Returning on foot to Paradise Beach could
be seen as a bit of an anti-climax, apparently for the Maharashtrans anyway. It
seemed that every local person was surprised to see me on foot, what surprised
me was that had actually noticed me, one out of a constant flow of tourists. I
could have understood the vendors in the nearby car park, I had after all
passed them four times and stopped three of them. When tipper truck drivers,
from the local mines, were attracting my attention to ask where the bike was I
was dumbstruck. I thought I was reading too much into the beaming smiles and
cheery waves as I cranked the Enfield
round the bends, the toots and thumbs out of truck windows each time I overtook
a them. I certainly didn’t think I was excessively feisty with it, but I
couldn’t help yanking that throttle open to hear the deep rumbling throb.
Obviously it got me noticed, which was touching in many ways. I’m glad I never
chose robbing banks as a career choice, I’m much to recognisable. (Photo: Beach huts in paradise - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
My first few days on Paradise
nearly saw me dismiss the place, once I actually got here I found it hard not
to find fault in almost everything. Luckily I was too apathetic to make an
immediate move, easily convincing myself to give it a chance. Where I’ve rented
a hut is the cheapest around by far, literally half the price of anywhere else.
It’s basic, there’s no doubt about that, open-air squat toilet and a jug to
pour water over your head, instead of a shower. I’m used to amenities like that
though, but even getting food here is hit and miss. Unless there are other
people around ordering food they’re not keen on cooking for me. If I kicked up
a fuss they’d oblige, I know that. I informed them I’d stay for two weeks at
least, providing I was content. I added that my stay could be for as long as
two months, but only if I settled into a good work rhythm. So since I
complained about breakfast they’ve been dishing me up a huge pile of fresh
fruit every morning. It would be nice for some curds too (and I don’t mean the
ethnic group east of Turkey,
though they’d be preferable to the Russians), I don’t want to be too pushy
though. (Photo: This poor guy can't even lie down properly - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
I’ve still not found a single Russian
tourist who is willing to acknowledge a stranger or show any sign of
friendship. Damn, tell a lie, a single female showed up today and makes a point
of saying hello each time she passes. And don’t go getting ideas folks, I’m
here to write! Since when did I go on the prowl while travelling? Anyway, let’s
just not go there. I found most folk in Russia lovely people when I crossed
the country, the only ones I disapproved of were the obviously wealthy ones,
because they were the most arrogant of people you could have the displeasure of
meeting. Unfortunately, I have to tar the average Russian tourist with the same
brush. I can also see why the locals claim they are dirty people, visit a beach
shade or even area of sand after they’ve used it. It’ll be littered with
rubbish and dog-ends. They are without doubt the modern day party people in
Goa, but they gather in ever-increasing groups of fellow nationals, and seem to
have little respect for where they are or who else is trying to appreciate the
place. Such a shame, I hate spurn a whole nation of people, but I’ve given up
making an effort with them. (Photo: Sunsets are stunning - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
I could easily have blown it, and nearly
did. All alternatives for accommodation were explored and found either too
expensive or not conducive to my creative bent. What I quickly established
though was reliable sources of food, courtesy of the more expensive establishments
and the vendors in the car park. I take a mid-day snack from the food stalls
there, and use one of the two restaurants down the beach, generally alternating
which I use. One does a good Thali at less than a quid, the other is expensive
but does some fabulous local dishes. If I hadn’t of discovered them I wouldn’t
still be here. Though I shouldn’t give them all the credit for my perseverance,
opening my eyes and recognising my own actions was the turning point. However
many doubts I tried confusing myself with, I was still writing well from the
very first morning here, and I’ve kept up that momentum. Just as bloody well, I
was starting to think my first book was to be a one book wonder, severely
doubting my abilities to apply myself to writing. Now I can happily say that I
think my writing is progressing, my style improving. Of course to judge for
yourselves you’ll have to buy the book when it comes out. (Photo: Half-fed and half dead - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
So the discipline has come naturally, I get
up and get to it with writing. I’m not wasting time editing the previous day’s
ramblings, just getting straight down to the nitty-gritty. When it flows, boy
does it flow. I put in 4 or 5 hours without realising the passage of time.
