Go-a to Goa

The Rajdhani Express is the nice train. You get fed; you get tea; you get lots of nice things. But it’s still a train. And not really that nice. When we arrived in Margao (or Madgaon), I was exhausted by doing nothing. The bumps and wiggles of the train car had pulled my stitched-up belly this way and that all night, and I was tired. We shared the compartment (we were in AC2, meaning there are 4 bunks in the compartment) with a nice couple who were heading home. I wasn’t feeling like chatting, though, and James was reeeeeally not feeling like chatting. We made our beds in the top bunks and stayed up there for almost the whole ride. Anyway, once we arrived, we picked a taxi by following the first person who offered us a ride. It’s about 9km to Colva Beach, and that’s where we wanted to spend our last few days in India. I’d looked on the internet and discovered that there were some nice resorts that weren’t too expensive. We were thinking we’d spend 1000 rupees or more in order to have a real good vacation between our work/recuperating time at the house and the travel into the unknown. We’d just gotten the payoff from selling all of our furniture, kichenwares, etc, and we knew we’d be spending that cash until we got to the airport and converted it to dollars. At a serious loss, since the dollar had strengthened a great deal since we’d started spending. There we were, in Goa, approaching the beach, tired, sad, excited, pained, with a big chunk of cash in our pockets. Oh boy, did we ever overspend on the room! The taxi pulled off the main road – the one that dead-ended on the beach – and headed[…]

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