• Day 31 - Аҩы ҳақәгәыӷуеит.

      6 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 22 °C

      10:30
      The sensible bed time + comfy bed strategy pays significant dividends. Although I’m awake a little earlier than planned, I’ve had a cracking sleep, and feel super refreshed. I’m not particularly hungry after my fairly late and substantial dinner last night, so decide to skip breakfast. This may not end up being the wisest of ideas when I’ve a day of wine-tasting planned, but that’s a bridge we shall cross when it becomes a bridge.

      I make use of the excellent high-speed WiFi in the hotel to download some TV and movies for the remainder of my trip, and to make sure my Kindle library is up to date. My driver is picking me up at 10:00, so I jump in the shower. Oh my goodness - it features both great water pressure and properly hot water, something I’ve not experienced in combination in a month. Were there a bathtub, I would have one.

      I also decide to continue the trend of not looking like a cross between a Dickensian street urchin, and a redneck hick. I can’t quite bring myself to wear actual trousers, but a pair of three-quarters is slightly smarter than the shorts I’ve been living in for the past 4 weeks.

      I wear a shirt. An honest-to-god actual shirt. I’ve been carrying this same shirt around the world with me for the past 18 months, and don’t think I’ve worn it once. It’s become something of a running joke. I ALWAYS pack it, I NEVER wear it. Apparently, Tamsin encouraged Felix to take some smart clothes to Thailand and Cambodia with us, as he put it, “Just in case we get invited to tea with the royal family…” I’ve simply never felt the need during my travels to dress more smartly than a t-shirt. I’m not 100% sure what to expect at the various wineries I’ll visit today. Some, I’m sure, will be pretty ramshackle and rudimentary. Others look to be more similar to the wineries we’ve visited in South Africa, Australia and California. and have cool looking restaurants attached to them. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll blend in better if I don’t look like I’m there to pick the grapes. All told, it feels part funny and part sad to be breaking out my shirt on one of the very last days of my extended travelling escapade.

      Lots of folks have asked me (and I’m sure will continue to do so) whether I’m ready to go back to work / sad to be ending my sabbatical/ will miss travelling etc etc. I’ve had a lot of time to think about these various questions, and:

      1) I’m genuinely excited to be going back to work. In an ideal world, Vicki and I could retire now, and still have the disposable income to travel whenever we want. So I HAVE to go back to work. Given that’s the case, I can’t think of a better combination of factors in a job to get me excited for work. Awesome people - check. People that I’ve worked with before, know and trust - check. Getting well remunerated - check. Working in an industry that I know and continue to find fascinating - check. Managing to negotiate 2 months of time off per year so I can still travel - check.

      This all adds up to ‘not ideal world, but as close as I think I can realistically get to it while still holding down a job’ territory.

      2) Of course I’m sad to be ending my sabbatical. The last 15 months have been amongst the most enjoyable of my life. That they came about after the loss of my Dad notwithstanding, I can’t imagine a better way to spend time than travelling the world, experiencing new places and cultures, meeting new people, seeing new things. I don’t think a world exists where I won’t want to do more of it.

      My deal with my new company is that I can take a few weeks of unpaid leave every year, to top up their already generous leave allowance. Vicki is planning to do something similar in future years - which will allow us to take some extended trips together, while still having the time for music festivals, some ski trips, more local holidays, weekends away to catch up with our more distant UK friends… We both feel that some of the further flung places we want to visit will benefit from a 3-4 week trip, and balancing that with all the ‘other’ stuff we wanna do has been tricky in the past. The older we get, the more we both value and crave the opportunity to spend some real time in a destination to get to know it, its people, its culture and its foibles.

      11:00
      Well, that was a very pleasant drive through some countryside. We arrive at our first stop, a small winery called Nipha. They cultivate a mix of red and white grapes - Chenin Blanc, Chardonnay, Muscat and Syrah. Their wines get great reviews. Very excited to try some. As we near, my driver looks suspicious. His sat nav is directing us into a field. I encourage him onwards. Nope - it’s definitely a field. We look a little flummoxed, until I notice a small track leading away from the field. I urge Yash onwards, and we’re rewarded with a sign for Nipha! Unfortunately, it’s accompanied by another sign saying that their tasting hours on weekdays are from 17:00-19:00. Curses. This is not entirely in agreement with their own website, upon which I must say I’d slightly relied…

      Nevermind - onwards to Chandon. This is a property owned by the Moet et Chandon people. They’ve been investing incredibly heavily in wine-growing estates outside of the Champagne region of France in recent years - I suspect largely as a hedge against global warming, and to ensure they have enough vineyards in suitably climated areas to continue to meet demand. They’ve bought up large estates in the US, Australia, Brazil and Argentina, and I think own some vineyards in the UK now as well. It looks a more organised affair, with an actual tasting room, and a restaurant and that sort of jazz. First, we need to traverse 40km of rough roads through Indian villages. Wish me luck….

