My Goa Experience

Lord Fondlemaid · 28-Dec-2005, 16:05

Pictures to accompany this can be found here:

http://spaces.msn.com/members/lord-fondlemaid/

Martin's a bugger, he really is. He's one of those people who always seems to land on his feet wherever he goes and whatever he does. He's so spawny that he could land in a barrel of shit and come out smelling of roses.

So, three years ago when he announced he was going to sell his house, and travel around India with his Mrs, the lovely Pippa, I just knew that he'd be having a great time all the way. That's what got me thinking...

Fantastic stories started coming back, featuring idyllic beaches, spectacular jungle, breathtaking waterfalls, warm and friendly people, vibrant towns and cities, a rich and ancient culture. These were tempered with images of poverty, squalor and people in need, but the overall impression was of an exotic paradise where not only was there spice in the food, there was spice in life.

A couple of years passed. At some point Martin & Pippa settled in Goa, a province about halfway down the Western coast of India, a place with a reputation for attracting hippies, "freaks" and travelers since the 60's. He opened a bar and restaurant with 12 beach huts at Palolem Beach, in the South of Goa, where tourism wasn't as developed as up North in Calangute and Anjuna (India's Benidorm if you like)

Martin and Pip ran "The Big Fish" for a season. Sadly they split up and Pippa came back to the UK earlier than expected. Martin came back at the end of the season (around June / July this year) and began the systematic process of infecting me with wanderlust. Every time he came round for a brew, or we went out to the pub, there would be a new and exciting story about his time there. I decided I just had to go and see for myself.

Martin went back out there earlier this year, about September time, with no fixed plans of what he was going to do. Maybe open "The Big Fish" again, maybe not. I fixed the last two weeks in November to go to see how he was getting on and see if the place was as wonderful as he'd made out. Martin, bless him, can sometimes be prone to a certain amount of "exaggeration" so I was prepared with a pinch of salt if you will.

Time seemed to pass infuriatingly slowly as my departure date approached. I'd booked my flight only ticket (for about £450.00) with Thomas Cook. Luckily it was a direct flight from Manchester to Goa so there'd be no buggering about catching connecting flights etc. I'd asked the girl who I bought the ticket from whether I needed any special visa, or other requirement to visit. She said "No, all you need is 6 months left on your passport when you go" and foolishly I believed her.

The date of my flight arrived, I was supposed to go at 7:15 p.m. I'd packed most things the night before and it was about 11:00 a.m. I was going through a mental checklist... did I have this, did I have that, do I need this, do I need that etc. when I had a sudden urge to re-check the Visa situation. I went on the web and to my dismay started coming across lots of references to “Tourist Visas” which it appeared were required for travel to India. Erk! I called Martin, he confirmed it. I called Thomas Cook, and told them I might have been misinformed when I bought the ticket. Yeah it was silly of me not to have checked it out myself but then again I had been told by the Thomas Cook girl that one didn’t need a Visa.

Anyway, they admitted that the error was on their part, and agreed to refund me my ticket price and put me on the next available flight. Unfortunately this delayed my departure for a week, but on the bright side my new ticket price was only £216.00!! Every cloud has a silver lining indeed, although it was a total nightmare having to go back to work!

Getting the Visa was the next step, and this is a story in itself! If I was prepared to wait for up to 8 weeks, and risk my passport getting “lost” then one option was to apply by post. Bugger that! The only other option was to pay a visit to the Indian High Consulate in person. There are three in the UK – London, Birmingham and Edinburgh. Martin called me back to see how things were going, I told him that I planned to go down to Birmingham ASAP – i.e. the day after I was supposed to fly out. He told me to get there early, very early, like 6:30 in the morning early, if I was to be sure of getting a visa. Great.

So, up at 4:30 the next morning, out of the door by 5:00, off I went down the M6. By the time I’d found the place in Birmingham’s Jewelry Quarter, and found a place to park, it was about 6:50 a.m. There was already a queue of about 50 people standing in a line on the pavement outside the consulate, and it was growing by the minute! Apparently it’s like this every day, and what’s worse is that they will only grant 250 visas a day no matter how many people turn up. It works like a deli counter with those tickets you get from a machine. They call your number and up to the counter you go with your documents etc, but once they’ve issued the 250th ticket then that’s that, come back tomorrow and get there earlier, chump! Luckily I got a ticket, and later that day got my passport back with its visa inside. Thank God for that, I’d probably have murdered someone if I’d not gotten a visa… you can imagine what kind of mood I was in. I was supposed to be on a beach right now, but instead I was in a waiting room in Birmingham!

