Writing

Still taken aback, I Introduced myself to an out of shape, balding, but well spoken young Londoner called Chris. I made the assumption he was probably in the same boat as me, lost and out to sea, so in typical British style I put forward my solution: “Pint” ? To which he responded with a […]

No account of Goa would be complete without mentioning the toilets. And what you get here is usually a hole in the ground. If you’re lucky, like in this restaurant, you’ll get recesses for your feet either side, and if you’re very lucky, you’ll get a proper flushing toilet basin. Mercifully the aroma of the

I woke early in a cold, refreshing sweat. As if the toxins were leaving my body. The stomach cramps had dulled for now, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Yesterday was a bad day, but today, somehow I felt strong, determined. Perhaps I’d hit rock bottom and the only way was up from here. Looking

I was now well into my first week in Goa. Anjuna was lifeless and empty, so I beat the path through the trees and over the bridge into Baga and onto Calangute every day in search of a stimulus, a distraction from the fading dream of building a new life here. I thought I had

I’d read that Goa was the holiday destination of choice for the Indian people. A green. fertile land with idyllic sandy beeches. A party-goers paradise. Maybe so. But this was off-season, a month too early, so I had no idea of what to expect. The plane cabin was just about empty, not a good sign,