The Story of Lord Nrishimadevi, (for those who want to know the story I told Angharad!)

The Story of Lord Nrishimadevi,

(written using a mixture of the three versions I found on-line plus what I know myself)

The Daityas, though born of the same parentage as the Devas or gods, were always at war with the latter. Sometimes a strong leader would rise up among them and drive all the Devas from the heavens to seized the throne of the gods allowing them to rule for a time. Then the Devas would pray to Vishnu, the Omnipresent Lord of the universe, and He would help them out of their difficulty by driving out the Daityas and allowing the gods to reigned once more.

Hiranyakashipu (Hir-ran-ya-kash-i-pu) was a Daitya who performed great austerities. Eventually Brahma offered him a boon to which Hiranyakashipu proclaimed he wanted to be made immortal. Brahma professed that this was not possible as even he would die one day. Hiranyakashipu then requested not be killed by any weapon, nor by man or beast, not during the day or at night, not on the ground or in the air, not inside nor outside. Brahma agreed to this and satisfied that he was now immortal Hiranyakashipu went to war and became king of the Daityas. He succeeded in conquering his cousins, the Devas and seated himself on the throne of the heavens. From there he ruled the three worlds — the middle world, inhabited by men and animals; the heavens, inhabited by gods and godlike beings; and the nether world, inhabited by the Daityas.

Hiranyakashipu then declared himself to be the God of the whole universe and proclaimed that there was no other God but himself. He also declared that the Omnipotent Vishnu should have no worship offered to Him anywhere; and that all the worship should henceforth be given to himself only.

Now Hiranyakashipu had a beautiful wife called Kayadu, who gave birth to a heavenly son called Prahlâda. The king had great hopes for his son but even in his infancy Prahlada was devoted to Vishnu. The king of the Daityas, was furious and handed over his son to two teachers called Shanda and Amarka, who were very stern disciplinarians. They were given strict instructions that Prahlada was never to hear even the name of Vishnu mentioned. The teachers took the prince to their home, and there he was put to study with the other children of his age. But the little Prahlada, instead of learning from his books, devoted all the time in teaching the other boys how to worship Vishnu.



When the teachers found it out, they were frightened, for they feared the mighty king Hiranyakashipu would punish them. They tried their best to dissuade the child from such teachings, but Prahlada could no more stop his teaching and worshipping of Vishnu than he could stop breathing. The teachers had no choice but to tell the king that his son was not only worshipping Vishnu, but also spoiling all the other children by teaching them to worship Vishnu.

Hiranyakashipu was furious when he heard this and called the boy to his presence. He tried by gentle persuasions to dissuade Prahlada from the worship of Vishnu and taught him that he, the king, was the only God to worship. But it was to no use. Prahlada declared, again and again, that the Omnipresent Vishnu, Lord of the universe, was the only Being to be worshipped.



When Prahlada added that even the king held his throne only so long as it pleased Vishnu the rage of the king knew no bounds.

He ordered the boy to be killed immediately. So the Daityas struck him with pointed weapons but Prahlad's mind was so intent upon Vishnu that he felt no pain from them.

When Hiranyakashipu saw this, he became frightened but, driven by the worst passions of a Daitya, he contrived another diabolical way to kill the boy. He ordered him to be trampled under foot by an elephant, but the enraged elephant could not crush the boy any more than he could have crushed a block of iron.

Then the king ordered the boy to be thrown over a precipice but Vishnu resided in the heart of Prahlada and he came down upon the earth as gently as a flower drops upon the grass. Poison, starvation, throwing into a well, enchantments, and other measures were then tried on the child one after another, but to no purpose. Nothing could hurt him in whose heart dwelt Vishnu.

The king had a sister called Holika who had been blessed with the power to withstand fire. Hiranyakashipu declared that his sister should hold Pahlada on her lap as she sat in a huge pyre so that the boy would be burnt to death. Again Prahlada prayed to Vishnu to keep him safe and Holika was burnt to ashes while Prahlada remained unscathed.


