Sunday afternoon, Gen and I left Jack with Vishal and headed to a stand-up comedy show. Hyderabad is apparently India’s capital of comedy, although finding an act we can follow takes research. Routines switch between English and Hindi just as the punchline arrives, and local references leave everyone laughing while I smile like I’ve understood. This time we found Sundeep Bhardwaj, an Indian comedian based in Luxembourg. Language sorted. Much of his set was political, particularly about Israel and Gaza. We’d hoped for a lighter evening.
The audience was almost as interesting as the show. Someone objected to a risqué joke because there was a fifteen-year-old present. Others shouted out topics they wanted him to cover, until he reminded them that he was the comedian and they could chat afterwards. We’ve seen hecklers before, but this felt more like a meeting where nobody had agreed on the agenda. An interesting experience, although the biggest laugh had already happened on the way there.
Gen wanted to check out the glitzy jewellery shops we keep passing near our apartment, so we’d left early. Somewhere in the usual Hyderabad traffic and U-turn negotiations, I spotted a blue Datsun hatchback with a cow’s head hanging out the window like a golden retriever enjoying a Sunday drive. We were in hysterics. Gen pleaded with Ganesh to follow it, and when we got behind the car, she realised there were TWO cows in the back seat. The first one had brought a friend.
Even Ganesh said, “Sir, I have never seen this.” Thirty-five years of driving in Hyderabad, and we’d found something new for him. How had they got in? Where were they going? Was the second cow waiting for its turn at the window? Somewhere, a farmer has looked at his herd and thought, “We’ll just take the Datsun.” I will never complain about leg-room again.
Later in the week, after finishing the book, The Correspondent, Gen was inspired to send postcards home. At the post office, the young woman behind the counter appeared never to have seen one before. Her older colleague had, but sending them still seemed to require a surprising amount of consultation. After some discussion behind dingy plexiglass, stamps were produced. They were so enormous they nearly covered the addresses. The cards could now leave India, but where they went afterwards would be a surprise for everyone.
Gen called me in stitches about her first encounter with Indian government bureaucracy. After my adventures with visas and banking, I could only say, “Yep. Welcome to the club.” She was still at the stage where it was funny. Awww, muffin. How cute. I remember that stage.
By Thursday, I was mentally in Goa. We were flying there Friday for Canadian Thanksgiving. Then Momi told us she was unwell with what sounded like food poisoning. Since she was supposed to look after Leo and Harriet, Gen launched emergency pet planning. Vishal and Gen’s virtual Hindi teacher were recruited to help. During the conversation, Gen became convinced that her teacher and Momi speak different versions of Hindi. Months of lessons, and feeding the cat still required international mediation. So much for Duolingo.
By the time I got home from work, it was sorted. Vishal, who does not share our enthusiasm for animals, would move into the apartment for the weekend. Momi would come by if she felt well enough to give Harriet her various UTI and kidney medications. We were very grateful. Vishal had signed up to help with Jack and was now spending Thanksgiving with a dog and a medically complicated cat.
Friday’s flight was uneventful, our Goa driver was cheerful, and Palm Grove was forty-five minutes away. Sixty, once I announced that we needed gin, tonic and lemons. I’ve had enough disappointing cocktails here to take responsibility for my own. Some people travel with a favourite pillow. I require a functioning bar.
We loved Palm Grove immediately. About fifteen cottages sit among tropical gardens, with the beach just beyond them. Our cottage had beautiful polished-concrete furniture and details, and was extremely comfortable. I unpacked with the ambition of a man who intended to achieve nothing.
On the beach, I met the lifeguard and two vendors, Nikita and Aishwarya, from Karnataka. They’d been selling there for thirty years, spoke excellent English, and had bracelets, anklets, saris and absolutely no difficulty identifying a soft target. Ten bracelets and ₹3,000 later, we were accessorised. One was mine. The other nine were divided between Gen and Jack, so I feel my personal restraint deserves recognition. Thirty years of sales experience versus a Canadian family who’d just arrived at the beach. It was never going to be a fair contest. The next day, Gen and Jack bought massages from them too. These women had found us on an empty beach and turned us into recurring revenue.
