch in bed for a while, decide against breakfast (just in case, like) and order some black coffee instead. What arrives is rank. I *think* it might once have been a relative of tea, but it’s difficult to say. It’s definitely never know the forbidden love of a coffee bean.
I check out a little before midday. I need to get some food, and find somewhere to chill for a few hours before heading to the station. I head back to Panchayat, where Manas and I beered a couple of days ago. I’m their only customer. A pattern emerges. They claim to be open 24 hours a day, so for all I know, a huge crowd left only moments ago. I order some chicken and roti from the Tandoor. Delicious. To err on the side of safety, I avoid beer, and drink water instead.
Around 14:30, I figure I should probably head to the station. Confusingly, Lucknow has 3 distinct stations within 100m of each other - Lucknow NE, Lucknow Junction and Charbargh. To be honest, it might be 2 stations with 3 different names. I can’t be sure. I inevitably get dropped off at one of the wrong ones. It takes me a few minutes to figure this out, but I get there in the end. Around this time, I discover that my train has been delayed around 2-2.5 hours. These kinds of delays are very much standard on the India railways. I’ve spent plenty of time sitting on top of my rucksack on a railway platform, generally unaware of the when my train is coming in. Happily, availability of 4G coverage means I can actually keep on top of when I’m gonna be leaving. Back in 2007, there was a lot more luck than judgement, and I’m amazed I didn’t get on at least one entirely incorrect train…
So - couple of hours to kill. on what appears to be THE most uncomfortable bench seat ever. FFS.
17:45
Still waiting.
On the plus side, there’s some excitement when monkeys steal some passengers’ food.
22:20
As I FINALLY board the train around 18:30, my stomach winces. Oooooooh great. I dump (pardon the…) my bags, and head straight for the toilet. I don’t wish to be indelicate, but it’s rather like someone has turned on a tap. All comes out pretty quickly.
Back in my seat, I start to feel a little feverish. Today is worsening at quite a rate. I ignore the food offered by the train staff, and focus instead on hydration, and the occasional dash to the toilet. I’m shivering in my seat, but then suddenly roasting hot. Quite dull really. Oooh, we’re about 20 minutes from Tundla Junction, where I’ll jump off the train, and get a cab over to Agra, about 30 minutes away.
00:30
Ok - today can just get in the fucking bin. Disembarking the train at Tundla Junction, I am met by a powerful thunderstorm. Absolutely pooning it down. Thankfully, my waterproof is easily accessible in my rucksack.
All of the signs at the station are in Hindi, which makes it tricky to figure out how to get out. I’ve booked an Uber, which I eventually find about 10 minutes walk from the station. Probably some local regulation that says only the rickshaw drivers are allowed close to the station.
Those of you that have visited India will know that driving is not one of the special skills that the populace of the country possess. Fortunately, the roads are pretty empty, but my driver still manages to make the journey a fairly hair-raising one. We hit every pot hole going, aqua-plane through some deep puddles. My driver is variously on his phone, or watching music videos - while he ‘drives.’ At one point, having hit a particularly vicious pot hole, he opens the driver door while we’re doing 50mph, I guess to see if he’s blown a tyre. All of this is topped off by my seatbelt not working. Deep, DEEP joy.
We’re about a mile away from my guesthouse, when we’re met by some metal barriers across the road, and my driver says he can’t go any further forward. I had heard this might be the case, as traffic regulations around the Taj Mahal are very strict. However, in my current state, and with the weather doing what it is, it’s a bitter disappointment.
I set off in the direction of my guesthouse. Walking along has, let’s say, some detrimental effects. About half way there, I determine that I’m not going to make it without a toilet stop. It’s nearly midnight, and everything is closed. Look - let’s just say it’s definitely the first, and hopefully the last time that I have to avail myself of a plant pot as a toilet. I reassure myself that the next time I’m struck with the urgent need to visit the facilities, I’ll be safely ensconced in my room.
I arrive at Joey’s Hostel just before midnight. I just wanna get to my room and collapse into bed. My fever is worsening, and the stomach gripes are almost constant. 15 minutes later, I’m still waiting for the reception dude to figure out how to check me in. I’m verging on losing my shit - which is ironic, I guess. The other reception dude finally takes pity on me, and takes me to my room - which is not ready. It’s being cleaned. I’m boiling. Dude takes me to another room which IS ready, and I can finally bring to a close a day that started out with some positivity, but has ended up being one of the toughest days of travelling I can remember having.
As Scarlett O’Hara so famously said, tomorrow is another day…Les mer
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Aw that looks yum 😋
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LOL
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This looks moderately organized?!
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Woah. WANT!