There are several different kinds of visa available. Tourist, Business, etc etc. The Tourist Visa is good for 6 months and you can come and go as much as you like. The only problem is that you can’t renew it inside India itself, you have to go home, or at least out of the country to do so.

The week passed agonizingly slowly, but eventually the day of my flight arrived and off I went. The flight went without a hitch, no delays and after about 10 hours in the air there I was, finally in Goa! Grinning like a maniac I stepped off the plane, into the most wonderful blast of heat and sunshine. We walked 200 meters across baked, cracked tarmac towards the airport building, watched by a few bored looking soldiers with AK-47s. Whilst in the queue for immigration control, I called Martin, who was picking me up from the airport. He answered in a tired sounding voice and told me that he was outside.

I got my bags and started making my way towards the exit. About a million uniformed officials wanted to check my documents and passport, and once past them I was assailed by a million more taxi drivers wanting to take my bags and bundle me into their taxi. A polite but firm “No” seemed to do the trick and they soon lost interest in me. There was Martin, looking knackered, smoking a fag. After greeting each other, we made our way into the car park and he took me to the vehicle he’d rented to pick me up. It was a fantastically cool looking yellow jeep, made by “Mahindra” but obviously based around the classic “Willis Jeep” design.

My first time on an Indian road. The first thing I noticed was when I went to put on my seat belt – an automatic reaction. There wasn’t one. “Mart, there’s no seat belt mate.” He gave me a look. “No Dan, there isn’t” and with that we were off onto the dual carriageway (driving on the left!) with a *toot toot* of the horn. Other vehicles, from lorries to trucks to cars to motorbikes to scooters, even peddle bikes, all gave a *toot toot* in response to ours. I quickly worked out that horns aren’t used like we use them. We use them to basically tell people to “fuck off” or “get the fuck out of the way”. They use them to politely let people know that they’re there, and might be about to overtake, or to reply, hence letting you know that they’ve seen you and you’re safe to overtake. Indeed most of the lorries and trucks, and buses all have “Horn OK Please” or “Sound OK Horn” painted on the back of them.

There’s also no road rage! On our way down to Palolem we passed through the centre of a city called Margao, a sprawling, bustling, vibrant place. The traffic is insane! Ever driven around The Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees in Paris? It’s mad, but Margao’s ten times madder! Swarms of scooters zip about, dodging around cars, buses and trucks. Horns are beeping all over the place. You can reach out and touch four or five different vehicles all around you with ease. You’d have thought that such an environment would be the perfect breeding ground for road rage and confrontation, but it’s just the opposite.

There’s a rule of thumb… “Might is Right” – the bigger you are, the more your right of way it is. There’s a distinct pecking order, each vehicle making room for larger vehicles. Trucks > Buses > Cars > Motorbikes > Scooters > Peddle Bikes > Pedestrians. It seems like a crazy system, and indeed India has the most dangerous roads in the World, but while I was there it just seemed to work somehow. Because of the sheer volume of traffic, everyone pottered about relatively slowly, so there was always plenty of time to avoid a collision, and even if there was one it’d be at a relatively low speed so you’d probably come away with cuts and bruises. In fact, in the whole time I was there, only two weeks admittedly, I didn’t see a single accident, and I did spend quite a while traveling by road on either a motorbike or in the jeep. That having been said, every year several Westerners die in accidents on the roads, so care is advised!

I mentioned the road rage thing, or the lack of it. Martin tried a daft overtaking maneuver around a truck going around a corner. Unfortunately there was a truck heading the other way and not enough room, so everyone ground to a halt. In this country everyone would be gesticulating to each other, shouting, swearing, sticking two fingers up etc. Over there, people just smiled, nodded and did what they needed to do to get traffic flowing again. Wonderful!

On the way down we discussed what Martin had been getting up to. He’d decided not to re-open The Big Fish this year, and instead to have a go at organizing parties and events in and around Palolem. Basically acting as a promoter. The reason he was so tired was that the night before he’d held a beach party at Butterfly Beach, which was just to the North of Palolem and could only be accessed by sea, or by a trek through the jungle. It had gone on all night and thus he was dog tired, the poor sod. In fact I was supposed to have DJ’d at the gig, but because of my visa woes I’d missed it, so they had to make do with an iPod. Still, everyone had a good time anyway!

