Hop, skip, jump

I'm setting down in southern Goa for the night, taking a moment to relax in this fan-cooled cyber cafe in Magdaon before catching a bus to Benaulim beach. Since I left Palitana early on January 13, every day has had its component of backpack-lugging and public transportation, and I am worn out and feeling harried and dirty. I'm tired of being on the go. I'm ready to pause for a couple of days and take a breath, or a few, but I'm dashing down the coast in a bit of a hurry, to get to Sangatya by the end of the week.

Up before dawn on January 13th to catch a bus to Ahmedabad, where I stowed my luggage and bought a ticket for a night train to Mumbai. I strolled around the city, or approximated a stroll while avoiding being run over by rickshaws or beaten by sullen begging ladies (no joke). I walked a lot, my feet and legs still aching from my two ascents up Shatrunjaya, and without a map, and somehow managed to miss every tourist attraction in the Lonely Planet. Go figure! I did see, however, long market boulevards lined with many-coloured carts and stalls selling kites, kite paraphernalia, noisemakers, and other glittery, festive items in preparation for Makar Sankranti, the international kite festival hosted by Ahmedabad on January 14th. I started feeling sensory overstimulation pretty quickly, and spent my last few hours in the relative sanctuary of the train station. I hopped on a train to Mumbai and set up camp on the top bunk for the night.

Tom met me in Mumbai, after a little classic confusion--he was waiting for me, I was waiting for him, seated probably not 10 meters apart, but somehow we missed each other. In his long, light kurta he just blended right in, curly halo, white skin, and all! We rode the rails up to Sanjay Gandhi National Park, then down to Colaba, got a skeezy hotel room for the night and set about being tourists. We spent the next afternoon at Sanjay Gandhi, sitting in a little clearing in the woods eating papaya and noodling on the ukulele: pretty much exactly what we would have done had we met anywhere in the world. There is something totally surreal and uplifting about connecting with a friend and countryman on foreign soil. It has something to do with the bizarre coincidence of it, being in the same place at the same time for different reasons, and for different timespans, and in different roles. It also has something to do with the sudden opportunity to speak grammatically complex English instead of pidgin, and to speak about your experiences, impressions, opinions, and beliefs with a like mind and kindred spirit. It was--thank you, Tom--replenishing in ways I can't express.

So I got on a night bus from Mumbai to Ganpatipule on January 15th, and arrived early morning in that little dusty seaside village on January 16th. Nothing to report, really; beautiful beaches and two streets lined with resorts. It's a popular Hindu tourist destination, due to the beachside Ganesha temple. I walked up and down both streets more times than I remember, entertaining myself as best I know how. I hung out on the beach with my book and uke, tried and failed to make a long-distance call to America, and went to bed early.

January 17th--that's today! I was up before dawn again to zip down to Ratnagiri, where I caught a train, 2nd class, general seating, to Magdaon. My journey is almost over for the day (just a 15-minute bus ride to the beach) and I'm so unutterably relieved. I haven't decided whether or not I'll leave town tomorrow, but by Friday I should be in Karnataka, at Sangatya farm, where I'll plop down my backpack and unpack it for three and a half blissful weeks of stasis. Hallelujah, forever and ever amen.