At midnight a group of Indian guys checked in to the hut next to ours. I asked them to please be quiet as our woven hut walls just aren't the best at blocking out noise. They headed out, hit the town (I guess) and arrived back louder than ever about 3am. This time it was Chris' turn to kindly ask them to shut the hell up. Thankfully, they passed out soon enough and we got another couple of hours before the sun snuck through the gaps in the woven walls of our hut.
We checked out the main road for brekky food but decided, as it really was all the same, to stick with our guesthouse restaurant. We had a couple of bowls of muesli, fruit and curd (after snacking on last night's leftover pizza) and watched the tide change.
Deciding we should get active we wandered South along the beach about 800m, past some fishermen and their boats, and found a pretty little river. We had forgotten the camera. Back we went. After grabbing the camera we went back to the river and took some snaps before wading across the mouth of it and on to yet another beach. This pattern of wading and walking continued as we went around headland after headland seeing beach huts and their patrons stretch on forever. We took a swim in a little lagoon that a sandbar had created and watched kids play as their parents lazed under umbrellas.
We walked the couple of kilometres back to our guesthouse and then it was planning time. Tomorrow we head North on the long trek to Mumbai. We enjoyed yet another pizza, and chips, while we spread our map, Lonely Planet and iPad out and tried to sort out our next few days. We had some success but quickly realised that Mumbai was more expensive than most places.
We took a nap to mull it all over and then headed North for a walk towards Arambol where we planned to grab dinner. We got about a kilometre down the beach, fighting off necklace salesmen, before realising we had everything but the wallet. Back we went.
Take two: we made it to Arambol after a long walk then explored the market stalls which line the main road. Seeing much of the same stuff we saw at Palolem, plus some more hippy oriented items, we decided against contributing to the commercialism and returned to the beach. Chris did however get a beard compliment from a young local guy who wanted to know how much time had gone into creating such a beauty. And we did get to see a dreadlocked girl throw her empty can of drink by the side of the road, prompting us to question how many of the hippies here were really just folk in Goa to take a whole lot of drugs rather than learn and teach about sustainability and the like. The fact that we stumbled upon two syringes on the beach added to our pondering.
I attempted some yoga on the beach before deciding, unlike the man in the g-string, I wasn't a fan of the stares. Despite pretty much every other person doing something much stranger than yoga, I just couldn't do it. Proof that I really am just a pseudo hippy after all.
We picked Horizon for dinner where Chris finally got to try out the tandoori chicken and, after my calamari was unavailable, I settled on Indian food in the last place we'll be offered Western cuisine for a while. The malai kofta was substandard and, while one piece of Chris' chicken was uncooked, the rest was apparently delicious.
We settled our bill and headed off into the darkness to walk the two kilometres home along the beach. As we walked we came across a gathering in the darkness of bongo players, poi twirlers, singers and lots of crazy dancers. We enjoyed the star lit sky as we passed others doing the same, crossed the bridge over the river and returned home.
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