We traveled for about two hours, during which the roads became increasingly potholed the further into the jungle we headed. The views were breathtaking, reminding me of some of the jungle views you get in Far Cry

. The sun was shining, the air was filled with exotic, spicy smells and wildlife teemed around us in the jungle, which started where the road finished. I just soaked it all up… somehow the chaos of it all appealed to me at a primal level. Everything was so vibrant and ALIVE compared to home. I guess the magic had started to do its thing right then on my first day there. And there are cows! Cows wandering around on the road everywhere! Smashing

We eventually arrived at Colomb village, just South of Palolem. This was where Martin lived, and where I’d be staying. First things first, we went to Dillip’s beach bar for my first beer in India. This overlooked Colomb Beach and was where The Gang hung out for much of the time. It was quiet, peaceful and mainly patronized by long term travelers or ex-pats. Dillip, the owner, was a lovely chap. A local, he serves fantastic food and drink, and also rents out basic rooms, one of which I rented for 150 rupees a night (about 2 quid). It was quite basic as accommodation goes, a room with a bed, a fan, a light, a table and a power socket. There were also a couple of bamboo poles to act as a wardrobe, but only a couple of hangers for clothes, so I ended up living out of my suitcase. The shower and toilet were shared with the room next to me, and also the beach bar itself. The shower was invariably cold, but that was fine, you really welcome a cold shower after the heat of the day. The loo was like one of those French holes in the floor. There’s seldom any loo roll in Indian toilets, instead you’ll find a tap, underneath which is a large bucket filled with water. In the bucket will be a small jug. The idea is to use your left hand and the small jug of water instead of loo roll. That’s why you must never shake hands or eat using your left hand, as that’s very bad manners what with it being your “dirty” hand! If you don’t like the idea of that, then there are lots of places you can buy loo roll, and its best if you keep a roll in your pocket. There are European style toilets around, but don’t count on it.

At Dillip’s I met Danny, who shares a house with Martin and is his business partner out there. I also met Johnny, affectionately know as “Doc Holiday” because he has a therapeutic massage and alternative medicine place in Palolem, yet still manages to live the lifestyle of a holiday maker. All three of them own Royal Enfield Bullet motorbikes. These bikes are really beautiful, manufactured in India to a classic British design. I’m going to get one when I move out there!

From this point my time there can be split into two sections. Down South and up North. The first ten days or so, we spent down South, around Palolem and surrounding villages. I won’t give a day by day account as it’s all merged into an amorphous lump of wonderfulness. What I can say though, is that I’ve never felt as relaxed and happy as I was there. There’s a whole different pace of life there. Of course, being on holiday you expect not to be governed by the same pressures you are at home, but this applied not only to tourists, but also to the ex-pat community who live and work out there. It’s a sense of freedom, a sense of not having to do anything unless you want to. Q: “What shall we do now?” A: “Fancy nipping to Patnem to see Uwe?” and that’s the pattern. You’d wander over to Green Park beach to see some of the people who chilled there. You’d order a drink, maybe a freshly squeezed fruit juice, and a bite to eat, maybe an Aloo Gobi (curried potatoes and cauliflower, with a couple of chapattis) and relax with new friends. Everyone is totally, genuinely friendly. There are no bad attitudes at all. It’s like the place charms people, or maybe it’s the type of people who go there which creates the charm, or maybe a bit of both. Can the same be said of Benidorm?

Maybe it’s the huge quantity of charas (weed) which people smoke – there’s always a joint going round, often several. There were many times when there would be five or six people sitting round, with three or four joints on the go, and at least one person skinning up

its reasonable stuff too!

I’d brought my poker chips out with me (originally brought back from Vegas) and once I produced them at Green Park beach bar, they started a Texas Hold’em craze which to my knowledge is still going on. I actually left my chips out there for the guys to look after for me… by then I’d decided that I’d be going back for sure.

