GoA

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Goa
I was disappointed when I first got to Goa.  I was very tired from the train ride and shaky from the lack of food.  It was getting dark and my first impression was that it looked like a Canadian Indian reserve.  Add to that a lot of cars, buses, motorcycles, people, cows, dogs and garbage and you have my first moments in Goa.  A festival was on which meant bomb sounding fireworks were being deployed, so i was not so happy.  I asked what kind of beer they had at the guest house and was told both large and small.  So i had a large bottle of ghetto beer and went to bed.

A perfect example of how India works is Sudain.  Sudain does not work for the guest house, but he brings the food out to your table.  We soon became very good friends.  I told him at lunch yesterday i really wanted to rent a special Indian Motorbike called an Enfield Bullet.  He told me a scooter was much better, but i persisted.  Later that day i told him i was getting desperate to call home.  He ran to a corner vendor and prepaid 400 rupees onto his cellphone.  Then i called Stacey and talked for 45 minutes.  Sudain is not just my friend, he is also in my employ. I know i will need to pay him when i leave here i do not know the details at the moment as it would be rude to ask...

Anyway, at lunch he told me he would try 110% to find an Enfield Bullet for me to rent.  Not a word of a lie, it was about 9 minutes later a roar could be heard outside the courtyard as two Enfield Bullets pulled up and parked.  Did i want a blue or silver one?  450 rupees per day ($11).  So my first motorbike adventure has began.

The second thing i did was learn to buy gas.  There are no gas stations here, so you pull into a corner vender and barter for a pop bottle of gas.  I currently have 4 pop bottles of gas in the tank and that makes me rich.  The first lesson was learning to drive on the left, but that is a lesson i keep reliving.  Thankfully the Indian people are forgiving and i really mean that.  They honk to warn me, not punish me for the mistake.  Three people all motioned me as i passed with a hand signal similar to wave that i had a problem.  Later i learned it was my headlight.  I had turned it on for safety, but that was considered inappropriate during daylight hours. 

 I got up at dawn to ride today.  I rode little country lanes with Portuguese style homes all along the way.  There are so many little churches and monasteries it baffles your mind.  I stopped pulling over to look at things, because walking would be faster.  Little villages every kilometer or so.  The bike runs great, a deep long stroke engine but less power than mine at home.  It has it's own personality and likes to stall on the big bumps.  The speedometer and other non-essential equipment is long since broken, but it runs gentle.  A good metaphor for India i think.

I have had moments when i am driving with cows and dogs running down the street with me.  I gave a cow a quick spank as i passed yesterday.  Other moments i get into heavy traffic and it is like being in a big noisy parade.  You weave and honk around others and, as i tend to be competitive, you pass anyone you can.  I hate being passed here.  Nobody passes Ian Quigley.  Traffic circles and right hand turns remain weak areas for me. 

From the outside it looks very dangerous, but i have only seen one bump.  The honking is not road rage, but a mixture of safety warning, impatient complaining and random noise making.  I have decided i will only honk for two reasons; safety warnings and cows.  I just like honking at the cows, because it makes me laugh inside.

Well, that is Goa so foa.  I write this from the beach.  A beach i found under an ancient Portuguese stone fort.  I bought a bunch of stuff for my girls and then met a British lady whom i sit with on the beach and learned i way way way overpaid.  But they told me i was very witty and skilled.  Flattery appears to be a great tactic.  

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Comments

[Dad]

Sorry
I wanted to forward to Trevor but entered your name instead. Dum Dum.