Author: susanhachey@gmail.com

Just when I think I’ve got Indian train travel worked out, I get thrown a curve ball. Like food, for instance. The train I took from Mumbai to Goa had full meal service delivered to your seat. Expecting the same on the Goa to Madurai journey, I brought nothing. And they served nothing. One woman across the aisle took pity and gave me biscuits and fruit, and I was eventually able to grab samosas from a station stall, but otherwise was offered only coffee or chai, both of which are so sweet as to be somewhat sickening.

And then there are the lack of aids- visual or otherwise – to help you figure out where your stop is. There are no announcements, and the staff disappears for long periods of time, so you’re pretty much on your own to decipher the signs as you approach the various stations. If you happen to be disembarking in the middle of the night or early morning when it’s still dark , you’re really up the creek.

And that’s exactly what transpired this morning. First of all, I thought my arrival time in Madurai was 12:30 am. When that came and went, I settled on 5:40 am because everyone in Goa kept telling me it was a full day’s journey. But that went by too and here’s me, still on the train. Madurai was an hour or more behind us when a porter asked where I was going. When I told him, he bundled me off at a place called Kovilpatti and told me to get the next express train in the other direction.

To say I was a novelty on that station platform would be an understatement. I don’t think they see a lot of tourists in Kovilpatti. I found my way to the ticket counter and asked about an AC car but he shook his head and told me it was an unreserved train. I’ve always wondered about unreserved trains when you have to run like crazy and walk over people to secure a seat; this was my chance to experience it!

I aligned myself with a group of women and kids and took my cues from them, including elbowing old men out of the way as we all scrambled to get inside. It wasn’t so rough after that. I found a seat with five women and in addition to a fan, the windows opened. Not bad for 25 rupees (50 cents). And everyone around me made sure I got off at Madurai Junction!

My room feels like heaven. The only thing missing is a mound of food which I will go in search of shortly.

Eye update: all is well. I had a follow-up visit on Wednesday. The eye is healing and hemorrhaging has decreased. No sign of a tear, so nothing further required other than – well – keeping an eye on it??? The doctor also gave me the name of a person to see in Madurai just in case.

Been hanging out with my UK friends Ruth and Lucinda this week since they moved to Palolem. Our boat ride to see the dolphins on Tuesday was fab. Saw lots of the critters including a baby swimming along between two adults. We then stopped at Butterfly Beach for a swim and to give Ruth a chance to pick up garbage – two bags full. I don’t think the boatmen were too impressed with having to bring it back but she was determined, and there’s nothing more stubborn than a tree-hugging hippie, which Ruth definitely is!

I met them for breakfast this morning. We were hoping to go out on a river boat ride to see more of the amazing array of birds that make their homes here. Unfortunately, no one around. Tomorrow marks the Holi celebration – the festival of colour – and we suspect that many may have already left to be with their families in their villages.

There are signs of the impending celebration everywhere you look…women stocking up on food and gifts, people in costumes with elaborately painted faces, fireworks at night and roving bands of women and youngsters who want to paint your face pink. I’m kinda happy I’ll be on the train tomorrow on my way to Madurai as pink isn’t my colour. But I will miss the water. It’s been lovely to swim every single day.

Some of the characters around the beach today:

Before I go any further, I am fine. My pupils are dilated…huge actually, like back in the day ?…but otherwise I’m as I should be.

It started on Tuesday when I noticed an increase in the amount of floaters in my eyes…little dots that drift back and forth across your field of vision. They are generally harmless, so I didn’t think much of it, other than to wonder about the frequency.

On Wednesday morning, I experienced bright flashes of light at the periphery of my right eye. I got a little nervous about this as I know that both are symptoms of a detached retina, so I found an optical shop down the road and went to see them. Unfortunately, they only perform vision tests for glasses, but the guy gave me the name of an eye doctor in Margao. The flashes eased in the afternoon so I decided I was overreacting.

Thursday…no issues.

Friday, floaters back along with a haze that slid back and forth my right eye like a curtain being drawn. So I called and got an appointment for this (Saturday) morning.

Margao is about 45 minutes away by taxi. (The guy next door gave me the name of a fellow he uses…always appreciated to know your driver isn’t a cowboy).

The waiting room was filled with bare-footed people as you have to take your shoes off to enter. I waited about 40 minutes before seeing the eye doctor and her four assistants (two of whom seemed to be there to hold my head in place). Eye test, drops to dilate, a further examination and a referral to a retinal specialist which she arranged to take place right away so that I wouldn’t have to make another trip. Three hundred rupees…$6.

Across town to the eye hospital where I saw the specialist immediately. It was like no other eye examination I’ve ever had, but he was thorough and reassuring. He suspected a small retinal tear but couldn’t actually see one, only the presence of blood. One thousand rupees ($20) and instructions to come back for follow up in three or four days just to be sure.

Cab ride to and from Margao and 90 minute wait time…$36.

It’s not completely over, but I have a good feeling about the whole thing. Fingers (not eyes) crossed…

Another perfect morning.  It’s hot.