Uwe (pronounced “hoovay”) is an ex-pat who owns a bar called Raisa on Patnem Beach. Originally from East Germany, he was there when the Berlin Wall went down, and has lived in Goa for the last 8 years or so. He’s well plugged into the scene there and knows all the owners of the big nightclubs up North in Anjuna, Baga and Calangute. He made a couple of phone calls and hey presto, got me a booking at one of Goa’s longest running and most well established nightclubs in Goa, Tito’s in Baga. The owner agreed to pay for our travel and accommodation, plus a fee of 5000 rupees for me! That’s about 60 quid in our money, so not all that much, but out there that’s more than a month’s rent! It was at this point that I started to realize how I might make a living out there. Western, and indeed UK DJs especially are in high demand, and if I only did 4 gigs a month then I’d be able to live comfortably. 8 gigs and I’d live very well indeed!

As it happened I ended up doing about 5 gigs whilst I was out there, 4 up North at clubs and bars, one down South which was a beach party. It basically paid for all my accommodation, food, drink and even presents for the folks back home. Nice!

Vinyl doesn’t really play a part in DJing down in Goa, certainly not in the South, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the heat may well warp your vinyl and render it unusable. Secondly, there aren’t any decks to play it on that I saw. At best you’ll find CD players, but in most beach bars, the punters provide the music by plugging their iPods into the sound system. Instead of lugging my records, or even CDs out there, I took my laptop, all my mp3s, Traktor DJ Studio mixing software, and a miniature mixer which plugs into a USB port. This is the perfect solution for DJing out there, as all you need is a sound system to plug into.

There’s so much more to tell, including the fireworks which go off every night, the dogs which we’ve adopted and go swimming in the sea with us, the fabulous scenery, the wonderful people, the shave by a dude with a cut throat razor, the fried king fish steaks, the beaches, the whole ambience of the place, but I’ve written enough for today so may well cover that another day

DEV^S · 28-Dec-2005, 16:14

gave up wen i scrolled, and scrolled and scrolled, sure u had a good time tho

Kick · 28-Dec-2005, 16:15

Needs more half naked pictures of yourself.

Onions · 28-Dec-2005, 16:23

sounds like a damn nice place

andy · 28-Dec-2005, 16:25

Quote:

There’s also no road rage! On our way down to Palolem we passed through the centre of a city called Margao, a sprawling, bustling, vibrant place. The traffic is insane! Ever driven around The Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees in Paris? It’s mad, but Margao’s ten times madder! Swarms of scooters zip about, dodging around cars, buses and trucks. Horns are beeping all over the place. You can reach out and touch four or five different vehicles all around you with ease. You’d have thought that such an environment would be the perfect breeding ground for road rage and confrontation, but it’s just the opposite.

Was it like this?

http://www.dumpalink.com/media/11318...Saigon_Traffic

munk · 28-Dec-2005, 16:34

Just the tonic for a long boring afternoon in the office, sounded wonderful... FS NOW I WANT A HOLIDAY TOO

munk · 28-Dec-2005, 16:41

some amazing pictures dan! you should frame a few of them

MaNiC^ · 28-Dec-2005, 17:08

awww i was expecting some horrendous thing to come at the end, but its nice you had a good time without any bad things happening ;(

de_duck · 28-Dec-2005, 17:15

Sounds absolutely incredible

I sense a definite urge from you to tell Blighty to sod off and move out their?

Incredible photos !

Hapless · 28-Dec-2005, 17:21

Nice report, sounds great out there. Hope everything works out with the move etc.

tinx · 28-Dec-2005, 17:21

Quote:

Originally Posted by de_duck

I sense a definite urge from you to tell Blighty to sod off and move out their?

Definately! Glad you had a great time LF, I'm off for nigh on a year next summer, can't wait double now!

Homer-Simpson · 28-Dec-2005, 18:09

Sounds like you had an awesome time out there and wow, those pictures are awesome

So are you definately moving out there? Would you be going back to where you just visited?

Methy · 28-Dec-2005, 18:17

Phwoar sounds stunning mate. You write really well, should consider making some documentries, Michael Palin styley

Cam · 28-Dec-2005, 19:05

Nice Read m8 glad you enjoyed it

NWA · 28-Dec-2005, 20:23

Glad to here it went well after the initial mishap Dan, make sure you stay in touch if/when you go out. Lucy go with you?

spl@t · 28-Dec-2005, 20:36

Bar the whole toilet situation the trip sounds awesome, glad you enjoyed it as much as you did.

