​Got up later than intended, at 06.45hrs, but was on the road by 07.30hrs in the cool of early morning.  Much up hill pushing and reached Vengurla in time for breakfast around 9am or so – and lo, there was Darren, getting a late start (which he prefers).  We joined forces again, and then met Sanjay, another cyclist who was off to run a marathon on Sunday after cycling 100km a day to Goa.  This is vastly speedier than both Darren or I and he left us to our plodding after a sociable couple of hours.  Not long after that, after searching for an ATM, we crossed a bridge into Goa: yay! 
 
Immediately, it became evident that the demographic trend changed as 1 – 5 of the scooters that passed us had European drivers and were scantily dressed.  Later I discovered that most of these folk were actually Russian! 
 
Didn’t take long to get to Arambol.  The prices were going up ready for the Christmas and New Year – but we managed to get a fairly cheap bamboo hut each for 500INR.  Spent the evening listening to synthesized ambient hippy music performed by a group of musicians that seemed to ebb and flow (I guess it was a jam session of a kind).  The ‘People’ café was on the beach and we sat under a ¾ moon and the stars.   I had a lovely pasta meal – my first in months – and managed to chuck half of my beer over the table, clumsily. 
 
It’s been great, sharing the Indian cycling experience with Darren – though I fear I monopolised the conversation somewhat!  Keep in touch Darren and hope to see you again.    Darren kindly gave me a replacement travel towel – I hope I don’t lose this one!  (Third time lucky?).  Goa is going to be  good time, I think, and only 60miles to go now, to Trev’s.
 
Don’t forget my towel!  (very H2G2).

​Got going in the predawn gloom with stars still spotting the sky and the road invisible.  Watching the world come into focus was as magical as watching a photo develop in the dark room.  It all happens quite quickly and rose tinted.
 
(I’m still having VERY weird dreams – but I won’t bore you all with the details). Meanwhile – back on the trail and I’m following the reassuring TOD signs again.  A Hindu Mendir is blasting out music all over the countryside – one can hear it for miles around (helped by the loudspeakers attached to telegraph poles in fields) and I’m enjoying it!  I made a 3mile detour down to Agchar beach for breakfast before returning to the TOD signs that inform me that I only have 95km left to Goa.  (Double that to get to the South, where I’m headed to meet up with Trevor). 
 
I decide to quit for the day at Malvan – and it takes quite a bit of searching before I find a cheapish room with wifi – but it’s a fairly big place and persistence pays off.  I spend the next hour letting folks at home know I’m Ok as I haven’t posted online in a while. 
 
I wanted to go snorkelling – thinking I could just hire the kit and go on my own until the daylight fizzled out.  But they do day trips and the guys organising the snorkelling and diving were just winding up for the day when I arrived  So I got 5mins for my trouble – swimming in murky water.  I’d also made a classic mistake.  The hotel I’d booked into was in the back streets and I’d failed to take note of either the name or major landmarks.  The guy who’d showed me to the sea front disappeared and I could NOT find my way back (I was close, but not quite).   Just as I was beginning to feel desperate (and pretty silly) I spot one of the lads who lives there – out on his scooter.  I wave him over and he shows me the way home.  (Never make  that mistake again!). 
 
I met up with Darren and another backpacker, Matthieu – a French Canadian who was staying at the same place as Darren – and we went out for supper together (and a beer) in a beach bar.  The French Canadian accent is very odd – c’est vrais! 
 
I dream weird dreams in the heat, again.   This time I think I murdered someone, but I don’t remember the actual deed – just the aftermath.  Hmmm.
 