      11:35
      Yash speaks no English. None. When asking him earlier to put the front passenger seat forward so I could stretch out my legs, he passed me his phone and asked me to type into Google Translate. The translation was to Abkhaz. Now, Abkhaz is a language of the Caucasus, that slightly chaotic region that effectively joins Europe to Asia. Abkhazia is a semi-autonomous region of Georgia, and borders the Black Sea. It must be 4,000 kilometres from here, and I find myself wondering why it’s Yash’s preferred language, and if he’s a native of Abkhazia, what he’s doing in deepest, darkest Maharashtra.

      Of course, my ability to have this conversation with Yash is limited, because he doesn’t speak any English. To communicate with him, I have to use Google Translate to translate my English into Abkhaz, and send it to him on WhatsApp. I don’t wish to do too much of this, for fear that it might distract him from his already erratic driving. I do so only once on the journey between Nipha and the Chandon winery, and that’s to ask him (politely, natch) to slow down, that I’m no hurry. He looks a little offended by this, or at the very least, disappointed. Tough shit Yash. My safety > your ego.

      12:20
      I’m realising already that today’s post is gonna be a long one.

      I find myself sitting in the beautifully manicured gardens at the Chandon winery. The French heritage is plain to see. I’m sipping a delicious Délice - a style of sparkling wine that has sadly gone out of fashion in recent years, but which is the ultimate companion to my doing of absolutely nothing.

      On arrival at Chandon, I find the tasting room deserted. Not even a Chandon employee. I wander down a corridor to something called the wine gallery, which turns out to be a collection of artworks inspired by wine. Pretty cool actually. I visit the gents, and when I come out, I finally find a human. My new friend Sarjat asks if I would like to taste some wines. My eyes clearly bulge as I say yes, and he chuckles. We sit at the otherwise deserted tasting bar, and he tells me about the Chandon wines.

      There are 3 x sparklers, and a still wine. We start with the bubbles. A really good Brut, which is less dry than I was expecting. It contains quite a lot of Chenin Blanc, which explains the fruitiness of the wine. I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that the winemakers here aren’t trying to mimic Champagne. They use the traditional methods of creating sparkling wines, but use the grapes that best represent the terroir of the vineyard. As a result, 60% Chenin in a Brut style sparkling wine, and it works - really well.

      Their Rosé is extraordinary. It’s made entirely from Shiraz. Sparkling Shiraz I’ve had in the past has been bold, and typically a dark pink colour. Chandon’s is a delicate and pale salmon pink, and has flavours of strawberry in the palate. It’s an absolute banger.

      Next up is the still wine - also made from 100% Shiraz. The nose suggests rough tannins, but in the mouth it’s actually a lot more refined than I’d expected. Quite fruit forward, but without a ton of sugar. It’s been designed to pair with ‘Indian’ food. When I point out that there’s really no such thing, Sarjat admits that that’s a bit of marketing spin. It’s really designed to be approachable, without being saccharine sweet and characterless.

      Finally, the sparkling Délice - which is off dry. Not sweet per se, but certainly a different character to the Brut and Rosé wines. It’s backbone is made from Muscat, which brings a floral character, and a hint of sweetness. There’s some Ugni Blanc and Chenin Blanc in there as well, to give much needed acidity and structure. It’s an incredible wine - the kind of glass you’d sit with in the garden on a warm, sunny afternoon. Which is rather what inspires me to do just that.

      A tasting like this is a real treat. To combine the stunning setting, with some top notch wines, and a 1 to 1 experience with a knowledgeable and passionate guide puts a huge smile on my face.

      Add to that, I’ve got that slight wine buzz that only comes from drinking wine before you’ve eaten a morsel. YUM.

      15:10
      Indian bureaucracy can still and easily catch in my craw, but I’m learning to live with it.

      We arrive at Sula vineyards a little before 14:00. I’m now properly hungry. My plan is to grab some lunch, and then hit the tasting room. The Sula wines I’ve had before are all part of their Estate / entry-level range. Perfectly decent / eminently quaffable etc etc. Sula have a premium range and an exclusive range, and I’m looking forward to trying these.

      Lunch first at an Italian place called Rasa. Seeing a menu populated only by Italian staples feels a little out of place, until I look around me. The verdant vineyards and white winery buildings could be in Italy, or France, or California, or Franschhoek… It’s a very pretty little enclave in the heart of Maharashtra. I order a pizza, and follow the instructions to order a glass of Reserve Sauvignon Blanc to accompany it. It’s good. I’m not sure it’s any better than their Estate Sauvignon that Debbie was drinking in Goa, but it’s good. The pizza’s great! Pesto, Feta, broccoli and spinach. Delish - and much needed.

