Goan Out for a Little While

Sept. 2^nd-Sept. 5^th, 2013

As she’s done the past couple of years in September, Naomi returned from Israel for another Indian holiday.  I met her at Dabolim airport and we headed a bit south to Colva Beach for one night.  Colva is near the Margao train station and the following day we were to catch an early morning train to Hampi for a week.  Naomi made a reservation for us in a “fancy” hotel (read: $40/night!  Lots in this neck of the woods.) and I was treated to my first hot shower in over a year!  The room was spacious with a couch and a comfy bed but we thought it a bit odd that there was a monolithic old school TV in the middle of the room facing the bed.  If you sat on the couch located on the opposite side of the room, you had a beautiful view of the massive black plastic backside of the television....oh India, will you ever learn about interior design?!?

We boarded the train the next morning and within an hour we passed the highlight of the ride, Dudhsagar Falls.  Since the monsoon is just finishing, the waterfalls were running at full power and the jungle was super lush.

All Aboard!

Naomi checking out our 2nd class A/C cabin:

Lunch...not so yummy, cold but super spicy:

Dudhsagar Falls from the opposite hillside:

Dudhsagar Falls close up:

These two nice, middle class Indian fellows somehow spoke incessantly for the first 5+ hours of the trip...non-stop!

Arriving in Hospet, we took a rickshaw for the 14 kilometres to Hampi for 200 rupees.  We could have gotten it a bit cheaper but our driver named Coffee was a decent guy and the poor guy got a flat tire just a few hundred meters before we arrived.  We crossed the river in the small but full boat and headed to Mowgli Guesthouse that we had researched online but there weren’t any rooms available the first night so we opted for a cheaper place called Nargila (which means a hookah or water pipe in Hebrew).  The food was decent there but our 300 rupee room left something to be desired.  The thatched roof of the little hut didn’t provide much soundproofing and allowed many bugs inside (most of which thought that Naomi was the tastier of the two of us).  The mattress seemed to be made of straw and the best part was that the communal Indian style toilet for the restaurant was right next door, a couple of feet from our bed, so we woke up in the morning to the lovely sounds of the staff carrying out their daily business!  Lovely way to wake up...  Poor Naomi was ready to leave Hampi already as she’d been travelling for most of the past couple of days and hadn’t quite mentally landed in India yet.  Luckily we were able to get a room at Mowgli’s, at more than double the price (700 roops) but it was totally worth it and Naomi grew to love Hampi.

Rickshawing through ugly and smelly Hospet:

They can fit up to two motorbikes in this tiny boat if they want to:

Our new room at Mowgli:

The nearby neighbourhood:

And one of our neighbours:

I snuck a photo in of these two cute girls:

But then only one agreed to a portrait when I asked:

Thanks to my friend Robin, I've gotten into pictures of goats:

The second day we were in Hampi was the Jewish holiday Rosh Hashanah which is the start of the new year in their calendar.  There is a Chabad House (a Jewish house) in Hampi just a few hundred meters from the Nargila Restaurant.  Naomi inquired with the young Rabbi and we were invited to join their Rosh Hashanah dinner.  We were the first to arrive just before sunset (when the New Year begins) but later the table swelled to about 20 people.  Two years ago I attended my first Rosh Hashanah dinner with Naomi in Palolem but this time was definitely a more religious affair.  During one section, the women left the men (really they just sat behind a dividing curtain at the end of the long covered gazebo) while the men read some prayers.  I couldn’t understand the Hebrew chants but occasionally the thoughtful Rabbi told me in English the essence of what was being said.  The dinner consists of many little courses, many of which represent something such as the hope for prosperity in the coming year.  Near the end, everyone took their turn to say something, be it a wish, a positive thought or some kind of piece of wisdom for the New Year which I thought was a nice idea.  I appreciated the openness of this community and it would turn out that over the next couple of weeks we would spend some time with some of our new friends from this dinner.

