A Final Message from Mumbai

Every journey moves inexorably to the point that I am currently facing. With every passing day, every steady minute and every fleeting second, that point in time is brought ever closer. And finally, it's presence becomes so apparent that you are forced to adjust your course to meet it. The end.

A point in time with such startling finality. Each of my every-day actions became somewhat more noticeable, more pointed. The simple act of donning my closed shoes, which previously lay forgotten at the bottom of my bag, had such obvious clarity of being the first time I had done so since removing them two months ago. It was a signal of my leaving, my imminent return home. I was struck by the thought that all of this, these experiences and memories, would be just that - memories and experiences - as soon as I leave. The immediacy of being here is condemned to be lost.

My Indian journey has been a true rollercoaster ride of experience. I have felt defeated by the crazy systems and masses of people. I have struggled to find my way and felt out of place. But I have also laughed at the crazy systems, got back on track and found a groove in which I fit. India seemed to fight against me at every possible moment at the start of my trip, and the craziness got the better of me. I felt swamped and overpowered, struggling to make sense of this amazing place. It was loud, fast and overbearing. It was the freezing cold water that I didn't let get past my ankles when the best course of action was just to jump in. I stood at the water's edge for a long while, afraid of the leap required, resisting it, until finally I relented. I immersed myself in India and found that the water was not as cold as I had imagined, or feared. It was refreshing and invigorating. I was instilled with a sense of vibrancy and awareness. I woke up to the wonders of this incredible country.

And now, what seems like such a short time after my awakening, I am forced to say goodbye to India. I have to let go of the country and cling tightly to the memories it has given me. Each place I visited and every person I met will be remembered. I will cherish the memories of all the times I laughed and all the times I felt despair. I will hold on to the fleeting memories of the sights and sounds, the smells and the tastes that so defined my experience.

I must leave India, but I leave knowing I will be back. In my two months of travel I feel that I've barely scratched the surface of what India has to offer. This vast chunk of land holds so much more for me to explore, to learn, to witness.

I must leave India, but I leave changed. India has altered my perspectives and adjusted my views. India has opened my mind to so much more. There is still so much to see and do, and barely enough time to see and do it. A world awaits me...

Sossegado

Writing this blog post is going to be hard work. Not because writing blogs is particularly hard, but because my fingers, and perhaps the rest of my body, have gone into a semi-comatose state brought about by the Goan beaches.

Palolem is a beach

My long train trip is over. All 38 hours of it. The train spat me out in the city of Margao in the south of Goa and I promptly caught a bus further south, to Palolem. Palolem is a beach town. It is is a beautiful beach town. It is, in fact, more of a beach than a town. The beach is, in essence, the town. Palolem is a beach. There are huts on the beach with people in them. And bars on the beach with other people in them. There are palm trees around the beach and a flat sea just off the beach. The beach is crescent-shaped, which is apparently a good shape for a beach to be. It is hot. It is sunny. There is a certain sossegado to life on this beach.

Sossegado is a distinctly Goan word. It translates, rather crudely, to laid-backness. It is undeniably the best word to describe life in a Goan beachside town. Life is just laid-back. There's not much to do but lie in the sun (or the shade, if you're a pasty individual like me who doesn't want to look like a burnt tomato at the end of the day) and read. And then spend some time in the balmy water. Because there's not much to do apart from be a lazy lout and enjoy yourself, there's not much to write about to interest other people in an obscure, traveler's blog post. Which is the reason I'm citing for not having written anything, up to now. I assure you it has everything to do with me being too lazy to remove myself from the beach and type something up.

Three paragraphs in and I've managed to say nothing at all. This is a pretty good sign. It looks like I'll be able to pass off my laziness by obscuring it in florid descriptions of beaches and palm trees.

This is my Palolem beach hut - swanky, right?

One remarkable thing about accommodation in Palolem is the accommodation itself. Almost all of the accommodation is of the tiny, beach hut variety, just off the beach, amongst the palm trees. These little huts are fantastic! They are assembled at the beginning of each tourist season, just after the monsoon, and disassembled at the end of each season, before the monsoon's return. Huts are pokey, with little more than a bed and a mosquito net (and a tiny bathroom, if you're lucky) which is exactly why I love them. Waking up in a rickety little hut and stumbling out on to a beach is a brilliant way to start a day. If you haven't experienced this, you'll have to take my word for it. Another brilliant feature of these little huts is the maze of sandy, shady alleyways that get formed between them. A walk along these narrow paths is a good way to step away from the countless European tourists in Speedos who inhabit the beach. Speedo's should be considered a crime against humanity.

I wake up to this...

Patnem, a semi-Speedo-free zone

A little way south of Palolem is another beach, Patnem. Patnem is also a crescent-shaped beach, but with the added advantage of having fewer Speedo-toting Europeans around. It's a lot less busy and is therefore a good way of escaping the tourist hordes. I spent some time there today, and I plan on spending some more time there tomorrow, and the next day. Anything to save my eyes from that horrible excuse for a swimming costume. And the people who seem to think it's a very attractive swimming costume. These people are almost always fat, roasted men in their late fifties from the south of France.

