Til the cows come home

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.