“Hi my name’s Heather and I can’t poo.”
You meet a lot of people travelling. Some are companions, others become friends. And very occasionally you meet people you click with straight away. With these people you can talk about anything. Anything being mainly poo. We knew this had happened when I accidentally farted…
Previously, before the accidental fart…
The not so 5* hotel on wheels
We left Hampi and headed for North Goa on another sleeper bus. Unfortunately it was not as deluxe as our previous one, and it most definitely was not a 5* hotel on wheels. It was like trying to sleep on The Big Dipper. I didn’t mind it to be fair. Except for the part when I heard a couple smooching behind their curtain across the way. It took all the will power I had not to jump into their Big Dipper carriage and personally remove their lips from their faces. Instead I tried to waft every mosquito on the bus into their section. Mwahaha.
The Story of Goa
It’s a cows’ life
North Goa. We came here last year and disliked it. We visited again in a last bid to change our opinions and still didn’t like it. I’d go as far as to say it’s my least favourite place of our entire travels. The only thing that made me smile was watching a cow take a holiday on the beach, totally rolling with life. I’ve never seen such a relaxed cow in my life. He just lay there with his pina colada and SPF 30 catching some rays.
There’s always room for more
We got the bus from north to south Goa. Well, 4 buses to be exact. One bus had 27 seats but managed to hold the grand total of 349 people. There are NEVER too many people on public transport in India. Which means you can NEVER get too close to anyone in India. It’s perfectly normal to locate your head inside someone’s mouth cavity counting their missing teeth. Or find your nose welded to a random armpit whilst your arm has been dragged by the crowds in the opposite direction with 16 people sat on it, drinking chai. And just when you think the bus can’t possibly have any more space the conductor (who’s wearing what appears to be a nurses uniform) persuades another 6 people off the street to join the party. And, wait for it…
The man carrying his fence.
The Breeding Class
So we escaped to South Goa – a new place for us. It was nice. I went for a morning yoga lesson at the hostel with our new northern mate, Chris. I don’t think my body is designed for yoga.
But the instructor was quite good;
“Now, gently lean to the person to your right and gradually breed. Just relax and breeeeeeed.”
What. Sort. Of. Yoga. Class. Is this?!
I liked Chris but I was not prepared to start breeding with him, especially in a yoga lesson. I became concerned. I looked around to see if anyone else had quietly started breeding in the corner. Was this normal? Was I actually in a brothel? Was I paying to breed with fellow yoga goers? And more importantly, I hadn’t shaved for a while.
As it turns out the teacher was just telling us to ‘breathe’, it was her accent. Which was ironic considering I hadn’t breathed for the past 30 seconds because I was more concerned about mating with my class mates.
Itch, Rex and Stumpy
Apart from breeding in yoga classes we went to the beach and generally just chilled in Palolim. We hired a scooter and went to Agonda beach for sunset. As did every dog in south Goa (they didn’t hire scooters they just went to the beach for sunset). Now, the dogs there are very chilled and we have never seen so many puppies and kittens in our lives. Apparently they most definitely have been attending Goa’s finest breeding classes. We sat on the beach watching the sun go down with our new mate Itch. Then along came Rex. At first Itch wasn’t happy as he wanted us to himself and they had a minor standoff, but Itch realised he had to have a scratch which prevented him continuing his beef with Rex. Rex was pretty relaxed about this saga and sat in between myself and Lyvette , whereas Itch presumed it appropriate to sit on my lap and continue to scratch (his fleas?). This was uncouth.
Then along came Stumpy, bounding around with his little white legs. He came and joined the party until he decided to urinate on the sand and flick it in my face before bounding off into the horizon. Eventually we left as Lyvette spotted some puppies that needed her attention. And I was being showered with Itch’s fleas.
Just a casual bout of malaria
I developed malaria just before we did an 18hr overnight sleeper from South Goa to Kerala, Trivandrum. I mean, it proper felt like Google told me malaria would. Flu like symptoms, aching body. I definitely had it. Forget the fact I was taking anti-malarials, I nearly died. Well not really, tbh I think what actually happened was – I had flu symptoms.
The Story of Kerala (so far)
The Festival
So we (I) decided that it would simply be great to visit the southern most tip of India, Kanyakumari. So we woke up fresh from our 18hr train journey and hit the bus station for our adventure, obvs going for a dosa (breakfast) beforehand;
“Can I have a masala dosa please?” Indian head wobble by waiter. Just as an fyi the Indian head wobble can mean many things. It appears like they are saying ‘no’ but in most places it means ‘yes’ or ‘ok’, sometimes it can even be a greeting. So the head wobble meant the dosa was on and I continued for a coffee;
“And a coffee please?”
“Huh?”
“A C-O-F-F-E-E”
“No.” Shrugs. He didn’t understand because he didn’t speak English, maybe I need to learn the Kerala word for ‘coffee’. No problem. The man next to me sipped his coffee.
“Excuse me, what’s that?” I asked pointing to his coffee.
“Coffee.” Oh. Right.
So back comes the waiter and I pointed at the man next to me’s coffee.
“Can I have one of them please?”
Waiter does head wobble. “Coffee.”
Well, I’m glad we got that one sorted. We all understand the word coffee and that’s what I’d like to order please.
Post dosa and coffee he hit the public bus for the 2hr journey to the southern tip which ended in a 4hr15 journey as we were halted by the festival. Now, I love a good festival but when I was hanging from the bus window and nearly got taken out by the man being swung around on a crane, secured only by hooks through his shoulder blades and hamstrings I became slightly disturbed. Not as much as Lyvette however.
