11th of December
It's always nice to hear my mothers voice, but when she called today I freaked out and dropped the laptop. I'm just not used to people contacting me here, and therefor will there be no more longer posts. I can't take the time to write at a Internet-cafe. Probably is this how life punish klutzes like me.
The waterfront
7th of December
I’d bought a cheap compass earlier that day and it took me west in the evening. I’d seen a map that morning and I did what I could to remember how lost I could have been. At least I wasn’t walking in circles, but I didn’t really know where I was heading either. It hadn’t quite worked out to get some help with direction during the day; about two out of three that could answer a question had sent me the wrong direction.
I got there, eventually, and it happen kind of a sudden. Around a corner, and there it was. No more houses, the sun settling somewhere else but a beautiful picture of Mumbai across the bay. The waterfront was crowded in the evening and I had to walk a bit along the sidewalk before I could find a free spot on the stone wall towards the water.
It was the type of place you could fall in love at and I was clearly not the first one to think so. Couples occupied the majority of the space and presumably homeless girls had an easy time, comparing with other places, to sell roses. Love was in the air and went for the climax as the sun went down and for the last time that day painted the sky in the colors of romance. I think everyone along the waterfront felt like going home with someone as the city got darker and darker.
I walked a bit to a new spot, not sure why, where I sat down again. The sidewalk was still crowded with people even after sunset, which hadn’t been that common in either India or Nepal. Something in this city was still awake after sunset, even if I think many wanted to head home around me. Some of the couples had probably not yet reached that point of romance required to share a bed, and there was no better place than this to find that last fuel for the passion. If the culture here worked as it did at home on this aspect at least.
I stayed there until my butt was cold, and that didn’t happen too quickly in this climate. Even with the sun down had this place still a lot of beauty left. Beauty and calm was what this place was all about. It’s like if the street sellers visualize the spirit of every place in this place, and here they slowly move up to and respectfully whisper their offers. It’s nice, I wish they would do that in more parts of the city, and not just when selling hash, because that’s just (place for word of choice) creepy.
I’d bought a cheap compass earlier that day and it took me west in the evening. I’d seen a map that morning and I did what I could to remember how lost I could have been. At least I wasn’t walking in circles, but I didn’t really know where I was heading either. It hadn’t quite worked out to get some help with direction during the day; about two out of three that could answer a question had sent me the wrong direction.
I got there, eventually, and it happen kind of a sudden. Around a corner, and there it was. No more houses, the sun settling somewhere else but a beautiful picture of Mumbai across the bay. The waterfront was crowded in the evening and I had to walk a bit along the sidewalk before I could find a free spot on the stone wall towards the water.
It was the type of place you could fall in love at and I was clearly not the first one to think so. Couples occupied the majority of the space and presumably homeless girls had an easy time, comparing with other places, to sell roses. Love was in the air and went for the climax as the sun went down and for the last time that day painted the sky in the colors of romance. I think everyone along the waterfront felt like going home with someone as the city got darker and darker.
I walked a bit to a new spot, not sure why, where I sat down again. The sidewalk was still crowded with people even after sunset, which hadn’t been that common in either India or Nepal. Something in this city was still awake after sunset, even if I think many wanted to head home around me. Some of the couples had probably not yet reached that point of romance required to share a bed, and there was no better place than this to find that last fuel for the passion. If the culture here worked as it did at home on this aspect at least.
I stayed there until my butt was cold, and that didn’t happen too quickly in this climate. Even with the sun down had this place still a lot of beauty left. Beauty and calm was what this place was all about. It’s like if the street sellers visualize the spirit of every place in this place, and here they slowly move up to and respectfully whisper their offers. It’s nice, I wish they would do that in more parts of the city, and not just when selling hash, because that’s just (place for word of choice) creepy.
Lost in translation
6th of December
Watch the movie, and then you know how my experience of Mumbai is. Well, there are some slight differences of course; it’s not located in Japan for a starter. You have to exchange the Japanese for Indians, replace the main character with me, and possibly make it slightly hotter. It’s still pretty much the same, where ever I go is there someone wanting to take a picture of me and people gather when I stop to have a look around.