(this event is now celebrated by the burning of bonfires during Holi)



When the king Hiranyakashipu found, to his horror, that all mortal means of getting rid of the boy who was perfectly devoted to his enemy, the God Vishnu, were powerless, he was at a loss to know what to do. The king had the boy again brought before him, and tried to persuade him once more to listen to his advice, through gentle means. 
 

But Prahlada made the same reply insisting that Vishnu was the Lord of the universe, the Beginningless, the Endless, the Omnipotent and the Omnipresent, and as such, he alone was to be worshipped. 

 

The king roared with anger and said: "Evil one, if your Vishnu is God omnipresent, why does he not reside in this pillar here?" Prahlada humbly submitted that Vishnu resided everywhere and was indeed in the pillar. "If that is so," cried the king, "let him defend you for now I shall kill you myself with this sword." The king rushed at Prahlada with his sword raised and dealt a terrible blow at the pillar. 

 

Instantly a thundering voice was heard, the pillar split apart to reveal Vishnu in His awful Nrisimha form — half-lion, half-man!

“He was splendid like thousands of rising suns, his eyes filled with anger, his roar like the ocean's roaring at the time of the world's end. His face blazed like the fires at the end of a kalpa.

As he roared, his sharp teeth glistened like stars in the sky at sunset. His roar sounded like a thousand thunderbolts from slow moving clouds and his loud shrill laughter shook the universe.

The Lord was extremely fearsome because of his restless eyes, which were like two blazing fires. His mane expanded the dimensions of his fearful face and His razor sharp tongue moved about like a dueling sword. His ears were erect and his nostrils and gaping mouth appeared like the caves of a mountain. His jaws parted fearfully and his body touched the sky.

His broad and frightening arms, hands, and fingers moved like the sun and the wind as his footsteps made the earth tremble. His splendour filled all directions with effulgent light so much that the demon Hiranyakasipu became invisible in the glaring light, just as a small insect disappears into a fire.”

Panic-stricken, the Daityas ran away in all directions; but Hiranyakashipu rushed toward the Lord with his sword, such was his arrogance that he thought he could kill God. 

 

Lord Nrsimha fought with Hiranyakashipu for awhile and finally at the right time, when the sun was setting in the horizon, Nrsimha put the demon on his lap at the doorway of the palace, and ripped him apart with his nails. In this way, Lord Brahma's promise was kept intact, for the demon was killed not by a weapon, but with nails, not by man nor beast, but a half-man-half-beast, not during the day nor at night, but at dusk, not on the ground or in the air, but on his lap, not inside nor outside, but in the doorway. 

 
Then the gods descended from heaven and offered hymns to Vishnu, and Prahlada also fell at His feet and sang exquisite hymns of praise and devotion.

The Voice of God spoke, saying, "Ask, Prahlada, ask for anything you desire, you are My most devoted child; therefore ask for anything you may wish."  Prahlada, choked with feelings replied, "Lord, I have seen Thee. What else can I want? Do not tempt me with earthly or heavenly boons."

Again the Voice said: "Yet ask something, my son."

And then Prahlada replied, "That intense love, O Lord, which the ignorant bear to worldly things, may I have the same love for Thee; may I have the same intensity of love for Thee, but only for love's sake!"

Having blessed Prahlada, the Lord Vishnu disappeared.

Then the gods headed by Brahma installed Prahlada on the throne of the Daityas and returned to their respective spheres.

Falls and Spices, Following The Tourist Trail in Goa

Blog Part 5

Falls and Spices

Having made all the necessary arrangements, agreed a price plus the various destinations, we woke early the day after our trek to the Fort, to join Rajesh in his super little Taxi for an entire day of trips and tourist style money spending.

We settled into the 2 hour journey to the falls, (the furthest point of our travels) stopping once or twice to pick up cooling water, fresh rolls from a passing, horn tooting, cycling bread boy,and also some fuel for the Taxi.

