brahmin wrote:dagmaraka wrote:
great thread, brahmin. i sure would love to have that e-cook book. should i PM you my email address, or is it too big?
ty.. its a copycat thread.. from yours
whcih e-book ??
that lady traveller's diary or the e-cookbook ??
you can have both.
lmao !!
i made an ass of myself.
and by "edit" button also seems to have vanished !!!
anyway.. here's a bit (edited too) of my goa travelogue..... more to follow.
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Date: (Bus from Bangalore on 3rd March evening. Two days, 4th and 5th March, in Goa)
I bought a K.R.S.T.C. ticket for Panjim (in Goa), from their office at the Majestic circle, Bangalore. .... On the 2nd, on my way back to the hotel , I did a bit of shopping - 3 T shirts and a jacket. I checked out of the hotel on the morning of the 3rd, kept my luggage in the cloak room, and again did the mandatory running about from pillar to post. At about 6 in the evening, I was done for the day, and then came to the bus stand and retrieved my luggage. There were a pair of brothers from u.k who were also apparently headed the goa way. I was equipped with my newly bought "cam" mobile phone and put it to good use taking a pic of the huge bus terminus and then the particular bus which was to take us to goa. The ride, commencing from about 7.10 in the evening, was largely uneventful. Co-passengers included a gang of friends who discussed their many plans of taking goa by storm, for the better part of the night and those 2 poms. They asked me why I was in Bangalore and what do I do and I told them. They told me where they were from. I had a window seat and therefore lots to see. After a light dinner in a humble restaurant, followed by a quiet smoke, we all clambered back into the bus. The bus was good but the service was not, in that they stopped at quite a few places on the way, to pick up luggage, mails (courier) and passengers to fill up the vacant seats. At night, it became a bit chilly, even after closing all the windows, and my new jacket came in rather handy.
At dawn we were still on the hilly roads of the Western Ghats, puffing our way to goa. We were deposited at the panaji bus stand at almost 11 in the morning, almost a good 2 hours later than what they had originally claimed. I wasn't very pleased about that. Anyway I alighted and asked a local Goan lady about directions to my hotel (namely a certain Hotel Ameya, near St. Inez, which had already been booked for me by dad). She recommended that I take a "pilot" to the hotel, and so I did. A pilot is a guy on a motor bike, who takes you and your luggage to the required destination, for a pre agreed price - which in this case, was a reasonable 20 bucks. So I rode pillion behind him holding on to my suitcase, which was sandwiched on the seat between him and me, and with my side bag balanced on the fuel tank!! On the way, I spotted the beautiful milk-white St. Zavier's church and got him to stop the bike to take a picture with the cam mobile. Then at the hotel, I was immediately shown into a very nice and spacious double bedded room, complete with a balcony that commanded a nice view. Pity it was only on the first floor and not somewhere higher - else the view would have been a lot less hindered by the tree that grew right in front of it. I bathed and freshened up, changed into cotton trousers (instead of the pair of jeans I wore during the journey) and round neck tee, and headed out, armed with my two cameras and a map of goa.
At the lobby I spoke to the receptionist about the "conducted tour" service operators that this hotel had tie-ups with, and he said that there were 3 packages - one for the southern region of goa, one for the northern and a third, for a night time cruise in a steamer along the Mandovi river, which would be followed by a "goa by night" sort of ride in the city of panjim. I decided that I'd see north goa by myself for the first couple of days and on my third and last day at goa, I'd take a "conducted trip" of southern goa (and board the night bus to Bangalore immediately afterward). For that evening, I bought a ticket for the "boat cruise cum goa-by-night" package, for which I'd be picked up from my hotel at about 7ish in the evening. So I had a time schedule to meet. The ticket bought, I headed out and walked a bit to the main road, asking people for directions to the panjim (panaji, panjim and panji are the names of the same place) bus stop, where our bus had earlier dropped us. When I reached the main road, I found an intra-goa public bus, that'd take me the remaining couple of miles or so, to the bus stop, and so hopped into that. In the bus I asked people seated beside me about the possible methods of reaching Calangute beach and was guided appropriately. From the panjim bus stand there were direct buses to calangute beach, after every half hour and I got on into the one that was due next. It was an hour long ride along the narrow country roads of goa, with the bus stopping to pick up passengers at just about every corner. At about 1.45 it stopped at the calangute bus stop.
