I ate breakfast early in the morning with Tony and Mike and saw them off. They took their luggage with them as after a day of work they were flying off to Bangalore for the rest of their work week. I hung out in the room for a couple more hours before getting a complimentary ride to the airport courtesy of the hotel (bonus!).
The domestic airport terminal was pretty decent although one had to go to a ticketing office first to get a piece of paper confirming your flight before you could enter the main terminal. Queues or line-ups are just something that doesn’t exist in India. It’s pretty much a free for all and if you don’t jockey for space, you could end up waiting a long time. So after a few guys blatantly bud in front of me, I learned my lesson and pushed forward to occupy any part of the kiosk window I could and eventually I got served.
The tarmac:
Inside the domestic terminal:
The terminal had an interesting manner of getting passengers onto their flights. Instead of having individual gates spread out over large areas, all of the gates were accessed by simply going down a central escalator to your specific door where you got on a bus and were taken to your plane. They mentioned on the intercom numerous times not to go down to the gate until your flight was called. Not a bad system as no one had to walk far and you still had access to the shops and restaurants while waiting (I sadly opted for Pizza Hut...felt like a jolt from the Western world).
I enjoyed checking out the conglomerations of buildings as we flew away from Delhi. Eventually the “smoke” weather dissipated although there were many cirrus and cumulus clouds with the land occasionally poking through. On landing at Goa (after a 2 hour and 20 minute flight...versus the 36 hour train ride I decided to avoid), we were told by the flight attendant that taking pictures at the airport was not allowed as it was a military base. I did spot half a dozen fighters, some transport planes along with communication ones.
Sprawling Delhi:
Some windy river from high up:
Approaching Goa:
Landing approach into Goa:
The humidity was definitely higher than it was in Delhi as I exited the plane and hopped on the transit bus but the place looked night and day to the big city I had just left. Palm trees, the ocean...blue sky! Wow, blue sky. I don’t know why one would choose to live in the seemingly post-apocalyptic atmosphere shrouding Delhi (yes, I know, many of the people have no other choice).
I gathered my super large checked baggage backpack (I must lose some stuff...it’s 32 kg!) and headed to the pre-paid taxi stand and got a ride to Arambol Beach, one of the most northern beaches in Goa and home to a paragliding site.
Taxi ride from the airport:
The sun had set before we had traveled the 65 kilometres to the beach. I paid my fare (1000 Rupees, about $25) and began to wander down a tourist shop lined street to the ocean. I was offered a room multiple times as I plodded down to the lovely sandy beach but declined all of them; I wanted a hut on the beach. As I wandered towards the slow rhythm of the small crashing waves, I realized that there was no way I would find the place of my choice in the dark. All of a sudden a woman in her late twenties chased after me (usually a good thing) and offered me a room (also usually a good thing). Alissa was from Belarus and had spent the last three seasons here. She tries to help find occupants for the guesthouse that she lives in for the owner. She was fairly good looking and in a bikini and sarong so how could I say no? I figured I could suss out the beach hut situation tomorrow.
The room was located in a building behind one of the many restaurant/bars lining the beach (it was called the German Bakery...kind of an odd marketing move). I settled into the room and then headed out for some dinner.
Walking up and down the beach, I randomly chose a place called the Olive Garden, ordered a beer and pizza and enjoyed the break from the Delhi mayhem. A few young women sat down at a large, casual table near mine and soon after one lady asked whether I would like to join them. How nice! Sure, so I moved over and at this time I met the five Norwegian women who had spent the last three months studying in India as part of a course back home. Julie, Caroline, Sunniva (sorry for not getting your name for a number of tries), Karina and Marta (the one who invited me over), were spending some days relaxing in Goa before heading back to Norway.
The night ended up being a long one as the cards were broken out and to my surprise, they suggested that we play “Presidency”, a game I know quite well. A few of the rules were a bit different but I also introduced them to the concept of the president making a new rule every turn which they were very receptive to. Marta and Caroline ruled the top position and I think I loved Caroline’s rule of having to make an animal sound every time you played a card (it got tough to think of original sounds after a short while). The night ended up quite late with Karina and me hanging out with the staff and a slightly outspoken woman from Bristol named Melody. It was after 5am when I finally got to bed....welcome to Goa Dave!
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