28-Dec-2005, 16:05	#1
Lord Fondlemaid Colossal Pervert Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 4,384	My Goa Experience Pictures to accompany this can be found here: http://spaces.msn.com/members/lord-fondlemaid/ Martin's a bugger, he really is. He's one of those people who always seems to land on his feet wherever he goes and whatever he does. He's so spawny that he could land in a barrel of shit and come out smelling of roses. So, three years ago when he announced he was going to sell his house, and travel around India with his Mrs, the lovely Pippa, I just knew that he'd be having a great time all the way. That's what got me thinking... Fantastic stories started coming back, featuring idyllic beaches, spectacular jungle, breathtaking waterfalls, warm and friendly people, vibrant towns and cities, a rich and ancient culture. These were tempered with images of poverty, squalor and people in need, but the overall impression was of an exotic paradise where not only was there spice in the food, there was spice in life. A couple of years passed. At some point Martin & Pippa settled in Goa, a province about halfway down the Western coast of India, a place with a reputation for attracting hippies, "freaks" and travelers since the 60's. He opened a bar and restaurant with 12 beach huts at Palolem Beach, in the South of Goa, where tourism wasn't as developed as up North in Calangute and Anjuna (India's Benidorm if you like) Martin and Pip ran "The Big Fish" for a season. Sadly they split up and Pippa came back to the UK earlier than expected. Martin came back at the end of the season (around June / July this year) and began the systematic process of infecting me with wanderlust. Every time he came round for a brew, or we went out to the pub, there would be a new and exciting story about his time there. I decided I just had to go and see for myself. Martin went back out there earlier this year, about September time, with no fixed plans of what he was going to do. Maybe open "The Big Fish" again, maybe not. I fixed the last two weeks in November to go to see how he was getting on and see if the place was as wonderful as he'd made out. Martin, bless him, can sometimes be prone to a certain amount of "exaggeration" so I was prepared with a pinch of salt if you will. Time seemed to pass infuriatingly slowly as my departure date approached. I'd booked my flight only ticket (for about £450.00) with Thomas Cook. Luckily it was a direct flight from Manchester to Goa so there'd be no buggering about catching connecting flights etc. I'd asked the girl who I bought the ticket from whether I needed any special visa, or other requirement to visit. She said "No, all you need is 6 months left on your passport when you go" and foolishly I believed her. The date of my flight arrived, I was supposed to go at 7:15 p.m. I'd packed most things the night before and it was about 11:00 a.m. I was going through a mental checklist... did I have this, did I have that, do I need this, do I need that etc. when I had a sudden urge to re-check the Visa situation. I went on the web and to my dismay started coming across lots of references to “Tourist Visas” which it appeared were required for travel to India. Erk! I called Martin, he confirmed it. I called Thomas Cook, and told them I might have been misinformed when I bought the ticket. Yeah it was silly of me not to have checked it out myself but then again I had been told by the Thomas Cook girl that one didn’t need a Visa. Anyway, they admitted that the error was on their part, and agreed to refund me my ticket price and put me on the next available flight. Unfortunately this delayed my departure for a week, but on the bright side my new ticket price was only £216.00!! Every cloud has a silver lining indeed, although it was a total nightmare having to go back to work! Getting the Visa was the next step, and this is a story in itself! If I was prepared to wait for up to 8 weeks, and risk my passport getting “lost” then one option was to apply by post. Bugger that! The only other option was to pay a visit to the Indian High Consulate in person. There are three in the UK – London, Birmingham and Edinburgh. Martin called me back to see how things were going, I told him that I planned to go down to Birmingham ASAP – i.e. the day after I was supposed to fly out. He told me to get there early, very early, like 6:30 in the morning early, if I was to be sure of getting a visa. Great. So, up at 4:30 the next morning, out of the door by 5:00, off I went down the M6. By the time I’d found the place in Birmingham’s Jewelry Quarter, and found a place to park, it was about 6:50 a.m. There was already a queue of about 50 people standing in a line on the pavement outside the consulate, and it was growing by the minute! Apparently it’s like this every day, and what’s worse is that they will only grant 250 visas a day no matter how many people turn up. It works like a deli counter with those tickets you get from a machine. They call your number and up to the counter you go with your documents etc, but once they’ve issued the 250th ticket then that’s that, come back tomorrow and get there earlier, chump! Luckily I got a ticket, and later that day got my passport back with its visa inside. Thank God for that, I’d probably have murdered someone if I’d not gotten a visa… you can imagine what kind of mood I was in. I was supposed to be on a beach right now, but instead I was in a waiting room in Birmingham! There are several different kinds of visa available. Tourist, Business, etc etc. The Tourist Visa is good for 6 months and you can come and go as much as you like. The only problem is that you can’t renew it inside India itself, you have to go home, or at least out of the country to do so. The week passed agonizingly slowly, but eventually the day of my flight arrived and off I went. The