The Rabbi and his young family:

Rosh Hashanah dinner:

Every morning the one resident elephant of the main temple in town is paraded down to the riverside for her bath.  We lucked out and arrived at the little ferry boat just as she was walking down the concrete steps on the other side of the river.  Only 10 or so other tourists were hanging about watching the handler scrub Laxmi who was lying on her side in the water.  “Anybody want to help washing her?” a local guy in his mid-twenties with a lazy eye standing in the river with his toothbrush asked, he seemed to be performing is daily hygienic routine at the same time as the elephant.  Sure, why not, so I jumped in and the handler passed me a flat stone and told me just to scrub away.  This must be Laxmi’s favourite time of the day as she was very relaxed.  Naomi took a turn too and then Laxmi stood up and gave herself a rinsing off with her built-in hose.  The handler barked out a command.  Laxmi bent one of her front legs and the handler was lifted up onto her back and they began to walk back to the temple.  Many people, including locals, were giving her small amounts of money which she gladly accepted with her trunk, gave to the handler and then put her trunk on the donor’s head for a blessing.  We gave her 100 rupees in thanks for letting us help in the bathing process and we received 3 long blessings each...super cool.

Laxmi walking down for her bath:

Scrub-a-dub-dub:

 Anyone in there?

A baba getting blessed by the pachyderm:

The self-rinsing system:

Naomi feeding her some bananas:

We ate breakfast at the Mango Tree restaurant on the advice of some other foreigners we met.  All meals are served on a banana leaf on a plate and the food was decent and nice staff.  We inquired with the waiter about getting a guide for a temple tour and before we’d even finished eating we had a guy waiting for us.  Kumar is a local and is a certified tour guide (by the tourism department of Karnataka).  We proceeded to go for a 2-3 hour walking tour of the Achyutaraya Temple and a few other sites nearby.  I hiked around this area when I was in Hampi a couple of years ago but I had no idea what I was looking at and Kumar was very informative so I was glad we had forked out 600 rupees for his services as he made the walk much more interesting.  Regardless however, it didn’t take too long before Naomi and I were “templed out” but we agreed that we would call Kumar in a few days to take a rickshaw temple tour to some other spots that I had not visited last time.

Time to let some pictures finish off this entry...

The start of the walking tour:

Kumar, tour guide extraordinaire: 

Looking down at the temple compound:

Me in the Matrix...Naomi took a panoramic shot while I phased in and out of existence:

Naomi soaking in the information...the test will be at the end:

A beautiful water reservoir:

Super large centipede: 

Looking back to the main temple in town: 

Templing's tough!

Goat's coming home:

Naomi pulling her Middle Eastern look:

The King's Scale (and some idiot under it):

This banyan tree has thousands of pieces of cloth tied to it.  Couples tie something to the tree in hopes of soon having a baby:

Naomi tied something on for a friend of hers:

A traffic jam on the path back:

Such a cute monkey baby:

This family from Andhra Pradesh wanted a pit with me:

There's a tall wooden chariot in town by the main temple and most of the time it is covered by corrugated sheet metal...and it sure makes a nice home for monkeys:

Some new buddies, young sticker and postcard seller Babu and the waiter at Nargila Ujjal:

The monolithic Ganesha:

For some perspective of size:

A Third Canadian Visitor

August 5^th-7^th, 2013

Last year in September I met a fellow Canadian who has been living in Hong Kong for the past 5 or 6 years.  Sev is a first officer with Cathay Pacific Airlines and was on a 48 hour layover between flights in Bangalore so he came up to Goa for a few days on the beach.  We hit it off right away and on the day before he left I took him for a tandem paragliding flight.  It was great fun to take a pilot of a large plane complete with stewardesses for a flight in my “little 2 seater”.  I let him take control for part of the time as I obviously had full confidence in his knowledge and understanding of the principles of flight and we flew for over an hour and we both really enjoyed it.

In early August I received a message from Sev that he had another layover, this time in Hyderabad, and that he was returning to Goa.  I warned him that the weather would not be as agreeable as it had been the last time as August is still monsoon time, albeit starting to taper off.  This did not deter him and by chance, the day he arrived happened to be the nicest day we had had since the monsoon started in the beginning of June.

On the first day we hung out at 21 Coconuts restaurant for a few sunny afternoon beers, returned there later to satiate Sev’s hankering for a fish curry and then finished the night off with some pool on the cruddy table next door at the Seahorse.

