So the days in Arambol rolled lazily away, like clockwork the power goes out at 9am, which I've decided is both an impromptu alarm clock (the room quickly becoming unbearable with the heat) and the owners attempt to save a bit on the power bills (in reality though the whole of Goa, if not India, is prone to these power outages, ranging from 5 minutes to 5 hours, usually occurring at the most inconvenient of times). I wander the two minutes to the nearest beach shack and I'm greeted with the usual contempt I've come to expect at the 'Green Garden' shack, but the breakfast is good and they have free wifi. I notice that I've forgotten my book this morning, currently on Michael Palin's Himalaya, so I make an early return to my room.
The smell as I open my door could only be described as spicy garbage mixed with rotten flesh, having hoped that it hadn't been smells omitted by me during the night and it wasn't till I had left and came back my immunity of the whiff had worn off I quickly scanned the room...nothing, that was until I look under by bed. A mangy moggy had somehow made it through the iron bars and into my room, I fetched the sweeping brush from the landing and tried to nudge it towards the open door, the cat however, which had been through the wars having lost an eye and with a festering wound on its leg which I can imagine is producing the smell, musters a lackluster meow and refuses to move. I go and fetch Martin the owner and after a little confusion of what was actually in my room (cat or ghat, how he thought a serious of steps used for the ceremonial burning of bodies on a river bank had made its way into my room I don't know) he grabs a broom handle and advances towards my bedroom. He confirms that it "smell bad" (said in a very similar way as Ludo does in Labyrinth when referring to the bog of eternal stench) and swiftly attacks the cat with his broom handle, keeping a safe distance and a hand over his nose I notice. The cat is dispatched however its bloody deposits and god awful stench remain, Martins quick run over with a mop have done nothing but spread the smell over the whole room. I spend the rest of the morning trying to clean my floor with a mixture of soap, shampoo and aftershave using a toilet brush, I give up and go for a walk.
The smell as I open my door could only be described as spicy garbage mixed with rotten flesh, having hoped that it hadn't been smells omitted by me during the night and it wasn't till I had left and came back my immunity of the whiff had worn off I quickly scanned the room...nothing, that was until I look under by bed. A mangy moggy had somehow made it through the iron bars and into my room, I fetched the sweeping brush from the landing and tried to nudge it towards the open door, the cat however, which had been through the wars having lost an eye and with a festering wound on its leg which I can imagine is producing the smell, musters a lackluster meow and refuses to move. I go and fetch Martin the owner and after a little confusion of what was actually in my room (cat or ghat, how he thought a serious of steps used for the ceremonial burning of bodies on a river bank had made its way into my room I don't know) he grabs a broom handle and advances towards my bedroom. He confirms that it "smell bad" (said in a very similar way as Ludo does in Labyrinth when referring to the bog of eternal stench) and swiftly attacks the cat with his broom handle, keeping a safe distance and a hand over his nose I notice. The cat is dispatched however its bloody deposits and god awful stench remain, Martins quick run over with a mop have done nothing but spread the smell over the whole room. I spend the rest of the morning trying to clean my floor with a mixture of soap, shampoo and aftershave using a toilet brush, I give up and go for a walk.
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