flight went without a hitch, no delays and after about 10 hours in the air there I was, finally in Goa! Grinning like a maniac I stepped off the plane, into the most wonderful blast of heat and sunshine. We walked 200 meters across baked, cracked tarmac towards the airport building, watched by a few bored looking soldiers with AK-47s. Whilst in the queue for immigration control, I called Martin, who was picking me up from the airport. He answered in a tired sounding voice and told me that he was outside. I got my bags and started making my way towards the exit. About a million uniformed officials wanted to check my documents and passport, and once past them I was assailed by a million more taxi drivers wanting to take my bags and bundle me into their taxi. A polite but firm “No” seemed to do the trick and they soon lost interest in me. There was Martin, looking knackered, smoking a fag. After greeting each other, we made our way into the car park and he took me to the vehicle he’d rented to pick me up. It was a fantastically cool looking yellow jeep, made by “Mahindra” but obviously based around the classic “Willis Jeep” design. My first time on an Indian road. The first thing I noticed was when I went to put on my seat belt – an automatic reaction. There wasn’t one. “Mart, there’s no seat belt mate.” He gave me a look. “No Dan, there isn’t” and with that we were off onto the dual carriageway (driving on the left!) with a toot toot of the horn. Other vehicles, from lorries to trucks to cars to motorbikes to scooters, even peddle bikes, all gave a toot toot in response to ours. I quickly worked out that horns aren’t used like we use them. We use them to basically tell people to “fuck off” or “get the fuck out of the way”. They use them to politely let people know that they’re there, and might be about to overtake, or to reply, hence letting you know that they’ve seen you and you’re safe to overtake. Indeed most of the lorries and trucks, and buses all have “Horn OK Please” or “Sound OK Horn” painted on the back of them. There’s also no road rage! On our way down to Palolem we passed through the centre of a city called Margao, a sprawling, bustling, vibrant place. The traffic is insane! Ever driven around The Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees in Paris? It’s mad, but Margao’s ten times madder! Swarms of scooters zip about, dodging around cars, buses and trucks. Horns are beeping all over the place. You can reach out and touch four or five different vehicles all around you with ease. You’d have thought that such an environment would be the perfect breeding ground for road rage and confrontation, but it’s just the opposite. There’s a rule of thumb… “Might is Right” – the bigger you are, the more your right of way it is. There’s a distinct pecking order, each vehicle making room for larger vehicles. Trucks > Buses > Cars > Motorbikes > Scooters > Peddle Bikes > Pedestrians. It seems like a crazy system, and indeed India has the most dangerous roads in the World, but while I was there it just seemed to work somehow. Because of the sheer volume of traffic, everyone pottered about relatively slowly, so there was always plenty of time to avoid a collision, and even if there was one it’d be at a relatively low speed so you’d probably come away with cuts and bruises. In fact, in the whole time I was there, only two weeks admittedly, I didn’t see a single accident, and I did spend quite a while traveling by road on either a motorbike or in the jeep. That having been said, every year several Westerners die in accidents on the roads, so care is advised! I mentioned the road rage thing, or the lack of it. Martin tried a daft overtaking maneuver around a truck going around a corner. Unfortunately there was a truck heading the other way and not enough room, so everyone ground to a halt. In this country everyone would be gesticulating to each other, shouting, swearing, sticking two fingers up etc. Over there, people just smiled, nodded and did what they needed to do to get traffic flowing again. Wonderful! On the way down we discussed what Martin had been getting up to. He’d decided not to re-open The Big Fish this year, and instead to have a go at organizing parties and events in and around Palolem. Basically acting as a promoter. The reason he was so tired was that the night before he’d held a beach party at Butterfly Beach, which was just to the North of Palolem and could only be accessed by sea, or by a trek through the jungle. It had gone on all night and thus he was dog tired, the poor sod. In fact I was supposed to have DJ’d at the gig, but because of my visa woes I’d missed it, so they had to make do with an iPod. Still, everyone had a good time anyway! We traveled for about two hours, during which the roads became increasingly potholed the further into the jungle we headed. The views were breathtaking, reminding me of some of the jungle views you get in Far Cry . The sun was shining, the air was filled with exotic, spicy smells and wildlife teemed around us in the jungle, which started where the road finished. I just soaked it all up… somehow the chaos of it all appealed to me at a primal level. Everything was so vibrant and ALIVE compared to home. I guess the magic had started to do its thing right then on my first day there. And there are cows! Cows wandering around on the road everywhere! Smashing We eventually arrived at Colomb village, just South of Palolem. This was where Martin lived, and where I’d be staying. First things first, we went to Dillip’s beach bar for my first beer in India. This overlooked Colomb Beach and was where The Gang hung out for much of the time. It was quiet, peaceful and mainly patronized by long term travelers or ex-pats. Dillip, the owner, was a lovely chap. A local, he serves fantastic food and drink, and also rents out basic rooms, one of