By then I had seen enough to surmise the general mood of goa - eat, drink and be merry. Advertisements of beach side hotels, discos, and restaurants, booze shops everywhere, hippish foreigners in their hippy-ish dresses and rented bikes and lots and lots of hole in the wall street-side shops selling artifacts, sunglasses, hats, Bermudas, fancy pajamas, floaters, Indian casual wear, beads, necklaces and what have you? The hole in the wall and "temporary tent" type shops were lined cheek by jowl on the approach road to the beach flanking it for about a mile or more. I thought my basketball sneakers were particularly out of place on a beach!! Anyway the first site of the white sand and deep blue waters of the Arabian Sea at Calangute beach, instantly switched me to the merry mode and I started clicking at the sights and the scenery. It sucked that I was all alone, with not a soul to talk to. Foreign tourists usually outnumber Indians 3:1 at the beaches of goa, and I spotted loads of them in their skimpy dresses, resting and reading books in the beachside easy chairs under colourful umbrellas. I walked along the water's edge, from one end of Calangute towards another, taking in the smell of the sea, the moist water laden sea breeze, the sights of the swaying coconut trees, and the usual beachside activity. Among the many sunbathers, quite a few were topless and some had tattoos adorning their lusty bodies. Tattooed women are usually damn fast, almost as a thumb rule (like i know). Some of the women were very pretty as well as petite, while some others were hags with asses of oriental proportions and also jiggly-wiggly tits, bellies and upper arms. There should be a basic "bounciness of boobs" criteria that chicks should be made to fulfill, before being allowed on a beach, at least before they're allowed to go topless. One forty something, considerably tattooed woman, reclining on a seat, had a tiny little ring each, hanging from her pierced nipples, that shone in the sun, even from the distance separating us !!
I walked on, as if on the edge of a knife, with the bottomless wetness of the sea on the one side and the soft warmth of the sands on the other. I reached the other end of Calangute beach and there, there was a sort of backwater, where the sea came back in and metamorphosed into a thin stream, that cut back into the sand and then into land. Across it, was an open air restaurant and striking rock formations, into which the waves were splashing with unfailing rhythm. After some deliberation, I decided to cross that "river" and explore the other side. Damn, the other side is always so tempting. I felt, that I just had to go there.
To that end, I had first to take off my sneakers and socks, and so I did that and put them in a plastic shopping bag that I had wisely brought along in my school bag. Also I put my mobile phone and wallet in the school bag and pulled the straps of the bag way back up, so that the bottom of the bag was now, above the halfway line between my shoulder and behind. It was bad enough that I had irreparably damaged my previous mobile phone by getting it wet in the sea at Puri, and I sure didn't want a repeat. Also soggy notes are not well received at shops. Next came considering the "river" and making a precise judgment of its depth and current. I was no real swimmer, and in any case, if I was swept off my feet and had to swim, it'd be "Au Revoir" to my normal, as well as mobile phone, camera. So I had to select the shallowest part of it. I spoke to a local kid, who I was sure was the son of one of the restaurant owners or easy-chair and/or colourful umbrella renters, and with some tact, managed to persuade him to lead the way. He waded into the water and I followed, carefully noting his exact route. It was only about 10 or 12 metres across and inches more than waist deep, but often I came close to losing my balance and being rendered horizontal, instead of vertical across the murky water. Thankfully no such thing happened and I was soon on the other side, wet and soggy till my belly button. Then I started climbing the rocks. I was barefoot and often it hurt, either because the sand was burning hot or the rocks were craggy or both. It sure wasn't very enjoyable but then I had no better activity to engage in, (except maybe, fantasize at forbidden fruits, from a few light years off).
