Writing

I should have felt a lot worse as the blinding light of a new morning pierced through the makeshift window of my room, jerking me out of my slumber. Maybe I was lucky to be alive, or at least glad that there were no broken bones, or even a bruised/pulled muscle, but I felt great

Today was everyone’s last day in Goa apart from mine. I donned my tour-guide hat one last time to take them to Panjim, via Mapusa as always. The mood on the coach was melancholic. We’d formed a bond as the aliens in a foreign land and knew we probably wouldn’t see each other again. As

And so, for the following week at least, we all went about our business. From time to time we’d get together, frequently back at the Sea Rock, or late at night on the terrace over vodka and coke, but largely we kept a respectful distance, not wanting to tread on anyone’s toes or get in

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