which I rented for 150 rupees a night (about 2 quid). It was quite basic as accommodation goes, a room with a bed, a fan, a light, a table and a power socket. There were also a couple of bamboo poles to act as a wardrobe, but only a couple of hangers for clothes, so I ended up living out of my suitcase. The shower and toilet were shared with the room next to me, and also the beach bar itself. The shower was invariably cold, but that was fine, you really welcome a cold shower after the heat of the day. The loo was like one of those French holes in the floor. There’s seldom any loo roll in Indian toilets, instead you’ll find a tap, underneath which is a large bucket filled with water. In the bucket will be a small jug. The idea is to use your left hand and the small jug of water instead of loo roll. That’s why you must never shake hands or eat using your left hand, as that’s very bad manners what with it being your “dirty” hand! If you don’t like the idea of that, then there are lots of places you can buy loo roll, and its best if you keep a roll in your pocket. There are European style toilets around, but don’t count on it. At Dillip’s I met Danny, who shares a house with Martin and is his business partner out there. I also met Johnny, affectionately know as “Doc Holiday” because he has a therapeutic massage and alternative medicine place in Palolem, yet still manages to live the lifestyle of a holiday maker. All three of them own Royal Enfield Bullet motorbikes. These bikes are really beautiful, manufactured in India to a classic British design. I’m going to get one when I move out there! From this point my time there can be split into two sections. Down South and up North. The first ten days or so, we spent down South, around Palolem and surrounding villages. I won’t give a day by day account as it’s all merged into an amorphous lump of wonderfulness. What I can say though, is that I’ve never felt as relaxed and happy as I was there. There’s a whole different pace of life there. Of course, being on holiday you expect not to be governed by the same pressures you are at home, but this applied not only to tourists, but also to the ex-pat community who live and work out there. It’s a sense of freedom, a sense of not having to do anything unless you want to. Q: “What shall we do now?” A: “Fancy nipping to Patnem to see Uwe?” and that’s the pattern. You’d wander over to Green Park beach to see some of the people who chilled there. You’d order a drink, maybe a freshly squeezed fruit juice, and a bite to eat, maybe an Aloo Gobi (curried potatoes and cauliflower, with a couple of chapattis) and relax with new friends. Everyone is totally, genuinely friendly. There are no bad attitudes at all. It’s like the place charms people, or maybe it’s the type of people who go there which creates the charm, or maybe a bit of both. Can the same be said of Benidorm? Maybe it’s the huge quantity of charas (weed) which people smoke – there’s always a joint going round, often several. There were many times when there would be five or six people sitting round, with three or four joints on the go, and at least one person skinning up its reasonable stuff too! I’d brought my poker chips out with me (originally brought back from Vegas) and once I produced them at Green Park beach bar, they started a Texas Hold’em craze which to my knowledge is still going on. I actually left my chips out there for the guys to look after for me… by then I’d decided that I’d be going back for sure. Uwe (pronounced “hoovay”) is an ex-pat who owns a bar called Raisa on Patnem Beach. Originally from East Germany, he was there when the Berlin Wall went down, and has lived in Goa for the last 8 years or so. He’s well plugged into the scene there and knows all the owners of the big nightclubs up North in Anjuna, Baga and Calangute. He made a couple of phone calls and hey presto, got me a booking at one of Goa’s longest running and most well established nightclubs in Goa, Tito’s in Baga. The owner agreed to pay for our travel and accommodation, plus a fee of 5000 rupees for me! That’s about 60 quid in our money, so not all that much, but out there that’s more than a month’s rent! It was at this point that I started to realize how I might make a living out there. Western, and indeed UK DJs especially are in high demand, and if I only did 4 gigs a month then I’d be able to live comfortably. 8 gigs and I’d live very well indeed! As it happened I ended up doing about 5 gigs whilst I was out there, 4 up North at clubs and bars, one down South which was a beach party. It basically paid for all my accommodation, food, drink and even presents for the folks back home. Nice! Vinyl doesn’t really play a part in DJing down in Goa, certainly not in the South, for a couple of reasons. Firstly, the heat may well warp your vinyl and render it unusable. Secondly, there aren’t any decks to play it on that I saw. At best you’ll find CD players, but in most beach bars, the punters provide the music by plugging their iPods into the sound system. Instead of lugging my records, or even CDs out there, I took my laptop, all my mp3s, Traktor DJ Studio mixing software, and a miniature mixer which plugs into a USB port. This is the perfect solution for DJing out there, as all you need is a sound system to plug into. There’s so much more to tell, including the fireworks which go off every night, the dogs which we’ve adopted and go swimming in the sea with us, the fabulous scenery, the wonderful people, the shave by a dude with a cut throat razor, the fried king fish steaks, the beaches, the whole ambience of the place, but I’ve written enough for today so may well cover that another day __________________ Trickery's leading Internet Groomer. "Who, or why, or which, or what... is the Akond of Swat?" www.rebelroyal.com Last edited by Lord Fondlemaid; 28-Dec-2005 at 16:07.

