Cola and Acid

Saturday 12 October

With Suzie’s professionally attached clear waterproof dressings starting to peel off, and not wanting another trip to the hospital, I ran up to Harry and Imo’s hut to ask for guidance—both on what bandages we needed, if they had any, and how to apply them. The answer from Imo was clear: "Don’t ask Harry, he’s useless." I think she was referring to his squeamishness rather than his inability to utilize his many years of medical training—training that has been proven with countless stories of selfless action at sea. Nevertheless, I was inclined to agree.

Imo raided our many supplies and first aid kits, but nothing was quite right. We decided to tuk-tuk to the nearest pharmacy. Getting there was easy—10 minutes up the road with friendly drivers (one of them was called 'Mr. Jolly,' I’m guessing not by birth). However, the pharmacy was ill-equipped to deal with our requests or speak in a language both parties understood. Frustrated and a little bored, I decided to concentrate my efforts in the alcohol shop next door while the salty sea dogs battled with dialect and apathy—aces in their places and all that.

Carrying eight beers, four sugary sweet girly drinks, and an array of medical supplies (including a huge wrap-around bandage that was obviously over-engineered for the task of covering up four small abdominal cuts), we sped off in the direction we’d come from.

Harry stopped the convoy to buy food so he and his better half could take the anti-malarials they’d failed to bring and managed to buy. The food my hairy friend decided was most fitting was chocolate biscuits. Running back from the girls' tuk-tuk, his face sunken, he said, "Shit... I forgot she’s given up chocolate." Imo’s sister is away on tour in Afghanistan, and Imo has given up chocolate until her return—something I have now seen Harry forget on at least three occasions in the time he’s been in the country.

We arrived back in Agonda but this time on the north side of the beach, to make sure the beach huts that Patty had booked were in fact built. We were concerned because we’d been looking for these huts for three days, and no one had ever heard of 'Madhu Huts' or 'Aqua Bay'—something quite alarming considering the size of the village and the fact that everyone knew everything. We were consoled, however, that our jolly driver had heard of them and could take us.

We met the owner, took a look around, and were impressed. They were built (which was the main thing) and in good condition. The fact that Patty had been able to find and book these huts from the other side of the world months ago (considering they had been built in the last four days) was also a triumph. With our fears quashed and spirits raised, we told our man we’d see him the next morning and to expect Patty, Adams, Ginge, and Katy too.

We asked the drivers if they could take us to Cola Beach, the next beach to the north. They could, but the road would be bumpy, and there would be a ten-minute mini hike as the beach was inaccessible by road. Suzie, already tired from the previous day and worried about the bumpiness, decided to go back to the huts. It’s hard sometimes to remember that she has only been out of hospital a few days as she always wants to join in and hides her discomfort. But the trip to Cola was a journey too far, and adamant against our complaints that we’d go back too, the girls took her to rest up at H2O. Once again, we convoyed the short trip.

We all remarked we were glad she didn’t come as "bumpy" was an understatement. I’m sure a few of us hit our heads on the roof, and ten minutes later, we arrived at a small clearing next to a jungle path.

Harry almost immediately asked us if we’d like to see a massive spider, which we all almost immediately declined. But, cajoled by Harry and following him tentatively, we all decided that it was in fact a massive spider—something that would linger in our imaginations while we trekked down to the shoreline.

Arriving at the cliff top, we marveled at the almost deserted beach—something like from a film (mostly that one with DiCaprio, the one about the beach). An azure blue lagoon, rocks jutting from the break of the waves, and locals making huts from sand—we hurriedly but carefully made our way down the cliff path to the sand.

As often happens, the salties were only seen in short bursts in between or riding on top of white horses while the rest of us got our toes wet, commenting on how strong the current was. Martin gave a nod to a few local hippies who quickly asked if he would like some acid. The sensible answer was given, and Google images of Goa in the 70s came flooding back into my consciousness. The towns, music, and popularity of the places may have changed, but the old crusties were still going strong, powered entirely on sun and hallucinogenics. They walked off together into the hills.

Almost alone on the beach—which, in comparison to its seclusion, was relatively big—we powered up the everything-proof speaker to a selection of classics from Barrington Levy and cracked open a few cans of lager, trying not to mix them with saltwater.

In the distance, a few of who we think were hut construction workers had spotted us and were running over, ecstatic and excited. They asked if we could be in some snapshots with them. This had happened a few times to us on our travels, and we were happy to oblige. However, Martin did comment that they were probably more interested in getting photos of the girls in bikinis than they were in us. A few snaps later, handshakes, and watching them frolic about on the shore (which involved an alarming amount of sand down pants), we weren’t so sure—something the girls were rather smugly amused by.

With barley and hops smoothing the edges of our vision and inhibitions dulled, we blasted out what Martin referred to as "hardcore reggae" (dancehall) while we glided back through the town on the pre-arranged transport.

The evening was one of those contented ones. A variety of South Indian treats—including battered everything, seafood, and thali—washed down with more Kingfishers and Indian spirits. We all went to bed tired and happy. Harry was adamant we’d all hire scooters and had pre-arranged them for the next morning, in the way Harry has of unassumingly making the right decisions on your behalf even though you don’t know it yet. The rest of the lovelies would be here in a few short dark hours, and it was already shaping up to be a magical week.

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