With the conclusion of my rant on the heinous crime that is wearing a Speedo in public, or even in private for that matter, I think I'll conclude this pointless update of my blog. You are now aware of my laziness. My confirmation of it is firmly in writing. It's starting to approach evening time over here, the sun is well over the yardarm. I'm going to be heading back to the beach soon to enjoy a cold beer and a spicy, prawn vindaloo.

Oh God, those vindaloos... The mouth-watering explosion of flavour that is the Goan specialty dish. The spices, the fresh seafood which practically swam on to the plate, the zing of chilli... The sudden reverie that merely typing the word 'vindaloo' induces...

I'm off... I think I'll have an early supper.

A snapshot of the rocky Colomb bay

To Can Tho

Ahoy!

I've booked my bus ticket to Can Tho, in the Mekong Delta, and will be heading off tomorrow morning. It also looks like it could be the most complicated bus journey I've ever undertaken. It has already proven to be quite a task.

I had a little business card from the bus company saying that they go to Can Tho and Mui Ne and Da Lat and Nha Trang etc etc. So I wandered over to the offices this morning and asked for a ticket to Can Tho. Unfortunately the lady who was helping me didn't speak much English, but she explained to me that if I want to go south I have to go to their other offices. She then showed me the address on the business card. I looked at my little map of central HCMC to see if I could find the street, but failed. I handed the map over to the lady and asked her to mark the spot. She drew a little dot right on the edge of my map. The road she had pointed out to me was only just visible on the map and was too small to have the street name shown.

I gauged that it was within walking distance and set off. It took me about half an hour to get there, but it was easy enough to find.

Now you're probably wondering why I said this could be a complicated bus journey. I'll explain. I'd bought the ticket and was told I need to be back there at 7 the next morning. An hour before my bus was due to leave. I asked why I needed to be there so much earlier and was told that there is a bus that will pick me up and take me to the 'big bus station' where I'll find another bus to take me to Can Tho. This would ordinarily be an easy thing to do, take a bus there, switch buses and head to Can Tho. No problem.

Well, it would be easy if people spoke English. It could prove to be a little more challenging to try communicate with people in different languages.

It should be a great experience though and I relish the challenge.

It rained last night. I was having supper and a bia hoi and there was lightning around. To be brutally honest I was disappointed with the weather's meager performance last night. The rain telegraphed its arrival like a real amateur and I was able to get under an umbrella long before it started raining. Rain like that happens in South Africa all the time. I expected more from the weather. I wanted raindrops the size of kittens and rivers forming where streets used to be. I wanted tourists to be flailing around screaming "the horror... the horror!"

Only damp dong
Oliver

The Countdown.

OK. First blog post is going up now. And you're reading it, or nobody's reading it. Either way I'm writing it.

So now that the status quo has been established all that remains is for you to sit in your chair and read. Standing will be accepted, but no lying down will be tolerated whatsoever. I'm not here to put you to sleep. Unless you're part of my family, which is pretty likely because you're the only people I'm telling about my blog. Well, you and my countless followers on twitter.

But I digress from the real reason for having a blog, apart from stroking my own ego in a public forum. The real reason for writing this blog is to tell you of my upcoming 3 month trip to Vietnam. To be more precise that reason only applies to this specific post. The rest of my blog will be dedicated to keeping you informed about my travels in Vietnam and annoying you with immense amounts of absurdity.

I gave this post the title 'The Countdown.' This was simply for dramatic effect. The countdown to my trip is pretty much over. On Wednesday, 30 March 2011 I will board a plane and make my way to Ho Chi Minh City in the south of Vietnam. I will be calling Ho Chi Minh City 'HCMC' for the duration of my blogging because, let's face it, HCMC is faster to type than Ho Chi Minh City. But, once more, I digress.

So I'm leaving on Wednesday and arriving on Thursday. That is about the full extent of the plan I have for the entire trip apart from a rough budget which I drew up in my mind about 5 minutes before I fell asleep on a bus from Port Elizabeth to Cape Town.

Okay, I lied. I have a slightly better plan than that. I intend to make my way from the south to the north over the space of the 3 months I'm there. I want to go from HCMC to Halong Bay and then back to HCMC. Stopping in as many places along the way as possible. I've heard there are some pretty mad caves in Vietnam so maybe I can even stop off in one of those too.

Today, I spent most of my time preparing for my journey by watching as many episodes of Psych in a day as humanly possible. This is vital because, as any traveler will tell you, finding and watching your favourite TV series in a foreign country can be very challenging, it's best that you do all the watching before you leave. I also collected a suit to wear tonight as I will be attending an academic awards dinner at my old school.

Speaking of dinners; it's about time I signed off. I need a snack.

Don't let your dong get soggy.

Oliver

P.S. It occurred to me as I was about to press the 'Publish Post' button that if you're not familiar with Vietnam currency you may consider my sign-off phrase to be offensive. Vietnam Dong is the currency in Vietnam and it rains a lot in Vietnam, so I was merely saying 'keep your money dry' in as controversial a way as possible.

P.P.S On the off chance that you are not a member of my immediate family or a close friend, I have no idea what compelled you to read my blog. But thank you nonetheless for enduring right up until this post-post-script. You must be out of your cotton-picking mind. Adieu.