Before I know it it’s mid-afternoon, and my stomach is crying out to be fed. A
quick snack and it’s beach time, an hour or so of getting the sun to shine
where the sun don’t shine. The afternoon is more leisure than work, making the
most of the paradise. Of the people I talk to, most are local Maharashtrans,
foreigners tend to form into cliques which I can’t be bothered with. The beach
is quiet at the far end, I can general find a place devoid of other visitors.
I’m all in favour of exposing myself to what nature has to offer, but I don’t
wish to upset the applecart, I’m not about to flash my bits at the local
population. Someone has to respect local sensibilities. I don’t think the local
populace holds the naked Russian tourists in high regard.(Photo: Making a break for freedom - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
This morning was different, not a single
word sprang to mind as I sat contemplating the morning’s literary endeavours.
So I hit the beach with the intention of shooting the dynamic type of photos I
could wow you all with. I’d got less than a few hundred metres when coming
across a trio of sea-snakes, by some fishing boats. I guessed they’d been
caught in the nets and discarded, left to slowly die in the sun. I thought they
were all dead, until one lethargically attempted to untwine itself, it seemed
as close to death as you could imagine. Any sign of life shows promise, so I
went on a rescue mission. With a stick I proceeded to coax it back into the
water, which was about five metres away and slowly receding. As soon as it felt
water wash over it, it showed a bit more vigour, so I helped it gradually
combat the slight swell and swim to safety. The second one, which lay with a
fishtail sticking out its mouth, was another success. Unfortunately the third
showed no signs of recovery. I’d picked it up by the tail rather than mess
around trying to manoeuver with the stick. As I watched for a miraculous
recovery a fish eagle came and settled close by, watching it floating lifeless
in the surf. As it was too wary of my presence I oiked out the dead snake and
left it on the sand for it, and it wasted little time before tucking into
breakfast. (Photo: Looking for breakfast - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
The most sorrowful sight I’ve seen was the
most pitiful dog I can remember. Completely hairless with folds of saggy skin,
it moved with lethargic slowness, looking very malnourished. The first sighting
it had a gaping hole in its ear, and its head around the ear was swollen. Two
days later the whole earflap was in rancid shreds, bloody tatters, looking as
if the living flesh was rotting. The swelling had increased and it was possible
to see into the ear cavity, where it looked as if something was eating into its
skull. It stank, so much so it nearly made me puke to go near it, and I’m not
generally squeamish. All I could bring myself to do for it was feed it the only
food I had, a couple of packets of crisps. Another couple of days and there was
nothing left of the outer ear, one side of its head behind the ear was nothing
but a cavernous pit, exposing the skull itself. I couldn’t believe it was still
alive, I assume it had some sort of parasitic infestation. I’ve not seen it
since, it must have died! The most heart breaking part of the whole episode was
the look of dejection and confusion in its eyes. It sought human companionship,
but was chased off by everyone, except a couple of us. For me, it was deeply
upsetting, and I felt powerless to help it further. As I sit and write this now
I’m ashamed at not having tried to do more. I was sure it suffered terribly and
would die of its affliction, yet couldn’t bring myself to even consider putting
it out of its misery. The only way would have been to bludgeon it to death, and
I just couldn’t imagine doing that.( Photo: Breakfast on the beach - Paradise Beach, Maharashtra, India)
I hate to see animals suffering, yet know
it’s the natural order of our world. I believe as human beings we should be
guardians of the world we despoil. Yet, as a race, we systematically ignore
that which we could save, profit from the unsustainable rape of limited
resources, and refuse to invest in a better future for the generations yet to
come. The world could be a better place, it’s in our power to make it so,
instead we slowly decimate our planet. Shame on us all!