​After my interrupted night’s sleep I was amazed to still get up bright and early and be on the road by 7am.  Parker seemed his usual manic self even at that time of the morning.  He gave me chai and a plate of NICE biscuits and waved me off. 
Parker directed me back to the entrance to the village and up the steep hill- away from the TOD signs, but I couldn’t see where they went after leading into the village so I obeyed Parker.  This road led me East and away from the coast.  I really did not want another day on the inland road where there’s no shade, so I turned off South and down to a small village called Mithgavane that had an atrocious road surface.  I had had no wifi for a couple of days now, so have been unable to download a map: I was just hoping that I didn’t come to a dead end. 
It all worked out perfectly and fortuitously: the coast, which I’d seen miles in the distance, cut in to meet me at another estuary, by a bridge.  My little lane came out onto a main road with TOD signs to greet me – and I was heading south again. 
I stopped for breakfast after 10miles, the usual ‘Indian Burger’ and sweet, sweet tea.  Three beady eyed crows watch my every move closely – I love the subtle viridian sheen to their feathers.  This is a very busy little junction – an ambulance parked outside, several shops pulled their blinds up and men standing around. Horns honking – the usual bustle and dust. 
 
Most of the trucks have “Horn – Ok – please” written on the back end.  Unlike Britain, where a horn usually means “Warning!” or “hazard” – here, it just seems to mean “ME!  I’m here!”.   It also means the vehicle is coming through regardless of obstacles, eg before a bend or when overtaking.  People inevitable beep their horns to indicate a greeting (I think) – it ALWAYS makes me jump out of my skin. 
 
AT the top of a hill, with yet another shade free hot plain of golden grass, dust and bush before me, I crept into a large bus shelter, ignored the people waiting for a bus, stretched out on the cool marble slab provided for seating and fell fast asleep for a couple of hours over the midday.  I needed the catchup.  At around 12.30hrs I woke up a little more refreshed and got going again.  Once again, I find myself on the inland road, with no coast in sight and little shade.  How did that happen? 
 
Over several bridges and up several climbs.  I saw monkeys; a huge spider sitting in the centre of an equally large, orb web strung up high between trees; and a beautiful little iridescent turquoise – I’ll assume here- humming or hover bird, and its rather drab mate (they cavorted anyway).  I think I managed to get a photo of him.
 
I love watching the monkeys (safely – from afar), especially the youngsters.   An older monkey demonstrated how to climb off a roof with an overhang, sliding down the supporting pole like a fireman.  The babies weren’t so confident, groping with their feet and hands and tail and slipping and climbing back up – they got there in the end though.
 
Cows are everywhere, of course – being reincarnated gods in the Hindu pantheon.  Some of the cows have painted horns and eye makeup too.  They are so gentle – even the bullocks. 
In Kunkeshwar – with a large Hindu temple next to the beach – I am shown a luxurious room with a triple sized bed and a balcony overlooking the sea.  It only costs 80,000 Rupees!  That’s well over £80!  I opt for the dark, basic room with the stained sheet on a smallish double bed next door – for 400 rupees.  It’s a good excuse to get up early and I couldn’t hear the squeaky fan once I’d taken my hearing aids out.  No wifi AGAIN though. 
 
I go for a meal in the restaurant next to the Temple.  An old man comments that he thought he’d seen me that morning.  I realise he’s probably referring to Darren (whom I’m still trailing) – he says yes, he was ‘dressed similar to you’ (ie cycle gear.  I guess us white folks all look the same to Indian folks – even the sexes!
 

​I had an audience for breakfast – so did Rowenna.  A crowd of young men stood and stared.  The women did too, but stood back a bit.  This made me feel a bit like the Queen and am practising my royal wave.    
 
I really enjoyed cycling from 7am to about 10am when it’s still cool enough, and the birds are really active.  I’ve seen so many Kingfishers – they flash turquoise in flight – as bright as any British Kingfisher.   I’ve also seen more of the punkhaired small birds with the red flash under chin and tail, and another of the large, red eyed, russet winged black birds.  Riding over a bridge, seeing the lone fishermen in their bright and colourful boats, with egrets on the sandbanks – all seems peaceful.
 
Later on there will be more scooters and motorbikes to contend with.  Mostly ‘Hero Hondas’  but also Royal Enfields whose low and noisy engine whallops the air and hurts my eardrums. 
 
