Arambol.
part I

You'll love this. We spent our first night in Arambol in a little shack away from the beach. I was having a little problem with blisters on my feet (i need you all to know i am harbouring much hate towards the Birkenstock man in Glenhuntly road, who - it seems - has managed to injure my feet permanently. Every time i walk i feel my blood boil and imagine how the negligence case would pan out in court.)
Anyways sian decided to patch up my feet good and proper, and whilst she was bending over them i caught, in the corner of our room, along the roof, a glimpse of the shadow of a Rat and it's disgusting little tail glimmering in the fluorescent hut light.

We were unusually calm.
Suffice it so say that the next day we moved. i was having serious '1984' flashbacks from year 10.

I also must make a confession. you know how i said that my Birkenstocks were not going well?
I resorted to something. something terrible. something awful, ugly but (and i say this as a convert) terribly comfortable.
crocs.
yes crocs.

What do we do in Arambol?

Hang out with 55 yr old hippies from Europe. it's quite incredible some of the people who live. we also gossip about the tourists here.
Flavio (a Swiss man in his 50s with a very relaxed face) told us a story of how a Russian man last year got drunk in ARambol. He climbed the cliff edge to where there was a Christian temple and proceeded to knock off the cross. The local Indians then came and through him off the cliff onto the rocks and started stoning him. He was taken away by Indian p0lice but Flavio thinks he died.

I'm also undergoing a 7 step program to cure me from dogs. I walk with Chai-tra (~50 yr old Swiss woman who has been living in India and Sth America her whole life) across the beach to hang out with a pack of dogs. I think the final step is to get one particular dog (who has very sharp teeth) to allow me to put my hand in it's mouth. or maybe the final step is getting one particular me (who is very scared) to allow me to put my hand in it's mouth...