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It's officially been two months since I got on a plane at Manchester airport and left England for sunnier climbs and I honestly can't believe how quickly it's gone. So many people said to me before I left, "you'll be back before you know it" and to be honest, I didn't really believe them. But suddenly I'm a third of the way through my trip and sometimes I feel like I only just arrived. People suggesting that I got here yesterday doesn't help either - apparently still being pretty much milk bottle white after two months in India is an indicator that you've just stepped off the flight. I'm not even kidding, in Goa it's probably the question I've been asked most often and I still haven't tired from shocking people with my actual date of arrival. I'm a factor 30 wearing occasional red head and sun bathing has never been on my list of favourite things to do so I've accepted that come April, I'll probably be going home a similar colour to when I left. Anyway, tan status aside, hitting the two month mark has given me a slight kick in the backside to get on with planning the rest of my trip. I know I've mentioned this before but from today, my planning hat is on. I arrived in Goa on 3rd November and although that feels like a lifetime ago, it also feels like last week. So much has happened in such a short space of time that I almost can't believe it, I just need to start looking forward rather than standing still because that's the thing about Goa, it's very easy to stand still here. I guess it's slightly different for me than for other tourists as I don't really feel like a tourist here. We've been coming to Goa since I was 14 or something and with both my parents and my little sister now living out here for most of the year, it really is where a lot of my family call home. We have a network of people here, friends we've known for years who've literally watched us grow up, both Indian and European, so much so that it's a rare thing for me to sit on the beach or wander down the street without someone saying hello to me by name and asking after the family. I'm comfortable here, it's safe and secure and stable, just like home should be. But I'm not supposed to be at home, I'm supposed to be seeing what the rest of India has to offer. The start of my trip was filled with incredible sights and new experiences and I'm starting to miss that feeling. So let the planning begin.
I was reminded of what I call my 'non-tourist' status a couple of days ago when, whilst dress shopping on Baga road (I know what you're thinking, you can take the shopping addict out of London but she'll still find a way to buy dresses - the difference is, these are £3 rather than £60). I'm wandering down to the shop belonging to a lady we know when suddenly on the other side of the street another stall catches fire. I should explain at this point that Baga road is lined with man-made stalls, constructed of bamboo and fabric, all wedged together in close succession and packed to the rafters with items for sale. Goods range from blankets and clothes to bags and accessories to different types of tea and kitchen items - anything you could possibly want. I can also tell you that the owners of these stalls have these items on sale or return and these businesses are literally their livelihoods - I know this because we know so many Indian families here who have exactly the same set up so I understand how much of a disaster a fire could be. Now this next part is going to make me sound like I'm trying to be some kind of wannabe hero/crazy girl or something but I'm actually just saying what happened - I can honestly say that when I saw the smoke and flames coming out of the roof of that stall and heard the owner wailing it didn't cross my mind to do anything but run over and help. The fire service isn't exactly on top form in Goa so suddenly people were everywhere with buckets of water, we were grabbing items and hurling them across the road, desperately trying to save any stock we could as the fire ripped through the back of the stall. Thankfully taller people than me started ripping down the bags hanging from the ceiling - that's when mum and I noticed the stall next door. The woman running the stall was frantically moving tubs of tea away from the fire, failing to notice that her entire stall was covered in fabric that would be on fire within minutes if she didn't do something. So we did something instead - I'm shouting at men to rip it all down, helping people to move the massive table covered with tea, grabbing bags and anything salvageable and moving it across the street from the fire. Within ten minutes the fire was all but out but the stall was utterly destroyed. Thankfully we'd managed to get a lot of the stock out in time but the damage was done and I can only imagine how much money the owner's family lost in the fifteen minutes it took to burn down their stall. Mum was nearly in tears explaining this to me that this fire could literally ruin a family financially for years and it was almost too much to take in. That's when we saw a man taking photographs of the scene. This I will never understand. I am often mocked by friends and relatives for constantly taking photographs, even earning myself the nickname of papparazzi whenever I produce my camera, but taking pictures of other people's misery is something I would never do. I remember thinking to myself, that's definitely one for the slide show when you get home - "and here's a stall that set on fire as we walked by, look at the old woman crying as her livelihood burns to the ground!" It was at this point I realised that of all the people helping the poor woman who had just lost everything, mum and I were the only foreigners, every other tourist was standing on the opposite side of the road, watching the 'entertainment' unfold as if it had nothing at all to do with them, they might as well have been watching it on television. I can honestly say that I felt ashamed at this point - to sit back and watch such an event, never mind documenting it with a camera, is something I cannot understand. If someone needs help, you don't have to know them, or like them, or even speak the same language, you just help, end of. My mum said she was proud of me on the way home, she said she looked around and saw so many Indians looking at me wondering why on earth I was helping and getting involved, being surprised even. I'm just happy to say we proved that not all tourists come here to enjoy India but sod the people who actually call it home.
On a completely different topic, one thing that remains unenjoyable for any kind of tourist is getting sick on your travels and for the last three days, sick I have been. So sick in fact that laying in bed has been absolutely mandatory, eating was not really an option and sleep was the only thing to ease the pain. I've never been very good at being a sick person but being ill in hot sunny weather is especially difficult. There's nothing like being unwell to make you wish you were back home in your own bed with whatever remedy you usually turn to (back in England it would be a hot water bottle, Tropicana smooth orange juice and raspberry jelly - with sour dough bread and butter thrown in when I started feeling better & unlimited crappy television to distract me from my woes. Here, it's a fan on full, iced water and an occasional bite of proper food; luckily some things never change and I've managed to watch three seasons of Sex & the City and completed Super Mario Brothers on my Nintendo DS (yes all 8 worlds) during the hours where sleep failed me during the last three days. Being ill is awful, but being ill when you have awesome plans is even worse. Yesterday afternoon I was supposed to hop on my friend Gazelle's bike and head 90km down the coast to Palolem for a silent disco beach party, sleep over and a day at one of the most beautiful beaches in Goa. I tried so hard to pretend that I was better but by early afternoon I knew there was no way I could go. Gutting but luckily I'm not going home anytime soon so I'm sure there'll be other opportunities. Plus, I'm on the mend now, I'm managing to eat (a little of) a wonderful dinner at my dad's and in less than a week, my big sister Kim will arrive - we'll have Christmas, then before you know it New Year will be here (along with my brother Rodger and his girl friend Claire) and Tor and Mo will be getting married. It's going to be a very busy, very exciting couple of weeks. And anymore sickness is definitely not an option!
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les frith Great stuff Becki! Intrepid fire fighter! You are so good at writing this saga I wonder if Journalism is a new option for you? See you all very soon Love Les X