Carnival Weekend

Golda had been asking me to come to her home in Margao (the city where we work) for about 2 weeks before I accepted. Not that I didn't want to, it's just her forwardness to a man now use to restrictive Indian formality was a little disconcerting. Also as a volunteer I had to be seen as impartial for my final report on the school, although my thoughts on matters were pretty clear by week one.

During tiffin one morning, she took me through her family album, pointing out her husband ("Is he not handsome?" she asks me with a worried look...I nod enthusiastically, figuring Mrs Grasshopper would probably think so), her beautiful baby boy and other family members. This openness, along with her professionalism, disarming honesty, and sense of humor, made me quite fond of her and I really wanted to meet the family she had told me so much about. The fact she promised a good home-made goan lunch was an added bonus too!

So Mrs Grasshopper and I arranged to ride over on sunday about 12. It was Carnival weekend, and Robert (her husband) thought we could watch the carnival and then go out with them to celebrate his friend Rex's birthday.

As we had monday off, Mrs Grasshopper and I were now really geared up for a great day and night, especially as Mrs G had been laid-up for some time with a stomach upset.
Now as much as I felt bad for my poor wife, and the 7 other volunteers who all had the same "stomach" problem, I still felt a little proud I was right as reign. So far, my apparent goat-like constitution had easily overcome everything and anything that made others erupt explosively out all orifices...

...Then I got "the runs" for about 10 hours on saturday.

Arse.

Handfuls of anti-shit tablets and re-hydration powder with my water soon sorted me out. But although feeling fine, I was still scared to fart when we jumped off the bike outside her apartment. Mrs G seemed ok, if a little pale, having woke up that morning feeling "funny".

Golda welcomed us into her spotlessly clean home, and we met Robert, a sincere and easygoing chap, (whom Mrs Grasshopper confirmed was indeed handsome), and her 18 month old baby boy Joshua, who inherits both parents good looks and easygoing temperament. Mrs G and I decided to bring a cake rather than wine, much to Golda's bemusement. I figure (too late) that a gift wasn't necessary. Thankfully being westerners, and more importantly guests, we are excused all manner of social faux pas.

As we sat on the couch passing a ball to Joshua, she asks me "What did you have for breakfast?" Mrs Grasshopper and I exchange looks and explain we had a minor stomach problem, so just bread and butter was great this morning.
Either she misunderstood, or was worried we were now hungry (she worries a lot bless her), either way, Robert disappeared and returned with platefuls of freshly made sandwiches from the shop down the road.

"Grasshopper, I want you to eat all of those" she says with a smile, only half joking. "You are big, you need food"

"Um, thanks..."

Somewhere deep, low-down in my belly, a strange burbling started. I looked at Mrs G, who returned my fearful look.

As Robert had bought them specially for us, we eaten a few, a little overwelmed at their hospitality. They were nice sandwiches mind you. Fruit juice soon followed, and we then met Golda's aunty, neice and mother Maria, who were cooking us up some home favorites.
We sat listening to music, chilling out for a while, then Robert disappeared again, this time returning with ice cold bottles of Kingfisher, which we were given in seemingly never-draining glasses. Worried about riding later, and the effect it my have on my stomach, I sipped nervously. Then the food arrived....

Wow.

I'd never have thought cauliflower and prawns would go together- but in a sweet coconut curry sauce, they really, really do. The other dish of pork xacuti was dark and rich, and the final dish of chilli-fried prawns with vegetables was tangy and addictive, all accompanied with steamed white rice. It was brilliant, but as our stomachs were really starting to chunder a bit, we could only manage small amounts of the mountainous dishes.

After dinner, Robert went back to the office for a few hours, while Mrs G and I followed Golda, Joshua and Maria into the city center for the Carnival.

For the next few hours we watched elaborately decorated floats going past, and took in the party atmosphere. Each float had literally a pile of speakers roped on the back, pumping out goan trance and fast-paced salsa, to which people in various amounts, forms and styles of dress danced away on top.
Unfortunately, with the heat, crush of people and hot sun, Mrs G was starting to feel really poorly. Golda ushered us into a small restaurant for a fizzy drink and a sit down, while Maria and little Joshua pushed their way to a prime viewing spot. Maria's excitement and enjoyment at the carnival was clear to see. Also, her son was in it, on one of the first floats (there were something like 47 in total).