Then again, there is the saddest difference of them all. The wonderful Scarlett Johansen isn’t there to accompany me, but Mumbai is still awesome!
Watch the movie, and then you know how my experience of Mumbai is. Well, there are some slight differences of course; it’s not located in Japan for a starter. You have to exchange the Japanese for Indians, replace the main character with me, and possibly make it slightly hotter. It’s still pretty much the same, where ever I go is there someone wanting to take a picture of me and people gather when I stop to have a look around.
Then again, there is the saddest difference of them all. The wonderful Scarlett Johansen isn’t there to accompany me, but Mumbai is still awesome!
Checking availability
4th of December
I entered the booking-hut along the beach. It felt cheap all over. The woman behind the desk rose up and pointed her hand at one of the bamboo-chairs.
"Hello, please seat!"
"Hello, do you have any bus tickets, sleeper, from here to Mumbai for tomorrow?"
"You want from Goa to Mumbai?"
"Well, yes."
"Bus or train?"
"As said, a bus ticket sleeper."
"Okay, do you want to book?"
"No, I don’t have the money with me, but I would like to know if there are tickets available."
"Bus to Mumbai?"
"Yes."
"Today?"
"No, as I said, tomorrow."
"Okay, we have."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Because the place I asked yesterday didn’t knew and had to check."
"You was here?"
"No, it was another place. Do you know that you have tickets?"
"Yes."
"So I can book it now if I want to?"
"I call and check if there is tickets."
She took up big black phone and slowly pressed in a number, proximately a number a second. She looked as if she hated her job. A few minutes later did she hang up.
"650."
"What? I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"650."
"Yeas, I know the price, I didn’t ask for that. Is there any tickets left for tomorrow?"
"Sleepers?"
"Yes. Are there tickets?"
"Yes."
"Good, then I’ll come back later."
"You don’t want to book?"
"As I said, I only asked if there was tickets so I could come back, because I don’t have the money on me."
"You don’t have money?"
"I'll see you later…"
It's hard to make yourself understood, and sometimes frustrating.
I entered the booking-hut along the beach. It felt cheap all over. The woman behind the desk rose up and pointed her hand at one of the bamboo-chairs.
"Hello, please seat!"
"Hello, do you have any bus tickets, sleeper, from here to Mumbai for tomorrow?"
"You want from Goa to Mumbai?"
"Well, yes."
"Bus or train?"
"As said, a bus ticket sleeper."
"Okay, do you want to book?"
"No, I don’t have the money with me, but I would like to know if there are tickets available."
"Bus to Mumbai?"
"Yes."
"Today?"
"No, as I said, tomorrow."
"Okay, we have."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Because the place I asked yesterday didn’t knew and had to check."
"You was here?"
"No, it was another place. Do you know that you have tickets?"
"Yes."
"So I can book it now if I want to?"
"I call and check if there is tickets."
She took up big black phone and slowly pressed in a number, proximately a number a second. She looked as if she hated her job. A few minutes later did she hang up.
"650."
"What? I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"650."
"Yeas, I know the price, I didn’t ask for that. Is there any tickets left for tomorrow?"
"Sleepers?"
"Yes. Are there tickets?"
"Yes."
"Good, then I’ll come back later."
"You don’t want to book?"
"As I said, I only asked if there was tickets so I could come back, because I don’t have the money on me."
"You don’t have money?"
"I'll see you later…"
It's hard to make yourself understood, and sometimes frustrating.
The Laughing Buddha
27th of November
It’s raining. It’s raining a lot. Not like the heavy monsoon a few months ago, and not the soft gentle rain a couple of minutes ago. It’s that heavy rain that makes you wish you’d stayed inside, or possibly brought an umbrella. It’s the rain that, when staying inside or bringing an umbrella, brings the coziest of feelings, possibly only contested by a campfire with close friends a warm summer night. I’d for some reason felt like the day needed to start and took off anyway. I should have stayed in bed.
The road had been bumpy at first but had now evened out a bit. It had started off with a creation of mainly small rocks and mud but had now gradually turned to asphalt which at home would be considered a massive improvement in comfort. The roads here are at some places so poorly constructed that it’s hard to say where one road end and where the next one begins, not to mention the giant holes in the middle of them.
