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April 24, 2007
End
of Day IV
We
were suppose to be at Kabir’s at nine AM and
from there the airport by eleven for a noon
flight. Very civilized travelling times.
As
usual I awoke at 6 and spent several hours
sitting on a rock pile outside the apartment
reading the latest issue of Triathlete mag that
had arrived the day I left Victoria. It was a
nice reminder that I didn’t get in the lottery
this year. I’m sure I’ll be uttering a soft
curse for the rest of the year each time it
shows up in the mail box. I’d ordered the
subscription with my lottery entry.
After waking DJ for the third morning in a row
we made our way to Kabir’s, had a great
breakfast and gathered our belongings for the
six day trip to Goa. We were running about
fifteen minutes behind but Nashaud didn’t seem
to be too concerned about it and I was learning
that if Nashaud wasn’t concerned then I needn’t
be. The four of us, along with our driver,
crammed into the tiny elevator and headed for
the first floor. My personal boundary borders
were shrinking with each day.
When
we reached the bottom floor the elevator
continued to roll for another foot or so due to
the heavy load. It would turn that if the
elevator doesn’t line up with the floor just so,
then the doors won’t open and now the doors were
stuck – as was the elevator. A security guard
ambled over and tucked a few times on the gate
but that failed and it seemed so too, did his
imagination in regards to possible fixes. He
shrugged and walked away. Soon another guard
showed up with a stick. He started poking
around where the gate latched, all the while
informing us that we’d over loaded the lift.
Nashaud let him know that were now aware of that
and if the good man could see his way to fixing
it we would all be grateful. The sweat was
rolling down my back. You don’t know
uncomfortable until you’ve spent fifteen minutes
in a crammed elevator in 35 degree weather, high
humidity and a bad smell in the air. I guess DJ
was feeling the frustration as well. He reached
through the gate and grabbed the stick from the
fumbling guard’s hand, whose look told us DJ
would do no better. Thirty two seconds later
the gate popped and five immensely relieved
gentlemen poured out of that little space.
Nashaud’s relaxed demeanour of earlier was
gone. We really were late now. The five of us
piled into a cab while our luggage went with
another cab. Naushad impressed upon the driver
the need to get to the airport with great
haste. The guy got the point and put that cab
though its paces. At one point we were stuck at
an intersection and I was startled by a loud
rapping on the window. I turned to see a gaunt
man standing there with a begging cup hanging
around his neck. He had no hands. Kabir said
this was common amongst beggars. It was likely
self inflicted to increase revenue. He pointed
out how clean the man’s clothes were and that
likely he was doing quite well by beggar
standards. How bad must the situation be to
drive a man to cut off his hands to get sympathy
charity?
Truly disturbing.
Soon
the airport was in site and it looked like we
were going to make it.
Suddenly a large flat bed truck cut across the
entire road and a front end loader started to
fill it up. This was not good. Our driver,
along with the quickly increasing pile of
traffic that was building all registered their
complaints by laying on the horn. No effect.
After five long minutes the truck was loaded and
we were on our way. Our driver shook his fist
soundly at the truck driver as we passed.
Showed that guy!
We
made the flight with a good three minutes to
spare. No problem.
The
flight to Goa was fifty five minutes long and
they served us as good a meal as I’d ever
received in economy. The North American
airlines could learn a thing or two from the
India airlines.
Once
at the airport it was nice to see how civilly
everyone claimed their baggage. Already I was
relaxing.
We
drove forty five minutes to our hotel. The
roads were nicely painted. The traffic, while
still not as civilized as I’m used to was light
years ahead of the chaos of Mumbai.
We
passed beautiful homes, manicured and well
maintained. This is a side of India you don’t
see too often in the main stream media.
We
arrived at the Vista Da Rio – a member of the
RCI chain. I’ve stayed at many RCI places
around the globe and have never had a bad
experience. While there was no view of any
river, this place was pretty nice. Things are
different in India, there’s no doubt, but here
the staff and management truly made an effort to
accommodate everyone. They attempt the kind of
service North Americans and Europeans demand but
would have to pay dearly to find in India.
There were obvious areas that fell short but all
in all it was a lovely place.
Sadly one of the shortcoming for the place was
the gym.
Kabir had chosen this place because it
advertised a full gym facility. Turned out the
full gym was an aging four station machine and a
plastic set of 2.5 and 5 kilo dumbbells. This
wasn’t going to work for Kabir. We would
eventually find a gym a short thirty minutes
away that truly was fully functional and only
charged $8 for a drop in fee.
Problems are easy to find anywhere you go. If
you look for something you generally find it. I
was looking for a good story and I intended to
find it. Still some things just jump out at
you. The two things I was having the most
problems with in Goa were internet and coffee.
Like most of my friends I love coffee. Kabir
feels the same way. At the hotel restaurant we
ordered a cup of coffee each. After about
fifteen minutes Kabir started to get impatient,
as was I. He asked a passing server where our
coffee was. The man nodded and carried on.
Five minutes later, still no coffee. Kabir –
who speaks fluent Hindi asked another man where
our coffee was. He was a little firmer now.
The guy went in the back and did not return.
Then manager had the bad fortune to happen by a
few minutes later. Kabir signalled to the guy.
“Come here. I want to have a word with you.” I
remember my own father uttering that same
statement a few times. It was usually
accompanied by few words and sore backside.
Kabir asked the fellow what the hell was the
problem in getting a few cups of coffee. The
guy assured us the situation would be rectified
right away. A few minutes later someone arrived
with a pot of hot water and some packets of
Nescafe. I drank it gladly but hoped to never
again. This would be a desire that was not
met. I’m currently sipping a cup as I type
this. If I should ever find myself returning to
India, I will bring a small boden press and a
few kilos of good ground beans.
Our
first evening in Goa was spent having a long
dinner at a beach side café. It looked and felt
like any one of a dozen I’d eaten in while
vacationing in Mexico. I had my first non
Indian meal since arriving – chicken and a
salad. Sitting there watching the sun set
behind the lush country side with a cold beer
and three enjoyable guys, who were fast becoming
friends was a pretty nice moment.
On
the drive back to the hotel we passed a casino
but in our shorts and flip flops we wouldn’t be
welcome there. The boys wanted go home, change
and return. I’ve never been a gambler, except
when it comes to riding on tubulars, and the jet
lag was still messing with my system. I needed
to sleep so I wished the boys luck and went to
bed.
As I
laid in bed another “problem” was causing me to
toss a bit – and that was the internet. I
hadn’t had any real access since leaving the
Hong Kong airport – save a productive hour I
managed to wrestle from DJ while we were at
Kabir’s. DJ was feeling the same pressure.
There was one internet terminal at the hotel but
it wasn’t for clients. It was in the manager’s
room and was for staff use only. They told us
that after six we could work something out for
it’s use. I took that to mean the manager was
gone after six and a bribe would get us on the
machine. I had athletes beginning their taper
for Wildflower. It’s also my responsibility to
handle the inquires into PRPP coaching. I was
definitely dropping the ball on both tasks and
with each passing hour it was driving me to
maddening distraction. DJ had his own set of
problems associated with the need for access and
Kabir felt the problem would be solved by a trip
in the morning to one of the cyber cafés in Goa.
I
fell asleep dreaming of logging on. |
