Day 11 - Thursday/Beerwar - F*cking Dynamite!

---

We woke up late this morning, having breakfast at 11, and then had a brief orientation and introduction to the camp and the staff. IDEX (Indian Development Exchange), our volunteer organisation, are currently in the process of planning and building a permanent camp here in Goa, adding to the projects they run in Himachal Pradesh and Rajastan. In the mean time, they rent rooms from the Hotel Colmar, which are all located at the rear on the ground floor and separated from the rest of the hotel - by a 7" cupboard. This means we have our own entrance (which is closest to the beach!), and they have built an outdoor kitchen/patio area in the free space behind the hotel. They rent enough rooms for their volunteers, plus one as a recreation room, the floor of which is covered with cushions, making it a very comfortable lounging area; one or two as dining rooms; and a couple for staff bedrooms-cum-storerooms. It's all a bit basic but comfortable, and you can't beat the location!

The staff are really friendly, and generally speak English fairly well. There's Kirti, our chef (absolutely insane, with the sense of humour of an eight year old but a chess demon); Mohaan, our driver (equally mature but not as loud); Mansing, the handy man/cleaner (slightly more mature but still a bit mad at times); Pinki, the kitchen hand/cleaner/general dogsbody (cute little shy girl); and our coordinators. In addition to Krishan and Dipu (who's name means Little Elephant, we've found out) we've got Dipu's university friend "DK" (the maddest of the lot) and Sushila (very sweet local woman).

After orientation, we went straight to the beach. It's not as nice during the day - we got hassled by a couple of beach sellers, there's a few mangy dogs hanging around, and you can see the litter which is hidden at night - but the sand is still golden and the water's blue and fairly clear. We played catch with Julie's vest top (she had a bikini on underneath before you get too excited) until someone found a frisbee in the camp, and some of the girls sunbathed for a while, although personally I don't see the appeal in lying somewhere doing nothing!

After a few hours, we went to "Pasta Hut", the bar/restaurant by the hotel. We were very happy with the prices - it's 55 Rupees per beer, and only 250 for a 180ml measure of their good whiskey! Keith and I were sat at our table having a beer, him smoking a cigarette and me a beedee, when a local came over and introduced himself. He then turned to me, and nodded at my beedee:"You smoke marijuana?"
"No! No! Beedee" I replied hurriedly, knowing the strict sentences for possession in India.
"You want smoke marijuana?" He asked, grinning widely. We politely declined, of course, but I laughed at myself. I'd swore I wasn't going to do drugs abroad - it's not worth it if you get caught - but was surprised how easy it actually is to get these things, should one desire.

So anyway, we all had a few drinks, myself a beer then a laaarge whiskey, and then met a local called Shiva - if anyone's been to Colva and drank in the Pasta Hut you'll probably know him. He sells postcards by evening, and is very well connected, if you need a bike or scooter or bicycle, or pretty much anything, he probably knows someone who can get it (although I never asked about drugs - he doesn't seem the type and, well, they're not hard to find!).

Shiva is one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. He speaks ten languages that I know of - Hindi, Kolcani, English, French, German, Spanish, Dutch, Swedish, Welsh and, of all things, Gaelic! - well enough to have a fluent conversation, and all from speaking to tourists. But the thing which got us talking is his memory for geography, UK postcodes in particular. He asked where I was from.
"England"
"Whereabouts in England?"
"Manchester"
"Salford? Trafford?"
"No, Oldham actually"
"Where in Oldham? Near Chadderton?"
"Err, yeah, Royton"
"Aah. On the way to Rochdale. Near Shaw. Your postcode, it's OL25, yes?"
I was amazed. I have to explain to people who live in North England where Oldham is. This guy lives the other side of the planet, and knows where Royton, and Shaw, the next village, is. All this he knows from selling postcards, which he posts for a rupee, reading the address and postcode on the way. He's a certifiable genius. I offered him a drink, but he doesn't drink. Unfortunately we had to go for dinner, but he said we might see him later.

Dinner was a rice/dhal/spicy vegetable combination, which wasn't exactly to my liking, but was better than the Ashram! In the evening we returned to the Pasta Hut, and had a few more beers. The highlight of the night, personally, was when we saw Shiva again. As if the man wasn't enough of a legend, he's wearing a Falkirk FC away shirt, from a couple of seasons ago. I'd had a couple, on top of my light dinner and pre-dinner drinks, so I leapt out of my seat in amazement. The rest of the guys thought I'd gone mad, as I started babbling about how much of an amazing coincidence it was. You see, when I was at university in Dundee, my then-fiancee Julie (now ex, long story, buy me a few whiskeys and I might tell you some time) had a brother, Lorne aka Pedro (I don't even know), who was a huuuge Falkirk "Bairns" fan (I keep using the past tense - he's still a Bairns fan, and we're still very good mates), and I went to many an away game with him. They've not got a huge following (although they gained promotion to the Scottish Premier League a couple of years ago), so to find a Falkirk shirt floating around in India is a rare thing indeed! I got him to pose for a photo, taught him the chant ("We're blue! We're white! We're f*cking dynamite, Falkirk Bairns! Falkirk Bairns") and then proceeded to get rather drunk, occasionally muttering "I can't believe it! A Bloody Falkirk shirt in Colva!

If he'd turned up in a Latics shirt the following night I'd have died!

---