The next day, with the weather still being relatively kind, we decided to rent bikes to go for a little tour.  My usual source for the rentals didn’t have any so we had to wait for an hour or so until a few were sourced for us: a motorbike for Sev and a scooter for me (I had recently hurt my toe on my left foot slipping on my stairs so gear shifting a bike was not an appealing idea).  During our wait the weather was decent as we ate breakfast on the beach but sure enough, as soon as we got the bikes it started to rain.

Live To Ride...

Ride to Live!

We rode over to Kerrie Beach and then hopped on a small ferry to cross the river to the small toehold of Goa on the other side.  Even though I’ve been here for a few years, I had yet to make this crossing so it was new territory for both of us.  Our destination was Fort Tiracol, a small Portuguese stronghold to protect the entrance to the Tiracol River.

"Don't pay the ferryman, don't pay the ferryman...until he gets you to the other side." - Actually it was free anyways...

Disembarking...somewhat of a free for all:

Arriving at the fort, we were greeted by two very bored security guards.  One guard told us that the hotel was closed but the fort was open.  We didn’t even know there was a hotel there but one has been built into the one of the inner courtyard buildings.  The friendly guard had one of us sign in a book where we realized why these guys were bored as we where the 5^th and 6^th people to visit that day, and it was already 3pm.  We wandered around all that we could but were finished within 10 minutes as there wasn’t a whole lot to see although the views back to Kerrie Beach and the ridge where I paraglide a lot was beautiful.

Walking up to the entrance:

Into the courtyard:

Which is protected by Jesus:

Sev up on the rampart, the yellowish building is the hotel:

The view back to Kerrie Beach and the ridge that I paraglide:

Hopping back on our bikes we ventured towards the border of Maharashtra hoping to go another 7 kilometres to Paradise Beach but there was a police blockade preventing us from continuing unhindered.  Policemen seeing two foreigners on bikes at this time of the year would see virtual money signs above our heads.  All they’d have to do would be to ask us for our drivers’ licences and they’d find some problem with them and want baksheesh (a bribe) of around 1500 rupees each ($30).  We decided it wasn’t worth the risk so we rode back to the ferry.  The crossing takes all of 5 minutes but we happened to arrive at the workers’ lunchtime as we waited for almost an hour until we got underway, which wasn’t all bad as it rained during this time and we would have been soaked if we were riding at the time.

Returning back to the Arambol area it was time for a late lunch so we went to a fancy place called Riva which turned out to have a limited menu but it was still tasty although that night I made pasta at home for us and I think I preferred that meal!

The next day it was back to work for Sev and so my third “2 day visit by a Canadian friend” this monsoon season came to a close.  Great to see you again Sev...and keep yer stick on the ice!

Short Stay Steve

July 12^th-14^th, 2013

I was lucky to have another friend from my hometown of Victoria come for a short visit.  Just like Tony before him (see the last blog entry) Steve works for my former employer Schneider Electric and he too was in Bangalore for business meetings.  He booked the same flights to and from Bangalore, arriving early on a Friday morning and returning on Sunday afternoon.  Unlike Tony however, poor Steve arrived at the peak of the monsoon season, on the rainiest day of the season yet!

We met in 21 Coconuts (one of the few restaurants open right now) and he immediately was introduced to the infamous Juan from Chile.  Juan’s been here for many years and I’ve mentioned him in previous posts and Steve even had a heads up about him from Tony but nothing is like the real thing.  Surprisingly Juan was in pretty good spirits (he had not imbibed too many spirits...yet) and even remembered Steve’s name as we left which impressed me as it took over a year for him to remember mine.

Nuevos amigos Steve & Juan:

There wasn’t much for us to do outside on such a rainy day so our activities involved me introducing Steve to Carrom, which was fun as we used to play the similar game of Crokinole back in Canada, and some pool on probably the worst table that both of us have ever played on.  Some of the felt was missing on the table with some very crude stitching (think Frankenstein) trying to hold it together.  Still, take what you can get.