I’d waken up early and then waited out the rain a bit before I took the motorbike out on the road. It was a soft rain by then but just a minute later had it started raining heavily again, just when I got on the main road. I was wet in a couple of seconds and cold for the first time in this country. No time to loose, I’d immediately decided on heading towards the restaurant with the amazing view I found yesterday, called the Laughing Buddha. It was a bit away but at least I’d started the day and wasn’t still in bed. I should have stayed in bed.
The water poured down my sunglasses as I tried to speed up down the deserted road. People seemed have the common sense I didn’t, to know when to stay home for example. I reminded myself that there still were a lot of holes and other natural speed bumps along the way and slowed down a little bit, mainly to ease my conscience, but I was still going pretty fast. It was a beautiful landscape that I passed, and any other day would I think about that and how my hair was playing in the wind. It was licked back today by the rain as water poured down my spine.
I eventually got to the Laughing Buddha, where I ordered a cop of chai and crept down under a blanket, wishing I was back at the hotel in my bed.
It’s raining. It’s raining a lot. Not like the heavy monsoon a few months ago, and not the soft gentle rain a couple of minutes ago. It’s that heavy rain that makes you wish you’d stayed inside, or possibly brought an umbrella. It’s the rain that, when staying inside or bringing an umbrella, brings the coziest of feelings, possibly only contested by a campfire with close friends a warm summer night. I’d for some reason felt like the day needed to start and took off anyway. I should have stayed in bed.
The road had been bumpy at first but had now evened out a bit. It had started off with a creation of mainly small rocks and mud but had now gradually turned to asphalt which at home would be considered a massive improvement in comfort. The roads here are at some places so poorly constructed that it’s hard to say where one road end and where the next one begins, not to mention the giant holes in the middle of them.
I’d waken up early and then waited out the rain a bit before I took the motorbike out on the road. It was a soft rain by then but just a minute later had it started raining heavily again, just when I got on the main road. I was wet in a couple of seconds and cold for the first time in this country. No time to loose, I’d immediately decided on heading towards the restaurant with the amazing view I found yesterday, called the Laughing Buddha. It was a bit away but at least I’d started the day and wasn’t still in bed. I should have stayed in bed.
The water poured down my sunglasses as I tried to speed up down the deserted road. People seemed have the common sense I didn’t, to know when to stay home for example. I reminded myself that there still were a lot of holes and other natural speed bumps along the way and slowed down a little bit, mainly to ease my conscience, but I was still going pretty fast. It was a beautiful landscape that I passed, and any other day would I think about that and how my hair was playing in the wind. It was licked back today by the rain as water poured down my spine.
I eventually got to the Laughing Buddha, where I ordered a cop of chai and crept down under a blanket, wishing I was back at the hotel in my bed.
The Holy Man
26th of November
I found him sitting in his small hut as the first rain in weeks softly fell outside. He was an old man, marked by the years he lived here in the wastelands of India. The ruins from ancient cultures lay all around us in the small clutch of trees where he’d built a new life. Apparently was he from Italy originally, but during travels in this region did he run out of money and settled down at the guru in the temple. They fed him and gave him a place to stay, while he taught him about Shiva and the guru life.
There was no way of telling that he was Italian more than that he spoke English with some difficulties. He looked like any other guru, with the long beard, the long hair and the colored marks on the forehead.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Ehhmmm, maybe more than 20 years.” His voice cracked and the answer was more a whisper than anything else, but he smiled against my interest. He’d been here since 1970’s to be a little bit more precise.
He’s a guru at this local temple dedicated to the god Shiva. There is a small room in the middle of the biggest house in this complex of small huts. Some small trees had found their way through the hard ground around the huts and family of ravens watched us from the tree tops. He’d been a painter when he was younger and had made a big beautiful portrait of Shiva on one of the rocks. At the entrance sat two statues of bulls, also connected symbols of the god Shiva.
