Our bathroom at Bhakti Kutir. the toilet is on the right (hole in ground) and the shower is on the left (red bucket)
Palolem Beach at dusk
The cow on our beach each morning
We were going to Aurangubad over Easter until we realized no one else, particularly the locals, considered it remotely sensible at this time of year, because Aurangubad averages daily temperatures of 45 degrees. Such temperatures do not lend themselves to exploring caves and forts. So the “Poor Man’s Taj” and the Ajanta Caves will have to wait.
During a game of cards a few weeks ago, Chris received a text message from our “Agent” advising that he and I had been short listed for a brochure shoot for Jet Airways. In hindsight, we are very glad our agent has ignored all our pleas for her to leave us alone because this little sms ultimately resulted in 6 airfares to Goa plus some nights of accommodation. Chris texted our interest and a week later we were disclosing our waist measurements over the phone to our ‘stylist’ in Mumbai.
The shoot required us to be at a studio in Worli in Mumbai at 4pm on a Tuesday. We toyed with the thought of taking the children but fortunately realized fairly quickly that would be a bit tricky (our kids standing around a set for 5 hours in between two 3.5 hour drives to and from Mumbai – can you imagine?) Fortunately Joyti was happy to start and finish work later, Sally drove her home and Cam took the kids to dinner –Thanks Guys!
Our agent arranged for a car to pick us up at midday from Le Meridian and the driver was there at noon exactly. He dropped us in Dada and said he’d hang around and drive us back. The photographer’s assistant had liaised with the driver and picked us up at Dada and drove us to the studio at Worli. This is worth mentioning because in all my time here, I have never been a party to anything going according to plan, there is no such thing as punctuality and reliability – except in the world of advertising it seems.
We arrived at the studio at 4pm and upon entering the main area we were introduced to the Advertising CEO for Jet Airways, a British guy called James. He and Chris both started and then declared simultaneously “I know you, don’t I?” Chris had taught James’ son at Wesley 8 years ago and James is in Mumbai consulting with Jet Airways for 12 months. Bizarre. Anyway, we were ushered to the make-up room before doing our ‘one shot’. I was treated to a full on makeover (including hair) and manicure before hopping into some sensible but stylish clothes. Chris was lightly made up and put in equally sensible but somewhat daggy clothes. Of course, Chris had to leave the room when I changed and vice versa because this is India and that we have been married 11 years counts for nothing when modesty is at stake. The fact the room still contained several women I’d never meet before gabbling in Hindi and pointing out all my bodily flaws was apparently not an invasion of my privacy.
So far, so good. Then James entered the room and mentioned in a defeated voice that they were adjusting the set which may take some time. We asked the assistant producer for a time estimate and he uncomfortably mumbled something about “20 minutes”. Bearing in mind that the ‘5 minute’ hand gesture utilized so commonly by the locals usually means nothing short of 30 minutes, we knew we were in for a wait. Still, it was only one shot, wasn’t it? “Err no,” the producer scuffed the floor, “There will be two shots of both of you and one of Celia’s feet in the foot rest”. James added in what was presumably an effort to console us, “You’ll be out in 2 hours, 3 at the most.”
After another ninety minutes, Chris and I found ourselves in a seated in a set comprised of 2 rows of plane seats and a plane window with a bulk head suspended above us. From a distance, it all looked a bit ad hoc, but on the photographer’s computer hooked to his camera, we really did look like we were on a plane. Amazing. Chris was in the window seat and aside from the fact his daggy shirt was a bit big and had to be pinned at the back, he was a model student, or a model student model, I suppose. He was handed a book by Vikram Seth and instructed to read it, then he was left alone. I was seated in the aisle seat and caused everyone from the stylist, to the make up artist, to the photographer, to the producer no end of trouble. The photographer advised me to look at the TV screen in front of me and smile. The producer interjected, “Isn’t she supposed to be watching a drama?” A brief discussion ensues and it is decided I am watching a “Surprising comedy”. A what? “Celia, pull your stomach in”, “Smile, but looked surprised. No, Yes, that’s it raise your eyebrows. Watch your stomach. No don’t look at it, pull it in” “Lean towards Chris, try to engage him in what you are watching, No, don’t look at him, look at the comedy and act surprised.” “No, don’t laugh, smile, raise your eyebrows, that’s it” Click. After each shot I was set upon by the stylist, “Pull in your stomach, it is showing on the screen,” the hair stylist, the make-up artist and the assistant producer, “Has anyone told you to pull in your stomach, Celia?” This fiasco continued for about 15 minutes with about as many shots taken, Chris leaned over helpfully at one stage and said, “Suck in your guts so we can get this over with and go home!” Thanks very much oh father of my four children and major contributor to my poochy tummy.
The next shot required me to pretend to be asleep (Chris was still reading his book – big challenge). Mercifully I was handed a blanket which covered my enormous stomach and I was hassled no more on that front. I was advised to assume a comfortable position in the seat, which I did. Apparently I looked uncomfortable so I was re-positioned into a very uncomfortable position that apparently looked comfortable. Go figure. “Close your eyes”. Click. Click. Click. “Great that’s done. Now Celia, we need one of your feet in the foot rest, but we need to adjust the set.” Another ninety minutes later, I was back in the seat having photos taken of my feet in a rest. A brief discussion among the crew concluded that the foot rest looked better without feet in it. “Thanks Celia, you can go”. Gee, I am glad I waited another ninety minutes to hear that.