Taking a shot while Sukhee (it means "happy" in Hindi) watches on:

The following day the weather lightened up a bit so we decided to take a chance and grab a scooter and tour around a bit.  Our first stop was the small nearby city of Mapsa to see if Steve could purchase some Kadai serving dishes, a request from his lovely wife and good friend of mine Sheryl.  I’ve been in the market enough times that I’m recognized by some of the sellers but Steve was fresh meat.  A common ploy that they use is to walk along side you, start asking you innocent questions like “What country?”, help you find the shop you’re looking for but then plead for you to come and visit their small shop, which turns out to just be a burlap sack tucked in a corner somewhere.  We started with one “guide” and soon had 3 others tagging along.  Steve was a good sport and did oblige a few of the sellers and I even bought a new, big rainbow coloured umbrella but then we had to get out of there.  We scootered off to Anjuna, a nearby beach that used to be famous for its big parties in the 90s and even though the police have cracked down on it, it still goes off at time to time.  We had lunch at a place called Hippies and then headed back to Arambol.

Nice matching jacket and bike:

My new umbrella...which sadly lasted about 5 days before it broke:

Lunch at Hippies:

The following day the weather was even better and we walked around to Sweet Lake.  I hadn’t been around there since Tony was here back in May and what a difference.  In May the lake was not flowing out to the sea, and hadn’t been for 3-4 months so the algae and garbage build up was pretty disgusting.  Now with the rains, the lake flowed freely and what a difference (although there was still plenty of garbage on the beach itself).  Accompanied by four dogs, we hiked back over the lusciously green hill where I paraglide and back to the main beach.

Walking with Old Boy:

Our posse near Sweet Lake:

Returning over the hill...which is super nice and green at this time of the year:

We had a final meal at 21 Coconuts and then Steve was off to catch his flight.  It was a short visit, but a sweet one...always nice to catch up with a good friend, especially in a foreign land.

Tony Comes to Town

May 1^st-3^rd, 2013

One of my best friends from Canada was on a business trip in Bangalore so he decided to fly up to visit me for a couple of days.  I've known Tony since we were 14 years old so I was looking forward to showing him my home away from home in Arambol.  Tony was the last friend from Canada that I've seen as I started my worldwide adventure back in November of 2010 in Delhi and we day tripped to Agra to see the Taj Mahal.  This visit was going to be much more laid back...read: beach time, not taxi time (we spent 10 hours in a taxi to visit the Taj for about an hour and a half...but it was still totally worth it.

Tony arrived early on the first day so after some breakfast with some cheeky mid-morning beers we spent some of the afternoon on Sweet Lake Beach including a swim in the ocean.  Tony remarked that it was probably the warmest ocean water he’d been in.  We decided to walk in the jungle behind the lake to go to the banyan tree where usually hippies and/or old supposedly wise old men known as babas sit and smoke their chillums.  As we were passing the beach shack restaurant before the trail, the manager asked if some Russian ladies could follow us to the tree as they were concerned for their safety...sure, the more the merrier.  It was a nice little walk and although there was no chillum club happening at the tree as there usually is, there was some guy playing a chime bowl constantly for the first 3-4 minutes upon our arrival.  It was loud and unappealing to the ear...the ringing made you feel like you’d been to a super loud concert the night before.  Thankfully he finally stopped and soon after some monkeys where jumping around in the branches above us.  I’m guessing that they didn't enjoy the bowl ringing either and had kept their distance.

Unfortunately that evening Tony couldn't escape his connection to the corporate world and had to sit in on 3 telephone interviews looking for a replacement for the position he’s about to leave.  One candidate was in France, another in Iran and the third one in South America with two other interviewers in Delhi and Canada.  Wow, must have been quite the phone bill!

A quiet evening at a restaurant was exactly what we needed since the following morning we were up at 7am to climb up the hill behind my house in order to get an Internet signal.  Why?  Well to watch NHL Playoff ice hockey of course!  Our team, the Vancouver Canucks were playing their first game and it was great to have a fellow fan here with me (if I’d been home in Canada I probably would have been over at Tony’s house to watch it on his big flat screen high def TV anyways!).  After the first period we moved down to 21 Coconuts restaurant for more comfortable seating and some brekkie.  Unfortunately the Nucks lost the game but it was still fun to watch.

Watching the game up on the hill:

Definitely more comfortable at the restaurant:

That afternoon we went back to Sweet Lake and even attempting a bit of boogie boarding.  Later I took him over to the main beach for some Carrom at Cock’s Town.  Tony and I used to play a lot of Crokinole back in Canada which is a pretty similar game so I knew it wouldn't take him long to get into Carrom.

