Arambol, Goa -

One very important aspect of all experience is the stuff that reminds you what you are not, what does not stock the fires of one's being. The hippy beach communes of north Goa have provided me with such a reminder. Arambol is, apparently, one of the less stooge infested examples of young, feral refusal to let go of the "groovy" ideals of the 1960s. Actually, i doubt these nobs have any real ideals at all - the beaches look more like the market area at some huge bush doof festival, and if there is one thing this place has got, it is too much of everything. Too many people selling tie-dye crap, sarongs, incense and magic pipes. Too many vendors on the beach, and if you say no to one, then cave for another, as i did yesterday, a bombardment of angry young girls will soon follow, demanding you must now buy from them. I got a bit ticked off by this, and eventually had to use some gestures uncommon in my repertoire to get rid of them. Off course, its all a game. Later on they came over again and gave me another rev for not wanting to buy their jewellery. A few compliments on their young loveliness, and they had to run away and blush somewhere. Maybe i should use that technique more often.

Too many people selling the same stuff. Clearly, the concept of supply and demand achieving an equilibrium is lost here. Though, some of the locals did say that New Year is the peak period and that just before we arrived, there were thousands of dreadlocked twats combing this joint. Anyway, its not too my liking - you can probably get this sort of experience in most countries. It just doesn't feel like India.

In what may have been interpreted as an act of protest, i went for a run yesterday afternoon, along the hills and rocky crags that mark the coast line. From one point i could see a huge old fortress and a near abandoned little beach. It is too bad i did not haul my camera with me. On the way back, i took a wrong turn and ended up running inland prematurely. Wild cows (who laze up and down the streets everywhere in this country) who were grazing beneath some trees payed me little attention. However, i did startle some monkeys in a nearby tree, which then, in turn, startled me. Remembering my rabies shots, i turned back towards the coast and found my back to the "Coca cola" umbrella lined beach. A tropical paradise for cheesey but clowns. I think one more night in this place will be quite enough. As long as one stays away from the hashish, there is little reason to stay. Though i did enjoy my run - and it is awesomely cheap. We are sharing a room with a friendly Sweedish girl called Leana, for 300 rp (about $2.50 each), and when i paid for breakfast this morning, it came to the grand total of around $5 for all of us - and we ate well.

Okay, so that what we've been doing. Not impressed with the shanti bollocks of Goan beaches, but i am impressed with the Ayurvedic medicine i bought i Mumbai. I feel bloody fantastic after i eat that stuff in the morning, and the refrigerant quality is undeniable. My guts are cool, and my ulcers are gone. As for the travel anxiety, it seems to have quelled a bit. Some times the terror gets to me, and i start to feel like my entire body is being squeezed - attempts to describe this leave me gulping at inaudible words, like a beached sea bass, mouthing at absent liquids. It is as if i were an eye, popping free from its socket, gripped and slowed by the taught ripples of desperate lids. I guess that is probably a good way to feel. As Beckett said, "we don't travel for the fun of it. Surely we're not that stupid."

Namaste, my friends.