At the top of the hill, a small breeze stirs and swirls the hot air over my sweat slicked skin, drying it off.  My heart sinks as I watch a motorcyclist disappear round a bend to reemerge some way in the distance climbing yet another hill.  It is punishingly hot out on the plain.  I remember this: I am fried, frazzled, baked, griddled and over easy.  I spot a teensy weensy morsel of shade close to a stone wall with a sort of shelf on it, amongst long tickly grass and fall asleep there.  I am dimly aware of passers by honking their horns.  Eventually I am woken by an Indian cyclist on his way to Goa: he tells me Darren was looking for me, but is now about half an hour in front of me.  So!  I missed him – or he missed me.  Whatever – I suspect I was holding him up, and he’ll get to the beach in half the time without me. 
 
I stop for lunch at a restaurant where Papa is summonsed to translate but the translation is a bit iffy.   As I’ve found in previous such conversations, pride does not allow the person to admit he is not understanding so the discussion takes on a slightly surreal aspect. 
“What do you want?”
“Veg tali, please”,   “Fish?”,    “No, veg.”
“Chicken?”, “No – veg”.
“OK, veg”.
Two minutes later, he comes back.   “So, what would you like?”  
Repeat above conversation.
I got a vegetable Tali which was perfectly fine, but I do wander why the mango pickle comes with hard bits in which appear bone like:  very, very hard bits of rind, I think. 
 
I am vaguely following a route devised by a Mumbai company called ‘Add-venture’ and the next port of call is Ambolgad.  I turn towards this village, only to find the road I was on was inland and had actually passed it and I’m now working my way backwards!  Not to waste the trip, I go for a swim on the rather lovely beach (where I spotted a jelly fish and stayed well away – remembering seeing the chemical like burns the lads on Murud beach had suffered the other day).  Then I climb back up the hill to the place where I’d had lunch and start looking for accommodation.  I continue on down the road as everyone I ask insists there is nowhere to stay.  By the time I cross the bridge to the small village of Jaipatan it’s getting dark and I know I’ll have to find somewhere here.   I tried asking the keeper of a Mandir (Hindu Temple) if I could sleep there – “No” he said curtly, and disappeared pronto into his house.  I pushed Rowenna up and down through the village a couple of times, getting no joy when I ask for a guesthouse.  I am contemplating sleeping in the shelter of a closed shop on the marble doorstep (rash, but times were desperate!) – when I meet Ramananda Parker (known to one and all as “Parker”).  He had verbal diarrhoea in a manic sort of way.  He fired questions at me, like bullets – but did remember the answers and would repeat what I’d said back at me, punctuating his sentence with “Ok, Ok” at the end.  He decided I should stay at his house – and (remembering Rhodes), I asked if he was married?  No, but he lived with his elderly mother (who, by the way, used to be headmistress of the local school) so I thought it would be safe enough to say yes to his kind offer. 
 
Well, Parker’s mother is now very frail, and losing her sight and hearing.  Parker does his best at caring for her, but is not the best housewife – the house is very grubby.  He offers me food in several different forms – I accept chai and biscuits but turn down the fish, rice.  The village residents are all very curious about me and start to drop by Parker’s house to view the curiousity in large numbers.  Parker thrives on the attention and reels off my itinerary to everyone who calls.  I am lined up and photographed by several.  The two young women who live  opposite come by too – and offer me a meal at theirs – which I’m pleased to accept as I’d like to see how they live.  Parker doesn’t seem to mind me popping out to the house over the street. 
 
Their home is cleaner than Parker’s but still very basic.  I get given a bowl of noodles and meat in a spicy sauce – tasty but I couldn’t eat all of it.  They are two sisters in law – both in their early 20s.  The youngest has a pronounced limp from a fall six months ago which hasn’t healed properly.  The oldest has a young son and I meet her husband too  - who runs a chinese style restaurant.   The women offer me a bed in their place but I feel some loyalty to Parker for inviting me into his home in the first place. 
 