The boogie man:

Walking over to Cock's Town:

With some good views from up on the hill:

And then some entertaining Indian wrestling on the main beach:

Followed by some serious Carrom:

On his last day, with him leaving late in the afternoon, we considered renting scooters and touring around north Goa but instead, since conditions seemed good, we opted to go paragliding.  Tony had never paraglided before and I hadn't flown since my crash back in January and even though there was no one around to help be an anchor on takeoff, I had total confidence in Tony’s ability to do exactly as I told him.  And I was right.  The takeoff was fine and the flight was great.  It was so nice to share “my new office” with a former co-worker and great friend.

In flight:

Looking down Kerrie Beach:

Safely on the ground with some big grins:

Thanks for coming to visit Tone!  It was short but sweet.  “Phir milengai mera dost.” (See you again my friend)

Happy Holi 2013!

March 27^th, 2013

The Hindu “Festival of Colours” is back again.  I thoroughly enjoyed this holiday last year with my Swedish neighbour Martin.  This year I was flying solo but it didn't take long for me to find the action, actually it was a bit early, I wasn't ready yet!  I had planned to buy a nice white shirt, write “Happy Holi” in Hindi on the back and front and then venture out for the colour revelry.  Before I even got down to the path from my place, I was plastered with bright green, yellow and blue colours on my face, in my hair and on my shirt.  I had encountered a group comprised of the local shop keepers and the restaurant and guesthouse workers.  They were all smiling from ear to ear and fully into the celebration and it was not yet 11am.  It’s like Christmas for them.

I purchased a long sleeved, V neck shirt (for 200 rupees...under $4) and stealthily made my way back home to prepare my shirt.  As I wrote out the Hindi on my shirt I could see the group of partiers making their way from guesthouse to guesthouse along the cliff, working their way towards my room.  I hastily finished my shirt and was a bit surprised when they didn't actually come by my place.  No biggie, it was very easy to find them thanks to the banging drums.

This is the damage just coming home from buying the shirt:

Okay, now I'm ready to go:

My shirt was a hit and I had many Indians laughing and yelling out “Happy Holi!” as they pointed at it.  Needless to say, it didn’t stay white for long, but that was the whole intention.  Some of the guys who know me gave me some green coloured powder so that I could join in the action as the group slowly meandered along the path throwing powder and squirting water guns (with coloured water of course) at anyone and everyone, well almost everyone, there were a few scrooges.

This guy was the rock star.  He's a baba with a small stall with chess sets, incense and various smoking paraphernalia   I think this is his favourite day of the year!

On the right is Raul, one of the managers of where I'm staying (and the one who bought me beer):

I loved this kids colours:

Commando Raul firing his salvo:

The now "Blue Baba":

The crew:

After an hour or so we eventually made it around to the main beach, did a little dancing in the sand to the bongos and then I headed back to my place, grabbed some money which I had forgotten (thanks Raul for buying me a few beers over the last hour since I was rupeeless) and then headed to Sweet Lake to celebrate with the guys I know over there.  Then back to my place and on to the Olive Garden restaurant for the late afternoon before returning home for a quiet evening (I was “Holied” out but additionally most festivities had ceased).

I look like some evil superhero I think...

This is Dasme, a good friend in the Dolphin's View restaurant on Sweet Lake Beach:

Mid afternoon status:

With Sanju, the best tandoori cook on the beach, at the Olive Garden:

Ramesh, Juan and Ram...what can I say?

Even Gizmo got into the act:

Just like last year, I was amazed by how happy and friendly everyone is on Holi...it’s just too bad we’re not all like that every day!  Happy Holi!!!

Back Again?!?

January 23^rd, 2012

Terribly sorry...one of the longest breaks between posts...but here’s why...

The tandem flying was progressing along smoothly with me having flown about 100 tandem flights.  I had hoped to have more passengers on a daily basis but once the season reached its peak there were 13-14 other pilots with not enough paying customers to keep everyone busy all the time.  At the start of the season I was receiving some flights from the waiters of the restaurants who tended to the sun beds that line the beach.  It’s a good gig for them.  They simply ask all of their customers whether they want to paraglide and cash in on a 200 rupee commission which is a larger source of income than their actual job.  Why we pay them 200 out of 1500 rupees I don’t know.  I tried to explain to pilots that we’re flying for peanuts and we can dictate the prices but like a little capitalistic market, there were some Indian pilots who were happy to fly cheaply and they drove the profits down for everyone.  During the peak part of the season however, it was obvious that the Indian waiters were feeding flights almost exclusively to Indian pilots.  Fair enough.  It just meant I needed to do some more marketing so I put up posters around Arambol and on some other beaches.