Now, I realise this is not my religion or my country so I found the whole thing fascinating and continued to hang out of the window as we passed the dancers throwing flour at one another, jiving like they were on mushrooms. I obviously must look like a good natured festival going soul because these dancers took a shining to me and threw some flour through the window and onto my face and drew something (no it wasn’t a penis) on my forehead. Most of the flour went all over the bus which was great for everyone else and I became the main event of this religious festival, the white girl sat in a bus with flour on her face. The dancers actually started cheering me. They even tried dragging me out of the window to dance with them but I was concerned the bus would suddenly zoom off. Lyvette was concerned they’d take me as a sacrifice and hang me on the crane by my shoulder blades. So I took to just high fiving every man and their cow from the bus and waving like royalty. As you do.
The southern most tip of India wasn’t all that. Just so you know.
The Chat-O-Saurus
With a belly full of waffles we got the train from Trivandrum to Varkala. We bought general class (GC) tickets which are the cheapest ones and mean you jump in the carriage and embrace the chaos, no seat reservations, sit if and where you can. But you will be standing. We should have known we were in the wrong carriage when we actually found a seat. The conductor told us we had to go the front of the train which was miles away. He told us to get off at the next stop and run up the platform and jump on the train again further up. So we stood at the door waiting for the next stop. That’s when we met the Chat-o-saurus. Now this guy stood at the door with us and started talking. The problem was we didn’t understand a word he was saying. He literally had a whole conversation with himself via us, with us just stood with our mouths open gawping. We shrugged and said we didn’t understand but he wouldn’t stop. So we got the giggles. Lyvette shook so hard the entire carriage vibrated and I silently wept tears of laughter into my backpack. But the Chat-o-saurus did not stop, on and on he continued occasionally looking at us for a response, to which we could give non except a casual tear fuelled shrug. The ticket conductor was watching and he too started giggling, probably wondering what the Chat-o-saurus was on. Then the train stopped so we jumped off and sprinted down the platform to try and find the GC carriage.
“He’s behind us! The Chat-o-saurus is following us!” screamed Lyvette mid run, but the train didn’t stop for long so we had to jump back on, still not quite at our GC carriage which was right at the front. We’d lost the Chat-o-saurus so we decided to walk through the train for as long as we could and get off again at the next stop. So off we went trundling through 1st class with all our backpacks.
Then the unthinkable happened.
The Chat-o-saurus jumped out of nowhere in front of me. Still talking, and giggling. I stifled a scream. “HE’S BACK!!!” The little rascal must have seen us jump back onto the train and ran on the platform to the next carriage to get in front of us. “HE’S BACK! RUUUUNNNNNNNN” And that’s what we did. Barged past him and legged it, through first class, knocking people out of the way. We could hear him talking behind us. We managed to put a bit of distance between us.
Then the unthinkable happened. Again.
The toothpaste fell out of my backpack.
“You’ve dropped the toothpaste!!!!” screamed Lyvette. Shit. What should I do? I had milliseconds to think about it. Could I survive without my beloved toothpaste? Do I risk stopping to collect my Colgate and being caught by the Chat-o-saurus? Were my pearly whites worth sacrificing? Luckily Lyvette had her wits about her and she had swiftly weighed up the situation and ninja rolled (with bags) stealthily scooping up said toothpaste. Phew. She glanced behind, “I can see him, he’s gaining on us!” Shit, who was this guy, Linford Christie?!
And then the unthinkable happened for a third time.
We hit a dead end.
The linen was piled high against the carriage door preventing it from being opened. We were cornered and the Chat-o-saurus caught us. He continued his conversation. And although we were unsure why this guy was chasing us down a train we began to giggle again.
This continued until the train stopped again and we jumped off, ran down the platform and finally found the GC carriage. Which was full. We jumped on anyway, because that’s what happens in India, everyone sits in everyone’s laps, invades personal spaces and cuddles up to armpits. The amount of times I’ve been sat or stood on is unreal. However, a man turned to me, and I kid you not, actually uttered the words “It’s full.” I could not believe my ears. No, absolutely not my friend, I’ve been in India long enough to know that this carriage is absolutely not full. People are still breathing, noone’s lungs have yet been crushed by the sheer volume of bodies. That guy over there only has one man and a cow sat on his lap. And there are only 3 people hanging onto the outside of the train for dear life, so no, no my friend, I think you will find that this train is absolutely not full.
We finally made it to Varkala, the Chat-o-saurus still attached to us, talking. Finally a shop owner managed to remove him from our presence and we made it to our hostel.
Hi my name’s Heather and I can’t poo
You meet a lot of people travelling. Some are companions, others become friends. And very occasionally you meet people you click with straight away. With these people you can talk about anything. Anything being mainly poo. We knew this had happened when I accidentally farted…
I didn’t mean to, it just fell out. Probably because I still wasn’t pooing properly and this was causing problems. I’d been in the room approximately 3 minutes.
“Mate it’s burning my eyes” – that was how we met Aliesha the kiwi, she’d clearly noticed the fart – “I’m too scared to breathe.” Unfortunately for her Kiwi had a broken foot so she couldn’t run. Meanwhile, Kirsty the Arab from Burnley was almost rendered unconscious on her bed.
“I’m really sorry guys, I really am. I don’t know what happened. I really need to poo but I can’t. I’m Heather by the way. ”
And that was how it began, within a few minutes of meeting we bonded over a fart and a conversation about my bowels. Bring on our time in Varkala…
P.S. Kirsty has just come from Dubai, having lived there for 5 years so she’s basically now an Arab. She also has a great blog that doesn’t exist yet, but when it does it will blow your mind. In the meantime she also has a Facebook page, here.
P.S. To my future husband, if you’re reading this wherever you are (he’s going to be really hot btw) my farts aren’t actually that bad. And I definitely do not poo. Don’t let this put you off me, I’m great really. Honest.