Returning to Parker’s, the crowd of sightseers continues into the evening.  I meet the someone who Parker tells me is a journalist – though he writes notes on the corner of an old newspaper which is odd.  I also meet the local Chief of Police, who turns up quite late – after 10pm.  The two young women come over from opposite and try to suggest I might be tired, but Parker is still high with excitement and doesn’t appear to notice.  There is some discussion about where I’ll sleep – Parker’s mother has the bed in the other room (the opposite side of the room to the kitchen).  There is a box under the stairs where Parker suggests I can sleep – but it’s a bit narrow and short.  I tell him I will sleep on my mat on the floor and a rush mat is found for me to sleep on.    There is a staircase, so I presume Parker will be sleeping up there – WRONG!  At 11pm with it looking like there will be no respite unless I take action, I set up my bed: I inflate the exped mat – which is now starting to delaminate.  I’ve read that when this happens – the mattress won’t last much longer, which is a poor show after only 7 months of admittedly quite regular use (in Europe anyway).  I put my sleeping bag out on top of that and climb inside my silk sleeping bag, making it obvious I’m plum tuckered out and ready for kip.  Everyone takes the hint – the lights get lowered and people disappear out of the back door.  
 
I have a disturbed night as Parker sleeps in the same room as me and periodically touches me – on the head, or on the leg – POKE!  I cry “Stop it!” and he leaps up off the floor and curls up on the box under the stairs that he offered me as a bed.  At about 4pm he actually grabs my leg and says something like “would I want a rub with some medical ointment?”  “No I would NOT- go to sleep!”  And off he would toddle.  I think it was all quite innocent but wouldn’t want to put that theory to the test.  My exped mat slowly deflates overnight – not enough where I was lying on the floor but close to it.  Indian people don’t seem to mind sleeping on hard surfaces but I am a softy Southerner. 

​I left early and left Darren to recuperate from the consequences of the fish curry last night (I had a veggie meal).  We agreed to meet at Valneshwar beach if he felt well enough to move on later.   Climbing the hill from Guhagar I get a wonderful view back over the Konkan coastline.  I keep seeing a small bird with a white belly, red flash under a punk hairdo and its tail – cute!
 
The sounds are getting more jungly by the day: ratatatting, teeth grinding, squawks, hoops and cheeps abound!  Another bird flew past – Thrush size, stripy wings and a long sharp beak – dramatic. 
 
On the top of the hill – where it plateauxed – a ‘township’ was being built – with a very new tarmac road to accompany it.  Then, just when the downhill started, the tarmac disappeared completely, to leave a dirt track.  I was reassured when I saw a tuctuc labouring up the opposite direction that it remained passable.  Down to the beach and up the other side.  I had breakfast at the place where the road to Valneshwar branches off from the main road.  A gentleman offered to buy my breakfast for me, but I declined (politely I hope).  ON the way up yet another hill,  I spot another of the large crow like birds, russet coloured wings with black bodies, long fan tails, and a hooked beak (for tearing meat?). 
 
Valneshwar was a detour of about 4km.  The Hindu temple was interesting, the beach so so, and I sat and read my book in an ever shrinking patch of shade for most of the afternoon.  I’d bought some fruit that morning – 3 mandarins – and they’d disappeared.  I tied them, in their plastic bag, to the back of Rowenna.  Now the bicycle lay on the floor and the fruit had gone.  I suspected cows – they’ll eat anything!  But it could have been the gang of children I’d seen earlier. 
 
Around 4pm, I suspected Darren wasn’t going to come and it gets dark around 6.30pm so I decided to move on.   Although it was still light when I reached the ferry at Tayvalu I had to wait until half past 6.  This meant it was dark when we crossed the river.  I immediately started looking for a room and was directed to the top of the hill.  There was a half finished monster of a hotel, built to house the workers from the Power Station one could see from the ferry glowing in the distance.  The place was filled with helmeted, hi-viz jacketed guys in steel toe capped boots.    Just time to eat and then fall asleep on the hard mattress.  I’d lost my helmet today.
 
Weird dreams.  Steve thinks they’re guilty conscience resuting from abandoning him.