Another factor that was hindering the amount of money I was earning with the flying was this seemingly inherent yet intangible tandem flying law:  whenever there were many people wanting to fly, the conditions were bad, and when the conditions were perfect, there were no customers to be found.  Uncanny.

On this day, it was the former.  Quite a few tourists desired to fly but the wind was just a bit too light for tandems yet it was enough for solo pilots.  So for a change, I grabbed my solo wing and hiked up the hill with a couple of French pilots, Jacques and Manu.  There were 3-4 tandem pilots with 3-4 passengers each hanging out at the west launch hoping for conditions to improve.  A few tandems attempted take-offs but then soon sank down to the beach after only a couple of minutes.

I took off and enjoyed the sensation of being back in my solo wing.  It’s kinda like being a bus driver during the week and hopping in your sports car on the weekend.  The flight was decent although I couldn’t climb too much higher than the ridge.  Most times when I passed by the takeoff I would be questioned by the crowd below as to my latest evaluation of the wind conditions.  Suffice it to say, it never improved so it looked like I had made the right decision in grabbing my solo wing.  I was the “sky pig” of the day with an hour and a half flight.

Near the end of the flight, I crossed Sweet Lake Beach to the small ridge on the south end.  I played around there for a bit but wasn’t climbing much as the wind was diminishing.  With each pass I lost a meter or two of height but that was okay, I was ready to land and have a nice late afternoon, post flight beer.  I decided not to land on the large strip of sand behind the sun beds as I always do with my tandem, but instead opted for the patch of sand in front of the three restaurants.  Why?  I don’t know exactly.  Feeling a bit cocky, not wanting to walk an extra 50 meters, or just trying something different...   Well, that was a mistake.  I was cruising just in front of the top of some coconut trees that were near the base of the hill and I turned back towards the restaurants for my last downwind leg before turning into the wind and landing.

Everything seemed normal yet suddenly I felt a loss in pressure from the wing as it fell back and I immediately began to fall backwards towards the ground when I was about 5 to 6 meters above the beach.  My paraglider had entered a parachutal stall meaning it was still open but it was no longer acting like a wing providing me lift.  It all happened in a blink of an eye.  I had no time to react.  I felt the sickening thud as I slammed into the sand with my butt leading the charge.  “Damn! Not again!”  I thought as my mind recoiled from the idea of yet another back injury from paragliding.  Wait, I’ve got other things to think about first, like breathing.  The impact had knocked the wind out of me.

I was immediately surrounded by tourists, other pilots and locals.  Thankfully there were some foreigners who knew how to control the situation, first checking on me, keeping people back, not moving me, getting water and talking reassuringly to me.  I knew I’d done some damage but I could also surmise that it was not as severe as the disk compression I sustained in Panchgani back in March of 2011.

I gingerly removed my helmet while still lying on my side in the sand.  I was staring at some rocks at the base of the hill just three meters away.  “Wow that could have been a lot worse.”  Some pilots packed up my gear as I eventually sat up and then into a chair someone brought out from one of the restaurants.  Eventually most of the onlookers dissipated but one Austrian woman named Sonja stuck around and mentioned that she was studying kinesiology and if I liked she could perform some simple tests on me to assess my condition.  Sure, why not.  I had just met Sonja and her German boyfriend Francesco, both solo pilots, on the launch before taking off.  I recognized them as they were staying in a guesthouse near mine.  Sonja had me hold my right arm up as she asked me a question in German (which I could hardly understand) like “Do you want to be healed?” and then she’d push down on my arm.  If my arm resisted it was a positive answer.  Then she would pinch my shoulder to “turn off the muscle” and test again and my arm would always drop after the pinch...interesting.  At one point she had me stare at a guy’s black t-shirt (oh, the guy happened to be Bagtoo from Himachal Pradesh from whom I bought my tandem wing) and do the same test.  I was still in the post traumatic stress adrenaline fuelled stage so I wasn’t really following but it kept my mind a bit busy.