I’m settling into a comfortable and lazy routine here in South Goa. It is unusually warm for this time of year – high 30s. I say this as a statement of fact and not to elicit sympathy, as I suspect I wouldn’t get much. But it is rather extreme, so I’m moving as little as possible.

Mornings, I sit and read on the tiny balcony at Ruby Residency overlooking a riot of jungle greenery that is my back yard. The birds are usually going nuts, and every once in a while the cacophony includes the crow of a rooster. He is much noisier beginning at about 4 am but that’s a rooster for you. I’ve decided to like his wake up call, even if it’s a tad early for my taste.

The Ruby sits on a small rise overlooking the village of Chaudi, about 2 kms from Patnem Beach. It’s a considerable condo complex consisting of seven separate buildings of five storeys each. Everyone in the area knows it, so no worries about getting lost.

For the first few mornings I walked to the beach, hitting the road before the sun got too high. The path takes me through Chaudi’s Main Street, past the fruit and veg market and out along a flat, scrub area filled with egrets, goats, cows and the odd monkey being chased by a pack of dogs.

Patnem Beach is perfect. Sufficient restaurants and small shops to fulfill basic needs but not overdone. No beach hawkers…not one person yelling, “hey lady!” Sun beds and beach umbrellas – more than enough for everyone – and the Arabian Sea stretched out into forever. The water is warm, with rolling waves near the shoreline that can pound you if you’re not paying attention.

Twice now on the way back home at the end of the day, my Zen has been shattered…

When I was a kid, my Mom had this expression…”til the cows come home”. Used in a sentence, it sounds like this: “You can cry until the cows come home but you’re not getting that toy” or, later in life, “you can threaten to run away til the cows come home but you are not going to Woodstock.” Here, my challenge is to get home before the cows.

On two occasions, the road at the base of the small hill leading to my flat has been blocked by a herd of buffalo. They are massive creatures with long, mean-looking horns, and there are a lot of them – 30 or more. If you know my history with Indian cows, you’ll understand my angst.

Mumbai was a pleasant surprise. As big as it is – and it is huge – it is somehow welcoming with its tree-lined, traffic-choked arteries, gorgeous architecture and highly-approachable people. The fact that there’s a beach in the middle of it doesn’t hurt either.

I got remarkably lost on my first venture out. On a quest for an ATM and an Airtel shop to get a SIM card, I dutifully asked for and received clear directions from the folks at my hotel. Trouble is, the first Airtel shop couldn’t help me, and they directed me to a second. With the twists and turns involved in finding it, and street names nearly impossible to pronounce let alone remember, I lost the thread of lefts and rights as well as my sense of direction. No worries…a little more wandering than expected and a raft of smiles and helpful natives along the way.

I met up with Ruth and Lucinda on Friday morning. Ruth is a woman I met in Thailand last year; we stayed at the same hotel in Bangkok. She and Lucinda are also on their way to Goa but since we were in Mumbai at the same time, we decided to see some of the sights together.

Gateway of India, Victoria Terminus, Taj Mahal Hotel, the police headquarters so prominently featured in Shantaram, Leopold’s for lunch and a promenade in the hanging gardens, all under a blazing 34-degree sun. After a short break back at the hotel for a shower and rest, we were on the hunt for masala dosas followed by a stroll on Chowpatty Beach. Pure magic in the cool night air with the lights of the city twinkling all around us. I have wonderful beach pictures; they won’t load so this one will have to do.

I made my way to LTT Saturday morning to get the train for Goa. 650 rupees for the 40-minute trek across Mumbai to catch my 830 rupee, 750 km ride to the beach. That’s known as legalized highway robbery in the taxi industry. It irks me but I can’t complain; I’m getting a huge discount booking train travel online as an Indian senior citizen. The cabbies can see that I’m white, so senior or not, the cost goes up…

Nearing both midnight and Canacona, they happen in quick succession, a series of those Indian moments that never seem to happen anywhere else:

– With the help of all of my seat mates, I get myself to the door of the train ready to depart in lots of time. The train stops at Canacona for 2 minutes, so no room for error.

– The car attendant kindly opens up a type of jump seat for me to sit on until we reach the station. He outfits it with freshly laundered sheets.

– Swaying back and forth in my own world, I notice a handsome, bearded young man gesturing to me. He approaches, and we get into a conversation, the kind that fellow travellers have. He tells me he’s going to a yearly celebration at an ashram called Isha in Kerala and recommends that I check it out as he has found it to be a place with special spiritual energy. He then heads off to his seat and returns with a book for me – Inner Engineering A Yogi’s Guide to Joy by Sadhuguru. He asks that I pass it on when I am done with it. Which I will do.

– Canacona station at midnight and there isn’t a taxi or tuk-tuk in sight. I meet a young man who offers me a ride on his motorcycle to Palolem, but I politely decline. One of the station attendants calls a taxi, gives me tea and we chat while he feeds biscuits to the local stray dogs.

I’m definitely back.