Goa’ing, Goa’ing, Gone

Water rising outside my hotel in Goa

The train from Hampi to Goa wasn’t half-bad, and arriving back in Goa my first order of business was to secure a new laptop power chord. Without a laptop to do my work, I was impotent; like a violinist without a violin or a soccer player without legs. Emerging from the bus to Panaji following the train ride, I was fortunate to pass a store with an “HP” sign along the façade; ten minutes later and I emerged knowing that a new power chord would be delivered to me within 24 hours. Score.

I’d spent my previous time in Goa in Aranjuna beach, which at this time of year is practically vacant thanks to the monsoon. This time I took a taxi to Vasco de Gama, where I put up in a local hotel for two nights while awaiting my laptop chord, spending my time reading and watching Inception in the evening. The next day my power chord arrived, and after being offline for so many days I decided to put up in a hotel with a desk in t

he room and a wifi connection, which Google helped me arrange rather quickly.

The next four days were spent pent up in a reasonably comfortable room, hiding from the monsoon and fully engaged in getting work done. I was loving the cleanliness, the hot shower, and the wifi access, and the four days passed in a flash.

After four days I had to return to my original guesthouse, where a replacement video camera I had ordered was being delivered from home. On return to the Evershine guesthouse, I found my camera waiting along with a stack of fresh clothes I’d left during the trip to Hampi. The next three days were spent in a similar fashion to the previous four, with one difference. In addition to working most of the day, I had the beloved motorcycle I had previously rented back, and now I was armed with a video camera.

During the days, as soon as the skies cleared up I would run and change clothes, grab the video camera and take off on the bike. The results is the video you see below.

[to be updated within a week when I’ve uploaded the video to Youtube!]

Despite my crush on the motorcycle, by this time I’d spent nearly 10 days in Goa, more than enough according to the internal schedule I had in mind. It was time to start moving again, and for now I was ready to conclude the southern part of my Indian travels.

My train ride to Delhi was at 2:30pm, and the taxi suggested they pick me up at 1:40 so I’d make it in time. We left promptly at 1:40, but soon after we’d left I started hearing things I didn’t want to hear from the taxi driver, especially after I’d just paid $50 for a train ticket. Things like “Oh man the traffic is bad” and “Why did you leave at 1:40?” and “Uh oh”.

I’d broken a promise to myself and let a taxi driver determine my schedule, and not only was I going to miss my train but I was going to have spent 3 hours and $20 just driving to the train station only to return back to Goa just to do it all over again. Fart.

I watched as the clock hit 2:40 when we pulled into the train station, and I was ten minutes late. I threw on my backpacks and took off through the driving rain, running up the platform frantically looking for any sign that the train might not have arrived yet.

Ten minutes late and I was five minutes early.

For once, I was thrilled that the train was late. Five minutes after I arrived, and 15 minutes late, the train showed up and I was off on a 30hr journey to Delhi.

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