Sonja and Francesco offered to escort me home.  In retrospect, I know I should have gone to the hospital immediately to get checked out but I was quite sure the doctor would just tell me to lie prone for the next few weeks and it seemed like a long distance to get to medical help, at least an eight hundred meter walk and then a taxi or ambulance to a hospital half an hour away.  I made it home and into bed and thanked Sonja and Francesco for their help. 

My next door neighbour and good friend Martin came home a few hours later and I told him of my accident.  Martin or Nurse Martin as I called him was fantastic.  Over the next few weeks he brought me many meals and helped me in whatever manner he could.  Sonja visited regularly and did some “balancing” of my muscles and energy lines with similar techniques as on the beach.  I have to admit that I didn’t follow or necessarily believe in the treatment but I happily went along with it as it kept me distracted and hey, there are only so many movies to watch and books to read before cabin fever sets in.

By the fourth day after the crash, I realized I needed to get my back checked out to see what I had done.  It was a Saturday and the hospital would be open but I tried to sit up and the pain was overwhelming and I quickly lied down again.  Okay, let’s go Monday morning.  Sonja, with the help of a fellow Austrian Andy, organized an ambulance, borrowed a stretcher from the life guards and gathered some friends to haul me down from my guesthouse.  Did I mention that my guesthouse is 120 stairs up from a path that links Sweet Lake Beach to Arambol Beach?  And after the descent, they still had to carry me about 600 meters to the nearest road!  Amazing.

The ambulance was very posh, a new vehicle with a super comfortable stretcher and air conditioning.  Sonja escorted me and we joked at the fact that they blared the siren the entire way to the hospital.  “C’mon guys, the accident happened 5 days ago, I don’t think it’s a real emergency.”

We spent only an hour at a fancy new hospital near the city of Mapsa.  Unlike western hospitals, I hardly had to wait for the doctor to perform a cursory diagnosis and send me off for X-rays.  I was immediately wheeled into the X-ray room and discovered an annoying and painful kink in the Indian medical system.  The X-ray table was about 8 inches lower than the gurney I was on and neither could be adjusted.  Getting to and fro proved to be quite excruciating.

On examining the X-rays, the doctor told me that I had sustained compression fractures on my T9 and T11 vertebrae.  Damn, I’m really screwing up my back.  Those are the third and fourth vertebrae I’ve damaged along with a compressed disk in between.  He prescribed some calcium pills, vitamins and this expensive nasal spray to promote bone healing and told me to rest in bed for the next few weeks at least, let my body dictate that.  I also purchased a back brace.  The whole medical visit only cost about $100.  Twenty five dollars each for the ambulance, X-rays and diagnosis, medicine and the back brace.  Pretty good deal I thought, especially since the ambulance even took Sonja and me back to Arambol!

Then came the tricky part, how to get me back up to my guesthouse.  We eventually located enough people we knew to help carry me back up the 8 storeys or so to my room, right in the heat of the day.  Thanks everyone!  My hat is off to you.

I spent the next three weeks confined to the Magic Villa (Martin’s name for our guesthouse).  I received many visitors and I have to say that it was wonderful to feel the love in this country, half way around the world from my home.  By the time Martin left back to Sweden in mid February I thankfully could at least fend for myself with the nearby restaurant delivering me food.

I spoke with a few pilots just after the accident and in the ensuing weeks.  No one seemed to think I did anything wrong.  I had my hands up with next to no brake applied.  So what caused the parachutal stall?  Well my wing is old, in paragliding standards.  I purchased it in 2005 and have about 350 hours on it.  By this time a combination of the lines stretching or shrinking coupled with the sun causing the material of the wing to become more porous makes the wing to be more susceptible to stalling at low speeds.  So unlike my first two paragliding crashes where pilot error was the main factor, perhaps this time it was an equipment failure.  Well, actually I can chalk this one up to pilot error as well.  Why was I flying such an old and potentially dangerous wing?  Ironically I was planning to buy a new solo wing before leaving India so this Synergy 2 was not leaving the country with me.  But it had just taken me on an epic 84 kilometre cross country flight last year in Himachal Pradesh so I naively thought it was still flyable. 

Some lessons in life are painful to learn...