It hadn’t been at all what I expected. I’d seen a wise matured man, filled with the wisdom only age can provide but energy and patience mustered by dedication. Someone I could listen to and discuss belief with. This was just an old man, barely capable of getting to his own feet and in no way capable of handling a skeptical young man as me. Sure I could have got free food and bed, but there was nothing spiritual about this place and nothing holy about this man. He was just old.
I found him sitting in his small hut as the first rain in weeks softly fell outside. He was an old man, marked by the years he lived here in the wastelands of India. The ruins from ancient cultures lay all around us in the small clutch of trees where he’d built a new life. Apparently was he from Italy originally, but during travels in this region did he run out of money and settled down at the guru in the temple. They fed him and gave him a place to stay, while he taught him about Shiva and the guru life.
There was no way of telling that he was Italian more than that he spoke English with some difficulties. He looked like any other guru, with the long beard, the long hair and the colored marks on the forehead.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Ehhmmm, maybe more than 20 years.” His voice cracked and the answer was more a whisper than anything else, but he smiled against my interest. He’d been here since 1970’s to be a little bit more precise.
He’s a guru at this local temple dedicated to the god Shiva. There is a small room in the middle of the biggest house in this complex of small huts. Some small trees had found their way through the hard ground around the huts and family of ravens watched us from the tree tops. He’d been a painter when he was younger and had made a big beautiful portrait of Shiva on one of the rocks. At the entrance sat two statues of bulls, also connected symbols of the god Shiva.
It hadn’t been at all what I expected. I’d seen a wise matured man, filled with the wisdom only age can provide but energy and patience mustered by dedication. Someone I could listen to and discuss belief with. This was just an old man, barely capable of getting to his own feet and in no way capable of handling a skeptical young man as me. Sure I could have got free food and bed, but there was nothing spiritual about this place and nothing holy about this man. He was just old.
Hammock
20th of November
Wide-spread tropical beaches, the white sand so soft your feet sink in a few centimeters and you can feel the gentle heat from the sun. The palm trees with its majestic height calmly tilt out over the beach, the green leaves supply enough shade without taking away the natural magical light and warmth. The water is sparkling as the waves give you a calm background sound, the dolphins playing in the distant sunset with a few birds passing a blood-red cloud and you feel like there isn’t a problem in the world.
This isn’t paradise. This is merely nature and there is nothing divine about this creation what so ever. But this can be changed! For only 150 Rupees can you invest in a hammock, this elegant piece of design, which can provide you the comfort that you’ve always wanted. No matter how perfect the view is will nothing make it as godlike as the hammocks of Goa. Once you’ve tried it will you never want to leave it again.
The breeze, the careful warm breeze of the ocean, will sway you in the most romantic of ways, completing this supposedly divine place and make it to its fullest. There is nothing else on the market that can compete with this brilliant design. The comfort alone is worth more than eight times the amount, and with the simple construction is it close to priceless.
For only 150 Rupees can you get this brilliant bed of comfort. To the eye only a sheet of cloth but you know it’s so much more. For only 150 Rupees can you get it. Buy it today!
Wide-spread tropical beaches, the white sand so soft your feet sink in a few centimeters and you can feel the gentle heat from the sun. The palm trees with its majestic height calmly tilt out over the beach, the green leaves supply enough shade without taking away the natural magical light and warmth. The water is sparkling as the waves give you a calm background sound, the dolphins playing in the distant sunset with a few birds passing a blood-red cloud and you feel like there isn’t a problem in the world.
This isn’t paradise. This is merely nature and there is nothing divine about this creation what so ever. But this can be changed! For only 150 Rupees can you invest in a hammock, this elegant piece of design, which can provide you the comfort that you’ve always wanted. No matter how perfect the view is will nothing make it as godlike as the hammocks of Goa. Once you’ve tried it will you never want to leave it again.
The breeze, the careful warm breeze of the ocean, will sway you in the most romantic of ways, completing this supposedly divine place and make it to its fullest. There is nothing else on the market that can compete with this brilliant design. The comfort alone is worth more than eight times the amount, and with the simple construction is it close to priceless.
For only 150 Rupees can you get this brilliant bed of comfort. To the eye only a sheet of cloth but you know it’s so much more. For only 150 Rupees can you get it. Buy it today!
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