Leaving India

Eventually, life in paradise had to end.
I managed not to cry when I handed back my motorbike on thursday. But as we had 2 leaving parties, end of placement reports to write etc, I wouldn't really need it.

On Wednesday afternoon, Golda hired another jeep to take us around Old Goa to see the churches, St. Francis' body, and meeting some friar, an old friend of Golda's. Lovely chap, lovely old church he has, and brilliant cook he has- I got a great recipe for Goan prawn-chilly fry!

Robert and Golda wouldn't let us pay for the vehicle again, but did allow us to pay for dinner that night. It was cheaper than our previous meal, again at a beach-front restaurant that served "home-made" Goan dishes like Sorpatel (very nice!) washed down with the local Kings lager.

The following night was "leaving party" night. Mrs Grasshopper was feeling better, so despite having to be up at 7 the following morning, we partied on until just after 3am. With unusual foresight, I kept my beer intake to a minimum, as the next day I was at work. I found it extra-hard too as Golda wasn't in. Turns out she had a stomach problem, probably the same one that everyone seemed to be getting.

That was my last time working at the school, and I'll admit I found it really hard to leave. I sat back during their dance lesson, only for them to all crowd round me anyway, copying little Flavia's trick of attempting to slide onto my lap for a cuddle un-noticed. Seems I really had become their friend.

That afternoon I wrote my report on the school while the others went to the beach for last minute tanning. That night- another party!
Unfortunately, building work outside our apartment meant no sleep for a second night running. We banked on sleeping on the overnight train to Mumbai, but as is always the case, sod's law meant we couldn’t.

The train journey out of Goa was a somber affair. I called Golda to confirm her address and see how she was feeling, then done my best to get my head down on the rocking train. I can usually sleep anywhere, anytime, but it just wasn't happening, with the noise, wind through the open door etc.

The next morning we found ourselves in Mumbai again. Unable to check into the hotel until late, then finding building works happening on the wall outside our window (Sods law again), Illana (a Canadian girl), Shirley, and us grasshoppers went into the city.

Certain parts of the city look just like London- British architecture, trees, and even red london-style busses all make Mumbai feel comfortable and homely. We done the India Gate thing, had an overpriced and under-flavoured meal at a tourist trap, laughed at the fat men selling huge balloons running from the police, then went back to our hotel for an early night. (the balloons were faintly phallic-shaped, and the men somewhat out of shape. Seeing them on giving it legs through the crowd, with these huge awkward balloons, and the menacing police walking like Robocop after them was like some kind of comedy sketch!)

The following day, awakened by building work and the kitchen next door to our room, we went to Juhu beach again. Some of the new replacement volunteers had been arriving during the night; pale skinned, sweating profusely and clutching water bottles. We had lunch with a couple of them, who through arrogance or stupidity, decided to ignore our strong advice on conservative beach-wear outside of Goa.

(As a result, they, or rather the oldest one with her bikini bottoms and tit's half-out top, drew a large intimidating crowd. Two young lads in particular were stood staring, trousers tenting, and making loud appreciative noises every time the scantily dressed, overweight 40 year old lady moved. "Dont you have any respect for your elders!" I said to one, advancing on him. "No, no, not her" he replied, eyes staring at the crotch of the woman as she adjusted her seated position on the sand. To be fair, she was bringing this perverted attention on herself with her behavior in this country, so I left her to it- I'd done all I could, and unfortunately she is in the wrong in this country)

We were leaving for the airport at midnight, so we basically hung around until the time came. We had our last Indian meal at a restaurant near to the hotel, and found the younger volunteers had taken our advice on it- they were gorging on dosa's, paneer masala's and stuffed parantha's with bottles of water when we arrived.

Shirley was eating with us, but nipped back to the hotel to sort out a few things with Vishal. While she was gone, I noticed there were 3 chilli pakoras (deep fried whole green chilli's in a spiced chick-pea batter) left on our shared plate.
It's as I'm talking to one of the new volunteers, who is thanking me for the "heads up" before he goes to bed, that I go for the last (Shirley's) chilli. Call it Karma, or just my own fault for being greedy, but that chilli had to be some kind of genetically modified, mega-species, steroid munching super-chilli or something. I finally manage to whisper a "goodnight" to the departing volunteer, giving a trembling wave as my eyes water and sweat breaks out. He walks off bemused as I hurriedly scoff the last of the curd, Mrs G's milkshake, and a bottle of sprite, to peals of laughter from Mrs G.
"Serves you right!" was Shirly's response, laughing at my continued suffering when she returned.

Eventually, after a tearful farewell, Vishal and Shirley waved us off as we left in a taxi to the airport. We will meet Shirley again in Australia, as she happens to arrive in Sydney a few days after us.
To be honest, I was nervous to leave India. I loved the country, more than I sometimes hated it, I was comfortable here, finally, and yet it was now time to go. There is still so much more to see.

It was midnight when we arrived at the airport, and I wondered vaguely when we would sleep, as we were meeting our friend Becci in Bangkok airport the moment we landed. From there, we would grab a room, dump our bags and get straight out on the tourist trail. I text her to let her know we were leaving soon, and would see her in a matter of hours.

Becci (who has commented once or twice here) has just a one week holiday in Thailand to see us, so we planned to make the most of it. It should have all run like clockwork. It should have.

But Sods law instead seen us way off course. We didn't get to Thailand that morning, not even close.

We ended up in an entirely different bloody country.