Om beach was a very sedate affair, the beaches were empty apart from the occasional cow and bead seller. However, there is one feature of any tourist clad beach that is never absent, the aptly named gawkers. Whilst they were fewer in number than their Goan counterparts they still managed to cause disdain amongst the few tourists culminating in a relatively unprovoked (most likely an accumulation of events coming to head) outburst. Now my view was from a hundred yards or so but the booming assault from the American and more importantly his actions were more than clear. A young group of, male, Indians had to decided to set up shop next to him and his middle aged wife under the shade of a tree (also in view were two russian girls adorned in very little), their bags hadn't touched the sand when the american made it quite clear they were not welcome, the wind took away the audio but as he started imitating what i can only describe as a gorilla having a wash then the actions of photography i can only imagine he was saying that we don't take photos of them whilst having a wash in the river. Anyway, whether he realised that he had went a bit far or had just let off enough steam he seemed to retract a little and after a more civilised conversation the group of lads moved on, to be replaced moments later by a fresh group. There appeared very little you could do about the men, nothing really being a deterrent, not even the presence of a man would cause a moments hesitation to take a photo of a bikini clad woman, just a slight adjustment of the zoom would fix that problem.
All in all Om proved a nice break after Hampi, and the greatest cause of concern was the open roof between our bathroom and that of next doors, and even that gave some comfort in that my friend wasn't alone in the world of the infamous Delhi Belly.
We decided to 'treat' ourselves to a taxi ride from Gokarna to Patnem in Goa, the ride taking around 3 hours. We were picked up by a young guy who immediately asked/informed us that his friend would be coming along for the ride. It wasn't until he slipped on a pair of white trousers over his jeans that our minds, especially my female companion started going into overdrive. Now both having Masters in forensic science we are well aware of blood splatters and at seeing this additional pair of overalls it induced an awkward glance across the back seats.
Having been subjected to 3 hours of blaring Bollywood soundtracks and an uncomfortable weaving in and out of traffic we arrived at Patnem alive and unraped, bot both thinking we should have got the train. After much confusion and a change of vehicles we arrived at our new home for the next week, the aptly named Minty Carlo's.
Patem and Palolem beaches lie side by side and have a pretty similar feel about them although, in my opinion, Patnem had the edge, being a little smaller and feeling a little more chilled out. Again the beach shacks lined the white sands offering everything from Goan seafood to decidedly average Mexican fare but admittedly after the dry reservedness of Hampi and the seclusion, and therefor limited choices, of Gokarna it was a welcome sight. Our accommodation, Minty's, was one of the nicest, on.appearance anyway, we had stayed in. There was a small kitchen round the back for those brave enough to give it a go and a big smelly dog, Wuffy, who was neither friendly or offensive, well apart from the smell, who liked to lounge around on our landing. We had been pre-warned not to leave edibles lying around the kitchen as it would attract unwelcome guests, now these unwelcome guests species were not specified alas we were soon to find out that there were numerous guests frequenting Minty's!
The days rolled by at Patnem, lazing on the beach and when feeling brave enough venturing into the sea (the waves at patnem and palolem seemed to possess a ferocity unlike any other of the goan beaches easily capable of sweeping even the most proficient of sea goers into the surf and leaving legs flailing and swim suits, well not doing their job). Local activities were again limited to the yogi's and reflexologists however the open air cinema, on the site of the weekly silent disco proved popular.
The requirement for clean clothes always proves a bit of a predicament and it was no different at Patnem. I had been informed that there was a couple of places on the beach road, so bundles of dirty laundry in hand we set off for in search of a 'lawndry service' sign. We soon happened across, probably the smallest, happiest woman in Goa, she took our bundles and in broken English told us to come back tomorrow. On our return from the beach my laundry was on clear show to the world, visible over the top over the happy woman's modest dwelling, giving us a large smile and reconfirming it would be ready tomorrow we continued walking. On our return the next day we were seated in her 'porch' and she started to display our clothes before us, assuring her it really wasn't necessary we paid her slightly over the norm price, took our bundles and left. Now a lot of places have a machine washer however, not surprisingly, i believe this lot had been done the old fashioned way. This was not given away by the odd button missing but more by the smell, whilst its unusual for things to come back smelling fresh it IS unusual for things to come back smelling of cow dung.
