here I am again

So, I’m back in India.
This time it’s been a different experience. No barefoot children running circles round me every morning and causing havoc in classrooms, no daily puja, no manic monsoon, and no daily enticement of adventure. This time, it’s been champagne, beaches (yes, I finally found a beach), laugher and love. Oh, and there’s definitely been less staring.

My brain still swills with the discrepancy between my two Indian experiences. Last time I was here I was learning and exploring. This time it is pure rest and it both saddens and thrills me to see what a fabulous tourist destination South Indian can be for those with a little bit of money.

On my first few days in Mumbai I was looked after by the lovely Saul and Carmen. She, making sure I got enough rest and he ensuring I got enough (more than enough) good food and wine. Previously, I had hated Mumbai. Having grown up in London, spent time in New York, Milan, Paris, Rome and Dar-Es-Salam, I’m not normally intimidated by big cities. But the pulsating hive of Mumbai made, for the first time ever want to retreat from the putrid roads to the safety of my a/c Merc.

Despite having seen extreme poverty in Tamil Nadu, the beggars and street kids of one of the world’s wealthiest cities shocked me. So much poverty and so much wealth side by side is hard to take in. Mumbai is a city of extremes. Large guardianed apartments overlooking sprawling septic slums.

This time I was more prepared and more cushioned by Saul and Carmen and their driver, who were all there to greet me as I got off the plane. What was still overpowering, I noted as we almost missed our flight to Goa, was the bustling, tooting, smoggy and barely moving traffic….

From Mumbai it was on to the beaches of Goa where we found an almost desert beach offering the most heavenly bungalows, straight out of ‘hip hotels’. Serendipity meant it was free for CJ and I for just one night, so we threw our budget out the window and stayed at the exquisite Turtle Lounge on Agonda beach, where the bathroom was bigger than my flat and half open to the stars. It was all billowing silks, framing the moonlit beach and chandeliers hanging from coconut trees. Agonda was a little piece of heaven, far from the hustling tourist hub that Palolem has become just 30 mins away. No doubt this beach too will soon give in to the overpriced backpacking shacks, tourist traps serving chips and beer accompanied by blaring dance music, but for now, it’s ideal. Needless to say we didn’t move for 2 weeks.

After CJ left, I moved on to Delhi to meet up with a varied group of French women. Anne, whom I’ve know for 15 years, and who now lives in Chennai, the ever-immaculately made up Marie-France and Anne’s mother and aunt, who as far as I can tell survives on cigars, coffee and wine (none of which are easy to find in North India).

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