Dodging Bombs

Last Indian city before Thailand and I almost get blown up. Thanks for the nice farewell India!!
About two hours after Basia and I drove past the German bakery in Pune Scoobie got a call from a friend asking how many pieces he was currently in. Most likely Pakistani terrorist related, say the authorities...certainly not me, a bag was left in the bakery to be opened up by a waiter who instantly died along with 7 others, setting it all on fire. From Scoobie and Paula's eloquant, gardened and gated, shiny new appartment this seemed like a joke. But once BBC got hold of it we caved and began phoning relies at once.

Heading to the mall the next day probably wasn't the smartest of ideas but you know when you really want some western food. Subway was enough to pull us toward a potential bombing target. Had our bags checked at the door and there was small army guarding outside. Leaving, subway consumed, an upper class young Indian woman was having a fit because she didn't want to carry her stuff around in her hands...wow.

Couldn't beleive how hospitable they were to me. Coming from beach shack (which i loved!) the large bed and translucent glass-paned bathrooms were somewhat out of the ordinary but much appreciated. Watched the opening ceremonies for Vancouver 2010, missed home for a minute then realized where I was and who I was with.

Saying goodbye to Basia as she flew off to London from Mumbai wasn't easy or fun but also didn't feel like adieux. Its a big, constantly moving and international world now in which I can't imagine people with things in common can be held back forever. But you have to move on don't you? What better place to do than in South East Asia's beating, cosmopolitan heart of Bangkok, and more precisely, Khao San Road. Dum Dum Dummmmm

Shockingly Smitten with the Sunny State

Three days on a train. Does the landscape change? Not really. Do people get on and off? Nope. What do they do to keep busy? Stare out the window.

Westerners couldn't go ten minutes without reaching for their ipod or flicking through their book. Indians manage to just...stare. Apart from my Kashmiri bunkmates. They were the hairiest, more strangely clothed people on the carriage. I thought it was a joke when one yanked off his sweater to reveal a tank top that I swear had poofy parts where the boobs were suppose to be.

Waiting for Basia to jump on at Pune so we could find some Goan beach paradise was torture on that sweaty, metal leviathan. There are really only so many card games you can fail to teach Kashmiris. Finally, Basia jumped onto her first Indian train. For a newbie, she took it all really well. Having gone from palace hoping in Rajasthan to this I had imagined a bit of complaining but I think by the end she was shutting me up.
Met a German and Dutch girl on the second night with the same idea as us.

- "...We've done the cultural bit now so please give us some sand, trance and beer."

Three bumpy buses later we slogged into Arambol. Described as a good hybrid between hippie heaven and backpacker stopover it fit the bill perfectly. Beach hut with hammock out front and a stereo playing the constant seductive rhythm of a symbol? Thank you we'll take it.

Now this is what we all really dream of isn't it. At least those of us without a pristine beach, constant sunshine, pillows-on-the-sand restaurants within an arm's reach and someone awesome to share it with.
The evenings were what made us laugh. Imagine Lost but only with the most complacent and eccentric people in the cast. It would be Goa to the dot. Bunch of weirdos cast onto this "be whoever you wanna be" town.

Top these:
-A couple swinging numchucks while smooching.

-Man rolling glass ball around his body with his eyes closed

-Woman writhing in circles on the sand

-And a man sprinting full pelt down the beach with his head down and arms back trying to take off.
The too few days that we had before Basia had to be back to Mumbai for her flight to London washed by in that annoying way time works when you're happy. High Speed.

With Eline, our Dutch friend, we explored a neighbouring town and its "fort" which turned out to be a pile of rubble. Must see? Kudos to Lonely Planet.

Walked for a couple hours along the beach at night to find a rumoured trance party that was breaking the new curfew laws. After you got passed the smell of non-showering hippies, who were literally tripping on their own hair, and fell into that rhythm that people on E had mastered it was pretty damn fun.
Couldn't say I've ever had that many incredible moments in that short a time with anyone. We both knew how to crack each other up and spent most of our time doing that. Was no fun talking about serious things like how and when we had to leave. But, of course, time came to wash the sand off our feet and leave Goa feeling very proud of itself.

Don't think I could ever go back though. It would just spoil it.