Our last few days in North Goa are typically blissful, and spent lazing around the beach, zooming around the coast on our scooters, buying sackfuls of tourist tat and sitting around in beach bars watching sun-sets. It's a tough old life! So tough, in fact, that we decide to treat ourselves to Ayurvedic massages at a little clinic (aka shack) behind where we are staying. It's only Rs600 (about 7 quid) for a 1 hour full back massage, so really it would be rude not to...
We stride in and are taken in to separate rooms - Lisa gets a proper massage bed with a female masseuse, whereas I am stuck with a sheet laid out on the floor and a small suspicious looking Indian man. Nonetheless, I strip down to my knickers and lie on the sheet (oh the glamour!) whilst my masseur sets about working all the knots out of my back. Just as I am beginning to relax and actually quite enjoy it, my knickers are pulled half-way down and my bottom and inner thighs kneaded to within an in of their lives. My mind is racing. Is this normal? Is Lisa getting the same treatment? Why is he continuing to punch my ass? I swear people have less contact during sex.
When our time is up, we stagger out of the 'clincic' and can barely look at each other for laughing. Turns out, the groping wasn't just for me; Lisa has been equally violated. Not an entirely unpleasant massage though. Just a tad unexpected!
So the time has come to move on to South Goa, and a beautiful beach we've heard about called Palolem. We have to catch a few different buses to get there - out first Indian bus experience. And what an experiecne it is! Just when you think that they cannot possibly fit another soul on the bus they manage to squeeze and pack a few more on, and I'm pretty sure the drivers are half-drunk most of the time (or at least their crazy driving and complete disregard for road rules/safety/other traffic would suggest so). The buises here make for pretty uncomfortable journeys too - rather like sitting on a pneumatic drill for a few hours.
Our last bus trip is actually rather interesting though - for me at least. I wind up sitting next to a friendly little Indian man called Albert, who just-so-happens top be a palm reader. What are the chances! So over the course of the 2 hour journey, he studies my hands and makes some very precise and interesting predictions and readings. I won't bore you with the details (of which there are a lot!), but I am completely taken aback with some of what he has to say. As well as being pretty accurate in terms of my personality etc, according to him I've got a happy future ahead. Phewf.
I've also taken some time during our various bus adventures to try and consolidate a few thoughts on India so far....
* It is a lot dirtier and smellier than I imagined it would be. There's barely a bin in sight, so people tend to just throw rubbish wherever. And a lack of public toilets and sanitation means that there is an overriding stench of urine in most places. Men stopping for a piss in the middle of the street are ten-a-penny.
* My clothes are spattered with a small red dots that look like blood. Thankfully not blood, but paan, a red digestif that is chewed here by pretty much everyone, then spit out on the pavements. Have been caught in crossfre a few times.
* Seems that Indian men are perpetual masturbators. Seriously - everywhere we turn there's someone with their hands down their trousers having a right good fiddle.
* There are powercuts almost every day. And they enrage me.
* There are cows everywhere, and even traffic waits for them.
* If we have to answer question about jobs/salaries/husbands/boyfriends etc any more, we're probably going to scream...
Anyways... the time we arrive in Palolem, it's late afternoon, so we head off to find somewhere to stay. The search begins...
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