We stayed in Alibag for Christmas, in our small hotel room. On Christmas day Miki sat out on the little balcony cooking us pasta, while I taught online. In the afternoon we took a walk to the beach and had a meander along the front which, despite the downside of smoggy air (presumably drifting down from Mumbai), was a much enjoyed exploration.
One day as we walked back from the beach we came across a peaceful protest. Though there was nothing in a language we could understand, it seemed quite clear that the women we saw, sitting silently on the ground, were fighting for their rights. As something of this nature is not generally broadcasted on international news, not large enough or loud enough for the attention, it was remarkable to see and acknowledge with our own eyes.
Unfortunately for us, Alibag wasn’t quite the laid back beach town we had imagined, and so we began to think of where to go next. This turned out to be not so easy between Christmas and New Year, especially with the annoying necessity that I needed an internet connection for work. In the end we decided to head to Goa. We knew this was more of an internationally known destination, and so hoped this would also mean a higher chance of reliable internet. Getting there, now that was the tricky bit.
A few days after Christmas our plans were made and we were leaving Alibag, heading east towards Pen, the nearest big city, where we would take a night bus. The bus would be a 12-hour journey south and would take us directly to Goa.
Now, we’re both very fond of our bicycles, and try our best to keep them in good condition. So when the bus arrived an hour late, and a group of men then rushed to shove them into the luggage compartment under the coach, it was a little stressful! Though things went a little better after I suggested they take the front wheels off to fit them in.
We spent a slightly fitful night in our double bed on the night bus, every bump and bang along the road making us fear that the bikes would fall out a crumpled mess of metal on the other end.
We arrived in Goa early in the morning both relieved, and a little surprised, to find out bikes come out in one piece. In fact, with barely a scratch on them! Throughout the day we explored several of the local towns in the area. We had arranged to meet my mum’s friend, Ann, for lunch at an eatery called Artjuna, located in a sleepy village a few kilometres back from the coast. As we moved from one area to the next I found it amazing how different each place was from the other, though they were only short bike rides apart. At one moment we would be in a peaceful village, the next in a beach town filled with people, traffic and noise.
After spending our first night in a place with a wonderful view, but unfortunately barely any connection, we set off on our second morning to a digital nomad hostel where we had high hopes (though by this time, not high expectations) for success.
The place, called NomadGao, was lovely both in concept and environment. Again, in a more relaxed and less crowded area of Goa, the owner was trying to create a haven for people working and travelling. Our bedroom looked out onto some trees that were more than once filled with monkeys!
Though there was no mobile reception in the area, the owner assured us that the internet would be reliable and strong enough to cope with video calls for my lessons. Things started very well, my first evening teaching there occurred without drama, the internet was indeed strong enough.
The second day however, everything went pear shaped. In the middle of a lesson the internet cut out for five very long minutes. Though it may not seem a long time, when the lesson was only 25 minutes, this cut out a large portion. Added to this, I had a child on the other end who couldn’t understand what was going on and I was teaching through PalFish, a company that fines their teachers for several things, including issues with the internet.
Speaking to the owner about this a little later, it emerged that although they had fibre optic cable in the area, these were hung over lamp-posts (instead of being below ground). The connection was cutting out due to large buses knocking the cables down as they brought people to the area for New Year celebrations!
So sadly, this was the beginning of the end. With little backup money I wasn’t able to relax about the possibility of losing my job. Neither did I have enough logged hours to be able to take a break, experience India without this stress, and be confident in having returning students later down the line. The only solution was to leave India and head for Sri Lanka, where I’d been the year before. I knew I could find at least reliable phone connections with enough reception for teaching.
After making our decision to leave, there was nothing left to do but to explore and enjoy our remaining time there.
New Year’s Eve turned into a particularly memorable event. We started by having a drink with some of the other people staying in the hostel and then headed out in the hopes of hitching a ride towards a place called Vagator Beach, where we were told there was likely to be a good bit of nightlife.
We hitched two rides to get there, and were lucky that the young couple in the second car decided to adopt us for half of the evening and got us into an advance-booking-only club with two of their friends’ unused tickets. We stayed literally minutes in the club as it gave us direct access to a beach where we could hear the music and watch the spectacle unfurl around us.
We were sitting on a rock as midnight arrived. Lights shone onto the sea giving the appearance of a colourful explosion as waves rolled in. Then the fireworks began, by what was undoubtedly not a group of firework professionals. I say this not because there was anything wrong with the fireworks, but because at some points several of those not yet poised and prepared for action, ended up lit, and began to fly off in several, much more horizontal directions! I have to say, I was exceptionally thankful to have a rock to dive behind! Miki dealt with the situation much more calmly, staying seated as the air lit up nearby.
A few days later we were leaving Goa. Having managed to arrange a vehicle large enough to take our bikes to the airport, we spent three-and-a-half hours preparing them. The journey that followed proceeded to be a further test of emotions, as relief from having successfully prepared for leaving turned into stress when we discovered surprise extra luggage fees for our bikes (which we thought we’d already paid in full). Eventually seated on our first of two flights, we began to relax. In Chennai, our connecting airport, we almost dozed a little as we waited for our final flight. Finally, hopefully, leaving this stressful situation regarding unreliable internet connections (imperative for my means of earning a living) behind.
And then, as we reached the boarding gate for that final plane, disaster struck. We were pulled aside and questioned about our bike boxes. “Is there any metal inside?” we were asked. Our immediate reply being, “They’re bicycles!”. Next thing I knew, Miki was being taken away for further investigation into the boxes. They wanted to open them to check what was inside, didn’t care if we couldn’t reclose them, and didn’t really seem to care if we missed our flights!
I waited on the floor, exhausted and close to tears. Minutes later, Miki reappeared through a door, gave me a wink and nodded towards the thinning queue of people boarding. It took all my effort not to grin back, not wanting to show too much enthusiasm in front of the airport staff and raise any further trouble! It turned out that a firm refusal to open the boxes, plus a show of his Instagram page displaying his trip to date, had convinced the inspector to believe our story and let us and our bicycles board the plane after all!
So let me state the obvious, something that you may well have been thinking as you read through my tales of India. Trying to work online there could be stressful, cycle touring could be very trying, and perhaps, attempting to do both at the same time was bordering on madness!
With the wonderful wisdom of hindsight, I would probably have decided against going to India at that moment. The pressure I was under to earn a living while travelling affected my being able to truly appreciate what I experienced and saw whilst there. But, I can’t say I regret having seen a little bit of that incredibly complex country, and if nothing else, it sure makes for some good stories!
Quanta emozione c’è in questo racconto! Mi è parso di vivere quei momenti. Bravo Miki, ottima idea quella di mostrare le i video del viaggio.