28-Dec-2005, 16:14	#2
DEV^S lock my threads Join Date: Feb 2004 Location: Purley Posts: 5,315	gave up wen i scrolled, and scrolled and scrolled, sure u had a good time tho __________________ Baby Nest - The Largest Baby Shop In The South East

28-Dec-2005, 16:23	#4
Onions it's still christmas Join Date: Oct 2003 Location: Scotland Posts: 3,176	sounds like a damn nice place __________________ nakedtrickerygirls.net "As much as onions is a giant ginger bag of mashed twats who doesn't technically constitute one whole human due to his massive lack of self esteem, bad face, and the fact he hails from scotland (the small s is intentional to indicate the insignificance of the place), he does make a valid point!"

28-Dec-2005, 16:34	#6
munk my post count gets me dates Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 4,095	Just the tonic for a long boring afternoon in the office, sounded wonderful... FS NOW I WANT A HOLIDAY TOO __________________ ultra exceptional skills

28-Dec-2005, 16:41	#7
munk my post count gets me dates Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 4,095	some amazing pictures dan! you should frame a few of them __________________ ultra exceptional skills

28-Dec-2005, 16:15	#3
Kick will post for food Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 1,336	Needs more half naked pictures of yourself.

28-Dec-2005, 17:15	#9
de_duck off topic Join Date: Oct 2003 Location: Edinburgh Posts: 2,523	Sounds absolutely incredible I sense a definite urge from you to tell Blighty to sod off and move out their? Incredible photos ! __________________ "I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq" Stephen Colbert speaking at the Whitehouse correspondents dinner What would St Augestine of Hippo think now?

28-Dec-2005, 17:21	#10
Hapless Prince of All Oafs Join Date: Oct 2003 Location: Sunny Solihull Posts: 4,040	Nice report, sounds great out there. Hope everything works out with the move etc. __________________ Championing the cause of Status Anxiety sufferers since 1969.

28-Dec-2005, 18:09	#12
Homer-Simpson founder of the +1 forum Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 3,700	Sounds like you had an awesome time out there and wow, those pictures are awesome So are you definately moving out there? Would you be going back to where you just visited?

28-Dec-2005, 18:17	#13
Methy my other post is a smiley Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 1,711	Phwoar sounds stunning mate. You write really well, should consider making some documentries, Michael Palin styley

28-Dec-2005, 19:05	#14
Cam each time i post god kills a kitten Join Date: Oct 2003 Posts: 4,530	Nice Read m8 glad you enjoyed it __________________ Breast awareness // Meet Cam. He's a breastologist and loves his work!

28-Dec-2005, 20:36	#16
spl@t post count envy Join Date: Oct 2003 Location: Kent Posts: 3,966	Bar the whole toilet situation the trip sounds awesome, glad you enjoyed it as much as you did.