We swam, napped, had beers and made G&Ts. Gen began naming the local dogs, who mostly look like Leo in different colours. We now have Elizabeth, Philip, Prince, Princess, Frankie and Pineapple. Most of the monarchy is living outside our cottage and hoping we order prawns.
The beach was quiet in the fierce daytime heat. At night, everyone emerged and the restaurants filled up. We found a table on the sand and ordered an enormous grilled seafood platter: lobster, crab, king and tiger prawns, calamari, two local white fish and fries. Simply cooked seafood, cold beer, candlelight and music. Heaven. A terrible evening to be a crustacean. The tide was coming in as we walked home, and the beach was narrowing in the dark. I was a little worried about being swept out to sea.
Saturday morning, Gen went to beach yoga and was the only student, apart from Pineapple, who joined her for downward dog. She appeared to have mastered it without lessons.
We devoted the rest of the day to swimming, sunshine and naps, with beer and G&Ts as required. At sunset, we briefly resumed being useful and took photographs. Dinner next door came with live acoustic music, shrimp and Indian wine, with the dogs settled at our feet.
Sunday morning brought brilliant news: Pete and Sue, our amazing friends, had bought flights to visit us in February! We’re so excited. Planning is underway, and I’ll try to produce an itinerary that allows them to return home with some energy and all their internal organs.
Gen also convinced me to join yoga, bringing the class up to three: her, me and Pineapple. I’m really glad I went. Nothing beats beach yoga, even when you’re still resolving years of conflict with a body that refuses to fold as instructed. Pineapple remains annoyingly good at it.
Then a different Peter arrived with our rented Vespas. Two bikes, including a red one requested by Jack, three helmets and two empty petrol tanks. Adventure sold separately. Gen and I were nervous. Twenty-five years ago, I caused a bike accident in Laos that left physical and emotional scars. Alessia has spent years asking to rent a scooter and being told absolutely not, so our sudden policy reversal has understandably attracted criticism. We’re expecting her submission to the family ethics committee.
After some practice and a petrol stop, we headed to Querim and Mandrem beaches. Goa feels so different from the other parts of India we’ve seen: greener, more tropical and colourful, with winding roads, narrow villages and more tourists everywhere. It was a Portuguese colony until 1961, and that history is visible in the churches, tiled roofs and colourful houses. Around every bend, there seemed to be another lovely building I wanted to stop and photograph, which would have been easier if I wasn’t concentrating so hard on staying upright.
Jack was a brilliant passenger. He held on tight, kept checking that Mum was behind us and supplied plenty of driving instructions. Eventually he figured out the horn, replacing our spoken “beep beeps” with actual ones. I was now being supervised by someone who understood the vehicle better than I did. The horn came in handy for dogs, cows and calves lying in the road. At one point, an entire herd appeared from nowhere. This week’s cows were either inside a Datsun or directly in my way. It was enormous fun, although I remained on edge. We managed one tip-over going uphill at approximately 0.05 kilometres an hour. Plenty of time to watch it happen. Somehow still no time to stop it.
At Querim, we stopped for ice cream and some time in the surf. I’m pretty sure I saw eagles. Gen doesn’t believe me, but I’m sticking with eagles. At Mandrem, we settled into loungers with smoothies and snacks, which is where much of this blog was written. The G&Ts will have to wait until the riding was finished.
Later, one wrong turn near a creek brought us to a man who shooed us away, saying tigers had recently been seen up there. We suspected he just wanted the tourists to go away, but turned around. Gen later found reports of leopards in the area. Wrong cat, fairly compelling argument.
On the way home, we completely lost Gen. She went right, we went left, and we started frantically calling her. She was already at the hotel. She’d grown much more comfortable on the moped as the day went on. Apparently comfortable enough to leave us behind. If it was a race, she won. Given my role in the Laos accident, I don’t think I was ever going to relax completely, but I really loved the adventure. Jack did brilliantly, we had a fabulous day exploring together, and I was happy to finish with both feet on the ground and a G&T within reach.
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving from Goa. We have so much to be thankful for: everyone supporting this adventure, my colleagues and employer for an amazing career opportunity, Alessia coming at Christmas, Pete and Sue joining us in February, and days like this together. And whoever looked at two cows and a Datsun and said, “Yes, that’ll work.”
This is Goa…
Moooooving along in Hydrabadi traffic….