Namaste, friends! This is coming to you live from Goa, India, just a couple of miles from where Jason Bourne’s girlfriend Marie was mercilessly gunned down by a Kiwi KGB agent (I’m looking at you, Karl Urban). I’m in town for an Indian wedding which involves everything you’d expect – henna tattoos, prawn curry, beautiful women and progressive trance dance parties until 4:00 every morning. Besides a week in Turkey back in 2006, this is my first proper experience in a developing nation, and I’ve gotta be honest; I already feel like a local. Yesterday I rode a motorbike with two other men (I was the meat in that chopper sandwich), I’ve eaten everything that’s been put in front of me with no sign of Delhi Belly (knock on wood), and I’m working very hard to master the head waggle – which can mean yes, no, I don’t know, maybe and all of the above in the same instance.
Swimming in the bath-warm Indian Ocean; sleeping in a hut in the jungle with mosquito nets around my bed; the insane hospitality of the locals; dinner at an actual Indian billionaire’s house, whose oceanfront grounds were four times the size of my hotel’s; the cows, they’re everywhere!; masala omelettes for breakfast every morning (the secret ingredient is coriander); and progressive trance dance parties until 4:00 every morning.
Being held in a filthy holding room for five hours at Mumbai Airport waiting for my visa-on-arrival to be approved – at one point I was told that the application process wouldn’t continue if I kept slouching; jetlag causing me to fall asleep at both the billionaire’s dinner table and the wedding rehearsal last night – How Embarrassment… Egg on my face rating: Four Eggs; malaria pills – worst side effects ever; and no internet at my hotel which explicitly states FREE WIFI on its website.
Check my photo diary for a constant stream of updates (whenever I get into a WIFI zone).
I LIKE YOU!