Arrival

So we have arrived.  After an epic, but easy, journey, we stumbled with a surreal sense of reality onto Palomem beach at about 8 (local time) this morning.  There was a lot of tarpaulin (a hangover from the monsoon season that has just ended) and shuttered shops, Alex did not look impressed.  I could see the ‘is this it?’ question struggling to be contained in his lack of enthusiasm.  We have now had a couple of hours rest, the shops have woken up, and we have found an bar on the beach, with nice soft red cushions, amazing smells of tandoori cooking, and really freaking cheap cold beer.  Ahhhhhhhhhh, and exhale.  The beer and the postcard perfect view seem to have lifted our moods and Alex’s face is showing a more positive signs of enjoyment. Phew!  

The BBC lied to us about the weather.  Thunder and rain it said.  98% humidity it said.  Bollocks.  It is a tolerable 29^o, and the only grey to be seen is the nuances of blue in the calm sea that extends beyond the horizon.

My feet are fat.  Really fat.  Any fatter and they might burst.  I am sure they are slowly expanding throughout the day too.  A consequence of flying, I think, or I have managed to contract elephantitis, already...  

We had our first taste of the Indian love of stamps, procedures and frantic desperation to be first in the queue.  I find it an interesting anomaly that for a nation of people that need to check, stamp, re-check, re-stamp, re-re-check and re-re-stamp there would be a need for some kind of order to make sure this superfluous process happen with efficiency, but there isn’t.  It is a frenzied free for all to get one’s bag as quickly as possible onto the necessary conveyor belt to obtain the next required stamp to show that the bag has indeed been scanned an absurd number of times.  While stood in a queue, in the peripheral of my vision the wheels of a trolley laden with duvets (there was a lot of people travelling with bundles of duvet) would slowly creep sight, looking behind me there would be an Indian trying to look nonchalant, I smiled at them to let them know that I was onto them and there is no way they are going to be getting past.  But that just seemed to serve as a challenge to them and they up their efforts to side swipe you with a sharp jerk of the front end of their trolley.  There seems to be a real art to holding your ground without having to resort to elbows in the face.   I handled myself well though, I adopted the advice given for encounters with wolves, make yourself look as big as possible, stay calm and stand your ground.  No fucker was getting past my maniacally grinning lumbering form. 

And another thing.  The driving.  Now I am no fresher to the more exuberant ways of driving of people from Eastern parts, but not only did we almost crash into a few buses on blind corners while overtaking, but the driver almost took out an old man.  Properly clipped to poor old bastard at about 30 mph.  The driver didn’t even wave his hand in apology, which seems to make even the most dangerous of manoeuvres somehow more palatable, just carried on as if it was a common day thing to run over old men.

Anyway, the mosquitoes are arriving, I feel the little pests tickling my skin trying to find the juiciest way in, so I’m off to cover my succulent hams to stop them making too much of a meal out of me on the first night.  Plus I am feeling a little tipsy now, and my fat fingers keep mistyping.  

Oh, and Alex says' cheers everyone!