So with my cow dung pyjamas on i climbed into bed hoping for another decent nights sleep, however it appeared that we were to be paid a visit by the first of our unwanted visitors.
I awake to a fully lighten room with my friend sitting bolt upright with torch poised at one of the rafters of our open ceiling with a look of pure terror,a look which i had become more than familiar with over the last few weeks. It transpired that a little furry thing with a long tail had manifested itself in the ceiling above us, this backed with the occasional large dropping scattered around the room proved to be fatal for the nights ahead. For the next few nights i awoke to a spotlight aimed at the rafters and the paranoia only spread from there, spending hours looking at the roof little was I to know that it was not the night I should fear but dawn, when the next of our visitors was to arrive.
Now me and my friend go back years but I must admit to being a little surprised when I felt her tickling my face, presuming it was an attempt to make me get up early for yet another day of beach bumming i feigned deeper sleep but was now becoming a little concerned that the tickling was so persistent. I know expressed my concern in a sleepy state, making not much sense, i raised my hand to my face and was surprised to meet not my friends hand but something smaller and fairly solid, with a quick flick and a yelp i sat bolt upright in the bed. This prompted my friend to follow suit and adorn her 'what the fuck India?' face, i quickly scanned the bed and my fears were realised, a massive cockroach crawled up over my pillow. The creature was 'dealt' with and we resumed our slumber albeit now with two eyes open!
Our time on the beaches of Goa was up and we now only had one stop left as a duo, Mumbai. We again had the usual pa lava trying to get booked onto a train, eventually paying double the face value of the tickets going through a travel tout. At 7.30, after being let down by our 'pre'-booked rickshaw, we arrived a little flustered at the train station just in time for a half hour wait. After being directed around a kilometer down the platform it was clear that our extra roops didn't get us a better class once again in sleeper class. We were soon chugging out the station, flicking the cockroaches off our 'beds' and trying to protect our legs from the hungry mossies, to no avail. Soon we retired to our respective bunks and after a little tom foolery reminiscent of that when you were kids in a bunk bed for the first time we attempted to go to sleep. There is an art to sleeping on the trains, and it is one i am far from mastering, from this journey I learned the following rules:
1. Bring something to sleep on top of as well as a blanket for you (the faux leather seats prove for a very clammy sleeping experience, and it can get surprisingly cold, my friend realising that short shorts and only a sarong was a chilly mistake)
2. Bring earplugs (the locals have no qualms about making noise, be it orally or anally, at any time of the night)
3. Try to avoid the corridor berths (with what seemed like increasing frequency the requirement to get up and walk around, nudging and knocking those trying to sleep proved incredibly annoying)
This list will increase as my journey continues but for now, here endeth the lesson.
All in all Om proved a nice break after Hampi, and the greatest cause of concern was the open roof between our bathroom and that of next doors, and even that gave some comfort in that my friend wasn't alone in the world of the infamous Delhi Belly.
We decided to 'treat' ourselves to a taxi ride from Gokarna to Patnem in Goa, the ride taking around 3 hours. We were picked up by a young guy who immediately asked/informed us that his friend would be coming along for the ride. It wasn't until he slipped on a pair of white trousers over his jeans that our minds, especially my female companion started going into overdrive. Now both having Masters in forensic science we are well aware of blood splatters and at seeing this additional pair of overalls it induced an awkward glance across the back seats.
Having been subjected to 3 hours of blaring Bollywood soundtracks and an uncomfortable weaving in and out of traffic we arrived at Patnem alive and unraped, bot both thinking we should have got the train. After much confusion and a change of vehicles we arrived at our new home for the next week, the aptly named Minty Carlo's.
Patem and Palolem beaches lie side by side and have a pretty similar feel about them although, in my opinion, Patnem had the edge, being a little smaller and feeling a little more chilled out. Again the beach shacks lined the white sands offering everything from Goan seafood to decidedly average Mexican fare but admittedly after the dry reservedness of Hampi and the seclusion, and therefor limited choices, of Gokarna it was a welcome sight. Our accommodation, Minty's, was one of the nicest, on.appearance anyway, we had stayed in. There was a small kitchen round the back for those brave enough to give it a go and a big smelly dog, Wuffy, who was neither friendly or offensive, well apart from the smell, who liked to lounge around on our landing. We had been pre-warned not to leave edibles lying around the kitchen as it would attract unwelcome guests, now these unwelcome guests species were not specified alas we were soon to find out that there were numerous guests frequenting Minty's!