When we came out of the restaurant, we watched some more, and then set about looking for Maria. From the back of the crowd, I could just see a sea of dark hair, and realising Maria was also very short in hight, I eventually gave up looking, waiting for the crowd to thin at the end of the show.

The end of the show came at sundown with a huge firework display, and the most jam-packed streets I've ever seen, as everyone headed for the parties.

Having heard the MC of the Carnival call out earlier for lost children, and still having no sign of Maria and Joshua, I suggested to Golda approaching the MC stand and having a word.

"Yes, good idea- you go!" She said smiling, "Tell him you want your son Joshua to meet you by the tourist hotel. Maria will hear it and take him"

I looked at her incredulously "My son?" He is a fair skinned baby fair enough, but still, unmistakably a Goan baby.

Golda laughs, guessing my thinking "No one will see him will they!"

"oh, um, well, yeah, course" I say, grinning as I ran up the stairs to the MC's spot, atop a large stage crowded with local dignitaries. The MC's assistant then insists I call out for Joshua myself, and arranges for the microphone to be passed to me. I scan the crowd of thousands, aware my broad English accent will make everyone stare up at me... Then thankfully I spot Joshua, fast asleep in his grandmothers arms!

Everyone together again, and Mrs Grasshopper looking extremely ill, we decide to split up- I'll take my wife home where she can have a sleep, and Golda will pick Robert up, then collect me on the way to Colva for Rex's birthday party.

The ride out of Margao was the craziest yet- it made the traffic in Delhi look normal! Like many times on these roads, I was glad of the light easily-thrown-about bike and gentle power- the VFR800 I have at home would have been a nightmare.

We were literally squeezing our way through the crowds of rickshaws, scooters, jeeps and music-pumping carnival trucks. I watched with mild surprise at how angry one scooter rider got with an auto-rickshaw driver who pushed him out of the way- admittedly by using his front bumper, but then there are no rules or even common sense on these roads. A couple of times my wing mirrors were bashed in as riders squeezed past us through gaps that didn't exist. Unavoidably I caught them with my mirrors too, because they had squeezed past me only to have to slam on the brakes because the vehicle ahead was stationary, and I clipped them as I glide past.

It was like being part of a wave of 2-wheelers, surging around the cars, over the enormous speed-bumps they have and around the tightest hairpins. I kept to what I felt was a safe speed- one in which I was moving with the flow, but had plenty of time to deal with the manic overtake-then brake brigade, and suicidal pedestrians. I looked at my speedo for a split second- 15 KPH! It felt at least 50!

Bloody good fun it was, cool wind in my face, foot dancing on the gear-lever (which has a heel section, for riding in sandals!) and the trucks pumping out salsa, all in a big, happy party atmosphere.

When we got to our house, Mrs G hit the sack, insisting I go without her. I met Rex when I was picked up, a lovely chap from far north-eastern India. The short drive to the beach and we then settled in shack-restaurant, talking about everything and nothing while little Joshua played.

My stomach, at least up to up to my 2nd Kingfisher, had been silent, but now started squealing and chundering again, low, deep in my stomach. I had avoided eating much of the starter Robert had ordered, being a bit fearful of the consequences. However, when the main meal came, I soon ignored my still chundering stomach! Fresh fish ambot-tik, seafood fried-rice, real steak (with eggs), and butter nan was too good to miss. I did regret it slightly when I went for a walk behind the shack to pee (Rex described it as an indian toilet- just go where you want). I had to lean against a palm tree, take a deep breath, close my eyes and concentrate real hard to ensure I did only pee.

Once we had eaten Robert called the driver to get us picked up. I tried to pay for some of the food and drink, and the car and driver (who having been hired for half a day had quite a bill), but Robert was having none of it- "Grasshopper, you are our guest, we will pay!"

All in all, it was a great day and night, with some great people- a brilliant finish to the weekend. I did feel bad about not paying for anything, however, Golda and Robert agreed to meet up later in the week, so I figured it could be my turn then.

The Carnival atmosphere lasted onto tuesday, with the Monday night breeze carrying girls shrieks as they are splattered with water and paint by passing "carnival cars". There was constant pumping music, and bizare things like 2 men dressed as gorrillas, wearing pink underwear and riding motorbikes...

To top it off- my stomach was fine the next day. The fish ambot-tik must have done it some good.