Near the Western border of Goa with Karnataka we turned right, travelled another 2 or 3 k South and eventually entered a small village full of what looked like total chaos but is in fact totally under the careful orchestration of the Head Jeep man. Taxis crept forward, cars reversed tooting their horns, cows ambled through the throng, oblivious to the noise, while every person stepping out of a vehicle and onto the street was immediately surrounded by half a dozen street sellers trying to ply their wares.

Above this cacophony of sound and movement comes the unmistakable voice of the conductor as he plays out the symphony of the day.. “You, How many people?”, “You, 700 Rupees, pay your driver entrance at the gate!”, “You three, 1800Rupees, stand over there!”, “You six, go with him!” “You there, you join these people and go with this man!”. All is arranged, the crowd gets smaller, more taxi's arrive to disgorge their occupants into the medley. The music flows and ebbs as the tourists are directed to their designated Jeeps. The street sellers lose interest in the departing backs and turn their attention to the new arrivals as life goes on.

We joined the music, paid our money, followed our directions and were swept away into a Jeep by a smiling boy. The tarmacked road ends here and it is a 9k bouncing, river fording, bone shaking, off-roading Jeep trip, through the National Park, to the base of the falls.

The views are breathtaking, (if one could stay in one place long enough to either photograph or fully appreciate them) the greenery even at this time of year is splendid. Tall brown clay termite mounds reach up into the air, funnel spiders spin their delicate filigree nets along the floor and over the entrances of their underground lairs. Up and down the rutted track we thundered, Jeep overtaking Jeep on the narrow path. Even here the urge to overtake everything and one, is still the dominant emotion to be found within the ranks of the people holding steering wheels.

Buttock bruised, and shaken to the extreme (but not stirred) we gratefully reached the place where even these solid sturdy Jeeps have to stop. Here our driver became our guide taking my camera in his capacity as official photographer of the day.

He led us across bridges, (with a stop for a photo)

up ridges (more stops for the photos)

past large rocks (you guessed it, photo shoot time)

0ver smooth plateaus and beneath mountainous trees.

Monkeys lined the path waiting for their obligatory bananas, posing, (as did we) for their photo at each recognised stop, performing (as did we) for the photographer and my camera.

The Falls themselves however are more than worth the tourist trail up even at this dry time of year. Cascading down the mountain and under the three arched rail bridge, it falls at last into the sweetest plunge pool.

On my various other visits to the Falls,  the water has been spring mountain cold causing what I term Ice-cream Head as you emerge from your dive into the deceptively cool water.

Today it was fresh and reviving, positively warm once one was immersed. (Maybe there is something to be said for braving the 36+ degree summer after all.

We swam to the edge of the falls, swimming hard against the current caused by the falling water.

We swam through the actual falling water, Peter remarking on how hard it hit his head and all dreams of making love under a waterfall were crushed from his mind!

We swam, we dried, we ate our picnic, the monkeys, now aware of our lack of bananas, moving on to the next arrivals (much like the street sellers far below).

Refreshed, photographed to death yet very happy, we descended over the rocks, bridges and rock plains to the awaiting bone shaker and hurtled our way back to our waiting Taxi.

Next came the Spice Plantation.

When I had visited in 1998, the entrance fee was nominal, the tour extensive, food and drinks were available in the small café at the end of your tour and fresh coconuts were chopped before your very eyes to be served with a straw, should you require them.

Food is now included in the price, a compulsory meal of rice, meat or non meat stew, bread, lime chutney, curried cabbage and a popadom is served alternatively in one of two covered seating areas in 20 minute intervals from 11am onwards. Drinks are still extra but you do get a glass of Cardamom, Ginger and Lemon-grass tea as you sit down.

You also get a small garland and a dot of red powder upon your forehead as you enter through the gates clutching your receipts and wondering what happened to your non existent change. Every 20 minutes or so, coinciding with the meal, three sari clad ladies (the ones who dotted and garlanded you upon arrival) dance around the Tulsi Bush in the courtyard outside the covered seating areas, singing their 'Traditional Song' while you eat.

