Goa Goa Gone!

So here I am at Goa’s Diabolim Airport waiting to board my flight to Delhi. From here I head off on a jam-packed six day tour of the ‘Golden Triangle’ - basically a box-ticking exercise whereby I’ll be able to say I’ve done the Red Fort, the Taj Mahal, the Pink Palace, etc etc.

I’m early of course and it gives me a chance to bring you up to speed on my 12 days of beach and bliss.

It didn’t start great with the whole giving rides to strangers thing, but then when I left that godawful Neelam’s The Grand they forgot to charge me for the cab anyway, the dopey twunts. Mind you, they did get a room already paid for that they could re-sell for three nights, so I reckon we’re quits.

So why the early check out? Basically cos The Grand is the worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in. It’s got nothing to do with ratings, they claim to be 4* but I’d give em 2* at a pinch. The apartment was ok, basic and clean. For some reason they felt the need to provide two flat screen tv’s, yet the pillows were sooooo stained with sweat, drool and god knows what else from previous guests that I actually got a chest infection from sleeping on them!

Either that or it’s Legionaires’ Disease from the air-con that dripped filthy water constantly! Or at a pinch it could’ve been caught from the bacteria in the swimming pool, which had a constant film of grease on it, used as it was by the other guests as some kind of massive bathtub - I guess the concept of showering before you get into the swimming pool has yet to catch on with some other nations.

Anyway being sick was bad enough, then I made the mistake of eating lunch there one day. Breakfast was basic but that was included, I figured they might actually make an effort when you’re paying cold, hard, cash for something. I figured wrong. Oh well, lesson learned. After that I ate outside of the hotel at the beach shacks and one particularly amazing restaurant on the Calangute Beach Road, called Redonda. If you find yourself in the vicinity make sure you go, the meals I had there were some of the best I’ve eaten anywhere, never mind in Goa!

So all of those things were a bit shit about the hotel, but the worst thing was every solo female traveller’s nightmare, a member of staff who assumes that a woman travelling alone is desperate for some local cock. Whereas the desk staff were disinterested to the point of rudeness, this rapey cunt actually made my flesh crawl. I told him in no uncertain terms that he had no chance of coming anywhere near me, and he still persisted. He spent half an hour one day walking the length of the pool as I swam telling me how he’d like to go to Bangkok and fuck a ladyboy and how that wouldn’t make him gay. Like I give a shit! I told him I wasn’t interested and still he persisted, and of course in the way of all arrogant men, the last time I let him speak to me he asked if I was a lesbian. I said that I wasn’t but with men like him around it was fucking tempting!

When he wasn’t pestering me, he was sitting by the entrance to the hotel trying to catch me as I went in or out of the place. I took to staying on the beach longer and later every day. That as it turned out was a favour he did me, cos it was while I was toasting myself at my favourite beach shack The Only Place, I met Camilla and Rita.
On day one of us meeting there was something about Camilla especially that seemed familiar. We talked about how much Baga/Calangute had changed over the years, she told me she’d been working the beach selling clothes, jewellery and bags for 30 years and had seen a massive change. I said half joking ‘I’ll bet you were the one who sold me that skirt with the mirrors on, 20 years ago’ and she smiled but didn’t confirm or deny.

That skirt... Man I lusted after it so much, it was all embroidered, short, with mirrors everywhere, and there on Baga beach it looked fantastic. Sadly when I wore it in Ladbroke Grove (just the once) I looked like I was demented! I kept it though and when I began doing stand-up I chopped it up and patched an old pair of Levis’ 501s with it to wear onstage. Anyone who ever saw me perform between 93 and 95 saw those jeans and in a way, that skirt.

Anyway, the next day I went back to the shack and got settled and Camilla came up to me, we were chatting again and when Rita came along the three of us compared notes. It was Camilla who’d sold me the skirt! At the time she had a baby girl in her arms as she was traversing the beach, her first-born daughter, who I recall was gorgeous and so good natured. Well that little girl is 21 now, married and has children of her own! As we reminisced more she recalled how we’d buy a load of fruit from the sellers later afternoon and share it with them. They said they loved having the ‘Watermelon Parties’ with me and my pal Tracy.

It was fascinating to see where our lives had taken us, she remembered that I was a smoker and asked when I stopped. I talked about the loss of my parents and stuff and it was just incredible to catch up on 20 years of life!

So it was with a bit of sadness that I said goodbye to her on Saturday evening - buying a “silver” toe-ring I didn’t really want as a way of giving her a bit of cash. Even though I’m only leaving Goa today, Saturday was my last night is the Hotel Bastardo.