The days rolled by at Patnem, lazing on the beach and when feeling brave enough venturing into the sea (the waves at patnem and palolem seemed to possess a ferocity unlike any other of the goan beaches easily capable of sweeping even the most proficient of sea goers into the surf and leaving legs flailing and swim suits, well not doing their job). Local activities were again limited to the yogi's and reflexologists however the open air cinema, on the site of the weekly silent disco proved popular.
The requirement for clean clothes always proves a bit of a predicament and it was no different at Patnem. I had been informed that there was a couple of places on the beach road, so bundles of dirty laundry in hand we set off for in search of a 'lawndry service' sign. We soon happened across, probably the smallest, happiest woman in Goa, she took our bundles and in broken English told us to come back tomorrow. On our return from the beach my laundry was on clear show to the world, visible over the top over the happy woman's modest dwelling, giving us a large smile and reconfirming it would be ready tomorrow we continued walking. On our return the next day we were seated in her 'porch' and she started to display our clothes before us, assuring her it really wasn't necessary we paid her slightly over the norm price, took our bundles and left. Now a lot of places have a machine washer however, not surprisingly, i believe this lot had been done the old fashioned way. This was not given away by the odd button missing but more by the smell, whilst its unusual for things to come back smelling fresh it IS unusual for things to come back smelling of cow dung.
So with my cow dung pyjamas on i climbed into bed hoping for another decent nights sleep, however it appeared that we were to be paid a visit by the first of our unwanted visitors.
I awake to a fully lighten room with my friend sitting bolt upright with torch poised at one of the rafters of our open ceiling with a look of pure terror,a look which i had become more than familiar with over the last few weeks. It transpired that a little furry thing with a long tail had manifested itself in the ceiling above us, this backed with the occasional large dropping scattered around the room proved to be fatal for the nights ahead. For the next few nights i awoke to a spotlight aimed at the rafters and the paranoia only spread from there, spending hours looking at the roof little was I to know that it was not the night I should fear but dawn, when the next of our visitors was to arrive.
Now me and my friend go back years but I must admit to being a little surprised when I felt her tickling my face, presuming it was an attempt to make me get up early for yet another day of beach bumming i feigned deeper sleep but was now becoming a little concerned that the tickling was so persistent. I know expressed my concern in a sleepy state, making not much sense, i raised my hand to my face and was surprised to meet not my friends hand but something smaller and fairly solid, with a quick flick and a yelp i sat bolt upright in the bed. This prompted my friend to follow suit and adorn her 'what the fuck India?' face, i quickly scanned the bed and my fears were realised, a massive cockroach crawled up over my pillow. The creature was 'dealt' with and we resumed our slumber albeit now with two eyes open!
Our time on the beaches of Goa was up and we now only had one stop left as a duo, Mumbai. We again had the usual pa lava trying to get booked onto a train, eventually paying double the face value of the tickets going through a travel tout. At 7.30, after being let down by our 'pre'-booked rickshaw, we arrived a little flustered at the train station just in time for a half hour wait. After being directed around a kilometer down the platform it was clear that our extra roops didn't get us a better class once again in sleeper class. We were soon chugging out the station, flicking the cockroaches off our 'beds' and trying to protect our legs from the hungry mossies, to no avail. Soon we retired to our respective bunks and after a little tom foolery reminiscent of that when you were kids in a bunk bed for the first time we attempted to go to sleep. There is an art to sleeping on the trains, and it is one i am far from mastering, from this journey I learned the following rules:
1. Bring something to sleep on top of as well as a blanket for you (the faux leather seats prove for a very clammy sleeping experience, and it can get surprisingly cold, my friend realising that short shorts and only a sarong was a chilly mistake)
2. Bring earplugs (the locals have no qualms about making noise, be it orally or anally, at any time of the night)
3. Try to avoid the corridor berths (with what seemed like increasing frequency the requirement to get up and walk around, nudging and knocking those trying to sleep proved incredibly annoying)
This list will increase as my journey continues but for now, here endeth the lesson.
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