Here are the reasons why it is finally time to leave our Goan paradise:
(In no particular order)
1. We have ceased eating anywhere but 'Baba's Little Italy' for the past seven nights. Our order is always the same: "One Margarita Pizza...One Fish Curry Rice...One Bottle of Water....One Large Kingfisher Two Glasses". The waiters now shake hands with us and cuddle the boys. They are almost family.
2. We have given up all pretence of running a decent and clean home. Laundry bags have now been eschewed for merely piling up the dirty clothes to the left of the fridge, where hopefully someone will notice and ferry them over to get laundered. No one has.
3. There are frequent power cuts. These usually happen at night. Within five seconds of the fan stopping, a loud wail of discomfort is released from our semi-conscious firstborn, and does not stop until the power is restored.
After ninety seconds of the fan ceasing to whir, we all lose the will to live and immediately shed 1-2 pounds of body weight in liquid form, onto our already damp sheets.
After five minutes of the power cut, just as we're feeling horribly claustrophobic and wishing for death, the blades miraculously clink back into motion and we breathe a sigh of relief. We shall live another day.
4. The dogs and cows are now beginning to starve. They roam the back roads seeking any sort of food. Running on the beach is now an impossibility. Not only would a heart attack likely be immanent (due to extreme heat coupled with exertion) but they would likely sniff the Margarita Pizza oozing out through my pores and turn me into an 'All You Can Eat Beach Buffet' in a heartbeat.
5. Our coffee supply is dwindling. We're nearly out. And our chocolate supply is down to a mere four squares. One week from now there shall be no reason to get up in the mornings.
It is time to go. Even the monsters acknowledge this. Egg does his daily morning countdown of days left and has already excitedly requested that we buy a cake for his last day of school on Monday. Dumpie asks repeatedly, several times an hour, "When we go to 'Ballet'? We go now?"
All I know is that this time next week I'll be in an air-conditioned room, eating a bar of chocolate purchased from the 7-11 down the road, and happily surfing the internet on the hotel Wifi.
I feel like ordering the taxi now (air-conditioned of course), packing all our bags, and just camping out in it for the next four days.
I don't even care that the other day at the internet cafe the husband groaned aloud whilst reading his email from the visa guy in Bali and said, "Uh oh. There might be a problem with our visas."
Problem Schmroblem. Just get me out of here. I can't take this heat anymore. Even the slightest increase in temperature shall mean that we give up wearing clothes altogether. Which I guess would bode well for the stationary pile of clothes building up beside the fridge.