Just after 9pm we were on the way home having secured our fares to Goa and a whole new empathy for models who are clearly very talented at multi-tasking and maintaining excellent stomach muscles.
As we had changed our Easter plans at the very last minute, our options for accommodation in Palolem, Goa were fairly limited. We settled on a simple resort in the coconut grove called, Bhakti Kutir. We had read favourable reviews about it on the net and aside from being very basic and full of hippies; it seemed to suit us - close to the beach, cheap and child friendly. I was a bit troubled by the ‘simple facilities’ and Chris was very troubled by the likely presence baby boomers on spiritual quests. “If some mung bean eating hippy dares to tell me how to parent my kids, I’ll shove a rod right up his chakra!” That’s the spirit, Chris. Peace, love and all things psychedelic. Although, I must concede tolerance among the ex pats is fairly non existent for western yoga zealots trekking through an incandescent India that only exists in their Bircher saturated minds. One otherwise demure western teacher from another school declared to me over a meal, “They (attendees at the 5 star Osho) prance about in purple dresses with bra straps and hairy legs on display. What do they know about the reality of living and working here?” Suggesting a spiritual quest through all the post card destinations of India is to ‘know India’ is like suggesting that a pony ride through the Snowy Mountains is to ‘know Australia’. On the other hand, spending a day in the Foreign Registration Office provides quite an insight into Indian machinations and the regard with which ‘foreigners’ are generally held by the locals. During Chris’ last visit there he had files thrown at him for enquiring as to the progress of our applications for visas.
Anyway, back to Bhakti Kutir. Chris’ concerns were not realized, but mine were in abundance. Put a shack in a city and it is called a ‘slum’, put it on a beach and it becomes a pricey ‘cottage’. No water, no plumbing, very dodgy electricity and no real walls to speak of. We are reasonably robust in most conditions but the heat and humidity of Southern Goa combined with the lack of creature comforts saw us departing Bhakti Kutir after two nights for more up market accommodation on neighbouring Patnem Beach, but not without some regrets because the staff, other guests and food at this resort has been delightful. However the risk of Seb drowning in our ‘shower’ (a big bin full of water) heightened as he became increasingly enamoured of it and I was very glad to confiscate this new toy by departing!
Patnem Beach presents a quieter alternative to the very popular Palolem Beach next door. The beach cottages are equipped with good western bathrooms and the restaurants and cafes are thoughtfully fitted out and serve fabulous food – the best we have eaten in India to date.
Our cottages were 2 of a group called “Goyam” situated right on the beach which meant the kids could run straight into the waves without lugging all manner of equipment onto the beach with them. The Arabian Sea was deliciously warm and the children would have played in the waves all day if it were not for their nagging mother who kept them out of the sun during the heat of the day. We literally did not move from the beach because everything we needed was at our door step. Even if we remained on the chairs on our porch, the waiters from the resort restaurant would meander over to see if we wanted anything to eat or drink.
Palolem and Patnem Beaches are both heavily populated with Brits and Europeans and we decided coming here for them must be as convenient and cheap as it is for Australians to visit Bali. Sprawled across both beaches were scores of white bodies in Speedos and bikinis rapidly turning pink as the sun raged happily overhead. I have not seen that many sun burnt bodies in one place in over two decades. Clearly melanoma does not rate highly on the list of health concerns for Europeans. The presence of so many westerners means that the beach restaurants cater to a variety of tastes and produce a more authentic version of international cuisine than elsewhere in India. We had Mexican, Italian, French, and Italian meals that were brimming with flavour and not an Indian spice in sight! The seafood in Goa is astoundingly delicious and could not be any fresher. Of course everything is cheap, cheap, cheap so even eating out 3 times a day as a family of 6 did not touch the sides of our wallets. It was very nice to chat with a variety of neighbours in English and feel confident in the fact they would not glare or leer at me because I was wearing a singlet top. I did not appreciate how relaxing it is not to be constantly stared out and talked about until I found myself in a situation where we did not stand out. Self consciousness is exhausting and we all enjoyed being one of the crowd.
The only real problem with Goa is the large population of stray dogs. They are generally quite sedate, because like everyone else in India they are too hot to be bothered exerting themselves in most situations, but occasionally they lash out if sufficiently provoked. Sebastian loves dogs. “Look, puppy!” he declares rapturously at the sight of any mangy mutt who crosses his path. In Pune he was happy to look and point but in Goa they were all within touching distance and it was not long before Seb summoned enough courage to reach out and feel these fascinating creatures. At first that was all he did and the dogs barely noticed. However, after a few days he was actively pursuing anything on four legs so he could either smack it in the mouth or pull its tail. Nothing more, nothing less – very scary for his parents. Consequently Chris and I spent a large part of Seb’s waking hours chasing him chasing dogs. Fortunately the dogs found all this activity too much to suffer and on most occasions would depart the scene when they heard Seb’s gleeful chuckles coming into range.
We had a lovely time at Patnem Beach and if you are ever in India, this is THE beach, I suspect. While we were only there for a week, we returned to the school relaxed and refreshed – which was a good thing as it turned out because we had much to deal with in the new term.