The tour is now compact, although very informative and well presented, it is over in 15 minutes and you return just in time to see the Sari Ladies repeat their dance as the next Spice Plantation tourists eat!

They do have one added bonus to my previous visit, the Elephant Wash! You can sit upon an elephant as she treads a well worn path around a small circuit for 600Rps (£8) or you can sit on her back and walk 10m to a large tank where upon our beloved pachyderm sucks up a healthy supply of water in her glorious trunk and then throws it all over her back and any-one who happens to be sitting there.

The children were delighted and by having two children (having paid two fees of 600Rps) sitting on her back at the same time, they had twice as long.

Water was sloshed, trumpeted, thrown, blown and generally sent in all directions as two openly laughing children became drenched and cooled in the mid day sun.

The children were returned to us wet and happy, the elephant was fed tomatoes (for a price),

clothing was recovered and we left (as the Tulsi ladies once more performed their Traditional dance in front of the eating tourists) to find our Taxi.

We dried, we changed, we combed our hair and made ourselves presentable.



Next stop The Temples.

Two delightful Temples lie just outside Ponda half way back from the Falls. One is dedicated to Ganesh, the other to Shiva.

The Ganesh temple is a small highly decorated cool and relaxing place. It lies opposite an imposing, well painted grand double stairway that zig-zags upon itself to lead you to a large statue of a great Sikh General. Although stunning to view we turned and walked directly to the small temple. We paid our obeisances to the forms enshrined in the inner sanctum, circumnavigated the central shrine three times, received our blessed water and looked around. The Ten incarnations of Vishnu adorned the walls so I told the story of Lord Nrsimhadevi much to the horror and fascination of Angharad.

Outside and in need of more cooling water, I discovered the sweet milk balls so loved by my children and I, in a jar upon the small shops' front counter. Angharad, Peter and then Cian were introduced to this fudge like delicacy but only Angharad appreciated this wonder of India as the boys declared them too sweet to pallet!!

Shiva's temple, by comparison is a huge affair. The road was closed due to a Festival the next day and we walked the 300m path through a growing collection of stalls to the main entrance. I bought flowers to offer for 10Rps, removed my shoes, washed my feet and entered the main courtyard.

People flowed around the area, a large chariot lay to one side ready for its decorative flowers that would transport the Deity in his journey around the village. Brahmans chanted, took offerings, blessed items and people alike, poured water into hands and generally helped where they could. One took us to the side wall and explained the origins of the temple and deity.

He led us outside to the spare chariots hidden away in an arch way, these we could photograph he said but no photos outside this room he warned. He looked at Peter and asked his profession. “Taxi Driver” answered Peter. Our Brahman proceeded to tell us how the next year would proceed, “With certain people I can see things, “ he said, looking at the children. He told us where their futures lay, told me things I hope to be true. He asked for a donation and left us.

We stood a little overwhelmed for a moment or two, took a few photos and returned to the main temple. We gave thanks for the blessings and experience, collected our shoes and went to leave.

Just at the top of the stairs leading down to the stalls below, stood a man with what looked to be bags of brown sweets. I approached to discover an entire stall of my delicious, tongue delighting, soul lifting, heart stimulating, mouth watering fudge sweets!!! I bought two bags at 90Rps each and again thanking Shiva for my treats hurried after the departing children and Peter.

Next stop Dona Paula on the coast.

In 2004, Lisa, Kris and I had planned to bring Mark to India. We had decided that Goa would be a nice gentle introduction for him but discovered flights to be astronomical (£560). The plan was put on hold.

(Photo from India 2004)

Then, last minute, I had discovered a package deal too good to be true. Two weeks for £499, including flights, bed as well as breakfast at a little Hotel in a place I had not heard of, Dona Paula.

Our adventure had been perfect. We had spent two nights at the hotel before disappearing North for 4 days, then returned and went South for another few days before enjoying a boat trip and some wonderful indulgences in comparative luxury until our flight home.

I was curious to see if it had changed as much as the rest of Goa and I also wanted to see if my little hotel was still there.