      Sated, I head up to the tasting room. I stop at the registration desk, and ask if I can do a tasting. I get a slightly funny look, and am asked if I want a winery tour as well. I decline. No thanks - seen tons of wineries. Just the wine please. Same funny look. If I want to do a tasting, that’s all good, but I have to pay for the tour, and I have to wait until the people currently doing the tour get back from their tour - around 45 minutes. I ask if I can just go in and do the tasting. I’ll happily pay the difference. No - not allowed. It's 15:02, and another tasting started at 15:00, and I’ll be a disruption. I point out that I can see into the tasting room, and the host hasn't event finished pouring the first wine, but to no avail. I huff a little, but there’s no point. Rules and regulations in India are typically inflexible, unless there’s an exchange of dirty cash…

      There is, at least, a wine-bar upstairs, where I can go and order a glass. It’s not quite the 6 or 7 wines I’d anticipated, but it would be a shame to miss out completely. As a result, I sit here, with a fairly gorgeous view out over the vineyards and towards the Deccan Hills, tucking into a brilliant glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Not brilliant ‘for India’ - but actually brilliant. Tons of structure, but well integrated tannins. Heaps of blackcurrant flavour, with some smoke and pepper. It’s their flagship wine, and is excellent. There’s a Zinfandel I’ve half an eye on as well, but I do have another two wineries to visit…

      19:20
      My last two wineries are fun, it of slightly lower quality. These are happily just down the road from Sula, so no horrendous cross-country trek to get there. First up is Soma. When I arrive, I walk into what I think is the tasting room, but turns out to be a banquet area, in which a massive Hindi wedding is currently taking place. I briefly consider joining in the festivities, but I’m definitely not dressed for it. The music is deafening, and I’m standing a good 15m away.

      I’m pointed in the right direction, up a small hill, and arrive at the tasting room. They make a fairly mind boggling 23 wines here. They do a tasting of 9, so I pick from the extensive menu. Some of the wines are, let’s be frank, not great. Not actively unpleasant, but just not good. Some are decent - perfectly drinkable. A couple are very good. They offer a Reserve Viognier which is rich, opulent, fragrant and silky. This is the first year they’ve made it, and it’s a knockout. Their Pinot Noir Rosé is also a cracker. Dry, crisp, fruity. Yum.

      A couple of minutes down the road is York. It’s a bit rougher and readier, and whilst I know I shouldn’t take this into account, the graphic design work for their bottles is horrible, and I find myself assuming that the liquid they contain will be equally miserable. I’m wrong. I taste six wines - all are decent, three are good, and one is banging. It’s a red blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Syrah, and is awesome. I hadn’t planned to buy any wine today, as - you know, backpack etc etc. I decide I can squeeze one in though, so grab a bottle of this red blend. It’s a screw-top, so it’s very possible I’ll start it tonight, and finish it somewhere further down the track…

      My day of wine-tasting has been great fun. The quality of the wines has been surprising at times, and as the wine industry in India continues to evolve, I suspect it’ll only get better. The market for consumers in India is in its infancy as well, and it’s been fascinating to hear winemakers talk about their mid to long term plans to change their winemaking style to adapt to Indian palates as they grow more accustomed to and have a stronger appetite for different wine styles.

      21:45
      The combo of an early start, quite a lot of wine, and the need for another early start tomorrow has left me feeling jaded. I manage a quick dinner at the hotel, manage to avoid opening my lovely bottle of wine, and collapse into bed for an early night.

      #rockandroll.
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    • Day 30 - Heading for Wine Country

      5 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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…
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    • Day 29 - Matheran = Surprisingly Hilly.

      4 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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…
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    • Day 28 - A Looooooooong Day.

      3 февраля, Индия ⋅ ⛅ 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.
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    • Beautiful Morjim BeachA more than half decent Indian ChardonnayKingfish ceviche with Thai green curry flavours. Awesome.

      Day 27 - The Saddest Goodbye

      2 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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…
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    • Day 26 - Fond Farewells. Fish. Frolics.

      1 февраля, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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.
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    • Sleepy pooch....Destiny!Frankie Knuckles - Your Love...

      Day 25 - The Final Countdown

      31 января, Индия ⋅ ⛅ 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…
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    • Getting our mise on....
      Crazy chef.Goan fish curry paste.Incredible lunch!

      Day 24 - Cooking up a Storm

      30 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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…
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    • Day 23 - Hitting Our Groove

      29 января, Индия ⋅ 🌙 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…
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    • Day 22 - The Day After the Night Before.

      28 января, Индия ⋅ ☁️ 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…
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