Calangute then home

After a couple of nights alone and bored, Tom finally turned up with two collapsed veins, and a mild delly-belly hangover.  We decided to spend the rest of our time in Calangute, as he was not up for beach hopping so much and I could not be arsed.

The hospital Tom was staying in was terrible.  He was leaking blood on the floor and they did not santise it with a dustpan and brush… like usual.  Cleanliness seemed to be a foreign idea (haha), and the only reason he had soap is because I brought some.  They gave him a bar of soap on his last night there… I would quote the Tao of Animal Mother (full metal jacket), but can’t bring myself to say it.  They where giving him random injections in his broken tap, and where not explaining WTF is going on.  The needles where clean is my mantra ATM, or I would be really worried.  Tom says they dropped a needle on the floor and attempted to reuse it.  Seriously messed up.

We spent the last remaining days trying to eek some enjoyment out of our trip, but we mostly wanted to go home (mostly).  I felt bad for Tom, as I watched him watch me eat lot of cool food he could not stomach.  We just lounged around and tried to spend as much time as possible in the sun, which was extremely hard to do, as one or two hours was enough to nuke my brain.

We did an Indian cooking class at the Cyril Ayurvedic centre, which I can recommend for sure.  Apparently I turn into a child when I eat and all else in the world becomes null, and Tom analises his food, which is possibly a reason he gets sick.  I don’t quite follow that logic, but they thaught us to cook Dal Chiappatis and curry 🙂

There are quite a few good fixed price shops in Calangute, and although any hardened travelers mind will be currently screaming “lol, noob.  There is no such thing as fixed price, they just screw you with a bullrag in your mouth to keep you quiet!” I can assure you there are exceptions.  Tom insisted on checking out a random shop, and I stood outside as usual to avoid the stress, only to seek sanctuary inside after being harassed on the street as usual.  The prices where 1/8th of any thing we had seen, and I found a few things I bartered *extremely* hard for where a hell of allot cheaper.  All of the Anjuna market sellers procure items from these shops and resell them to naive tourists, which is a label I had to slap on my head after seeing the truth.   I recommend trying to find these shops, and I also recommend you do not bother with the Anjuna market, which just sells the same stuff.  One cheap pocket watch I acquired in Mumbai for 300 rupees was being sold by must Anjuna market stalls and the shops in Calangute for 6000 plus rupes.  Crazy stuff.

I am writing this blog post from home, so forgive em the non-sensical chnaged in theme.  I’m trying to remember as best I can.  I need a new laptop damn it.  On that note:  Tom wanted to post some of his gifts off before we heaed home and we waited patiently in a small queue to be served… you can geuss the rest if you have been to India! well not this time 🙂 a local was just about to use the dreaded hand of god to get to the front of the queue, so I used the hand of god on Tom and pushed him into the offending dude.  It was hilarious, and Tom was double queue jumped for his own benefit.  The dude walked away confused.  It was probably the first time a Gora had correctly used the Indian queuing system on him.

Since we arrived in India, we had been on a quest to find ‘Thums  Up’ [sic], but everywhere we went we where told ‘Thums up man no come no more’, but it appears it is because the people of Calangute have been hoarding all of the supplies.  I am writing this blog from home now and I am getting the ‘cold turkey’ shakes since it has been two days since my last hit.  If I was going to recommend Calanegute it would mainly be for the ‘Thums up’

Since we left Mumbai I was wanting to blog about Tom’s vodaphone problems, but I thought it better to wait until we where out of the country.  Since the terrorist attacks English inspired Indian bureaucracy appears to have increased, but with little thought to the potential misuses.  In order to get an Indian sim card, you must provided the vodaphone vendor with copies of your important documents and a passport photo; that all sounds perfectly reasonable right? well yes, but they have agents on every corner copying foreign passport details etc with out any kind of Policing.  Tom suspected something would happen, as we have been screwed one to many times not to see it coming.   He was having some trouble getting his phone to work, but was assured his documents needed to be submitted and that he would ‘do it tomorrow’, tomorrow never came of course and when we where in Anjuna vodaphone informed Tom he needed to submit the documents, that they required him to submit in order to get the sim in the first place (logic loop anyone?); Tom tried to explain he had submitted the documents, but they insisted he submit the documents or they would cut him off, because he materialised the sim out of the air, and submitting the documents comes after pulling a number out of the ether.  Eventually he gave up trying to explain this to them, and agreed to submit more documents in another town 50 km away, but insisted that they check up on their agents obviously fraudulent intentions… the customer service person did not understand the concept of fraud or even vicarious liability, he just wanted the documents.  Basically this bureaucracy is creating more opportunities for identity theft which is kind of retarded considering.  We could not phone Mumbai Police at that point, because we where miles away.  The bottom line is that you should only submit your docs at a main office, and ignore the small vodaphone sellers as they may or may not be ID fraud factories.  I am sure they are not all bad, but you can’t take the risk considering vodaphone has no interest in protecting your identity.

They turned off Tom’s number when he become ill, and we had to rely on the charity of others to organise hospitals etc as we had no phone to hand.  Maybe Tom would not have ended up in that hell hole if we had a phone.  Tom could not seek medical advice from the UK as he had no phone to use while stuck in a hospital bed.  They would not allow international phone calls in the hospital in the middle of the jungle.  Basically vodaphone fucked us.

Anyway, we are home now.  The journey was a killer, it took us from 8am on Friday until Saturday 7pm to get home.  We had to use an unusual route: Goa to Mumbai, Mumbai to Muskat Oman, then onto London.  We had to pay the airport in Mumbai in order to sit on a hard chair for nine hours… it was either that or sit on the curb outside.

Pictures are coming in a later blog.

 

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