This point is made all the more clear now that we're here, surveying the local talent. There is the usual array of Westerners wearing 'bindi's' (the coloured dot women wear on their forehead between their eyes), and dressed in flimsy cotton coloured garb - picked up at the local stall for less than the price of a coffee at home. I hear a load of London accents and see many bikini-clad 'Yummy Mummy' types, marshaling two, three and even four young children down the beach, and frolicking with them in the deliciously warm Arabian Sea before slipping sparkly sarongs back onto their suntanned hips.
There is also the usual parade of freaks and geeks up and down the beach - but you have to look out for them. They can usually be spotted by their odd gait, mumbling happily to themselves and gesturing emphatically to no one in particular. At the airport I met one such loon. About my age, she had the remnant of a sweaty thong hanging out of the top of her jeans, wore a crazily euphoric expression, and invading my personal space in a big way, made as if to initiate a lesbian encounter. I was so exhausted I didn't even have it in me to be amused, but I did note the discomfort of other passengers and wasn't at all surprised to here she was also headed to Goa.
(FYI if I ever properly lose the plot, PLEASE can someone ship me out to India. They take care of the 'Kooks' out here, and in fact appear to accept them as necessary social fodder. People give them food, allow them to sleep where they may, and I wouldn't be in the least surprised if there are some naive European travelers following them blindly across the 'hippy trail' and believing them to be enlightened guru's, worthy of their devotion and foreign travelers cheques....)
Anyway, I digress. Let me catch you up on the past few days:
The flight was....amazing! Yes, Kingfisher Air has my vote. Before the flight even took off, the ultra pretty air stewardesses (no overweight, past-their-prime, grumpy cabin crew like the type favoured by Air Canada) sashayed up and down the aisles, dispensing various little plastic packages with all sorts of treats inside (including decent amenity packages which most airlines have now ceased to provide on account of them trying to transport economy passengers as frugaly and inhumanely as possible, like huge loads of stinking cattle).
True to form, there was one epic throw-up session, and I was the lucky recipient of most of it. Poor Egg lost it as we came into land in Mumbai (Bombay). The hot runway and long flight had proved too much and the little fellow let rip with what felt like 4 pints of Apple Juice in the sick bag I frantically hauled out. One of the pretty stewardesses simply sashayed over and without losing her stride, took the folded top bag and whisked it away out of sight...bish bash bosh.
A short transfer later and we landed down in Goa. Exhausted and swelteringly hot, we couldn't be bothered to negotiate a large vehicle to transport us and our luggage (8 check-in bags and four carry-on's plus about four more little bags we somehow acquired en route...??). So Dumps and I took one mini van and the husband and Egg took the other. An hour and a half later we pulled up to our little bit of paradise on the beach, and shortly found ourselves ensconced in a fairly simply room right on the water.
We're here. For better or worse we've done it. How do we feel? Like shell-shocked but terribly fortunate little 'Yippee's'...