Being a Saturday the place was brimming with visitors, mainly Indian. We strode up to the look out point, gazed back at the coast line and leaving Peter and the children to refresh themselves with fresh made lemon sodas I went in search of my hotel.

It was indeed still where I remembered, still in the same name and still with the beautiful grounds that led down to the private beach. The only thing that had changed was the price. Although I never paid a daily rate, as I mentioned before, the entire holiday including flights and transfers had cost us £499 a person. For the exact same room (including breakfast) they now charged 3200Rps a night!! Plus 15% Tax extra!!!!! Slowly I worked out that 14 nights in the same two rooms would now cost me 103,040 or £1288 and flights would be on top!! I smiled politely, took their brochure and left. Next stop Shopping.

During one of my trips down into the South of India, I picked up a wonderful square double bed mosquito net. Angharad and I had slept soundly under it in Arambol, Peter and I had used it on the balcony at Aswern. There were no nets at Francis's place mainly because we had glass windows to close preventing all bar the odd one from entering.

There is a wonderful saying – if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito in the room! The children we had covered with the one net we had, Peter and I had received a restless nights sleep and more than our fare share of bites after leaving the door open a touch too long the night before. A second net was now an essential necessity.

Rajesh took us first to the obligatory antique shop where if one shows adequate interest he receives a small fee, even if you don't buy something, more if you do. 20 minutes asking questions and exploring the fine arts is usually enough to get your driver his fee and everyone is happy (except the shop keeper who with his inflated prices does not deserve your custom)

Having satisfied our driver he then took us to where we really wanted to go – the local market. Hidden behind a front of shops unseen by the tourist eye, lies a maze of stalls and networks to rival any Souk in Morocco. Nighties for 170Rps (£2.10) Mossy nets for 400Rps, shoes, dresses, baubles, scarves, pots, pans, spices, bags, anything and everything can be found somewhere within the maze. We picked up what we needed including a few samosas for good measure and while Peter and the children enjoyed some cooling drinks I reserved us rooms in a great hotel right next door to this shoppers heaven in anticipation for our shopping frenzy just before we leave.

We had marched, we had looked, we had swum, smelt, laughed, prayed, been blessed, seen sights and shopped ourselves out. It was time to return to our rooms, to shower and rest, to hang up our new net and for some of us to try on our new clothes!

We spent the evening safe under our nets reading and talking about the days events.

In the morning journals would be filled with the wonders and details of the day. Our day of excursions would be followed by a day of rest. The children would sit upon our balcony, I would take a final stroll around the side streets and alleys.

We would walk the beach, dine with the sand beneath our toes and make plans to move on.

Candolim, is Candolim, and no matter how beautiful the long sweeping beach is, no matter how many wall to wall cheap cafés there are to while away the day, no matter how great the restaurants, with aromas to set your mouth watering from afar, or the multitude of side roads full of shops brimming with colour and trinkets, all full of tourists happy and smiling, Candolim is still Candolim and it is not the India I came in search of.

We have decided to go South, out of Goa and into Karnataka.

Soon The Adventure will continue but tonight …... we sleep, safe from the bugs and tell tale whines of tiny things that bite in the night. .

Morjim to Candolim

BLOG PART 4

Morjim to Candolim

Early rises are not, I have decided, the best time for the male James. To be fair, Peter was still red around the legs, Cian had tiny blisters on his shoulders and even Angharad was looking a wee bit jaded as we shouldered the bags and left the sweltering heat of the cottage. Luckily we didn't have to walk too far as Goan bus's are very good at stopping for anyone who even looks in their direction, let alone waves frantically from the middle of the road. Peter was quickly pulled out of the way as the bus ground to a halt beside us. Bags were handed up, seats at the back were found and grateful to be on our way without the weight of the bags upon our sun scalded shoulders we settle down to enjoy the view.

Photos taken from an Indian bus, as I am sure I have mentioned before, are not an option. Our bus like so many of the ones I have travelled in during my various visits, was no exception to the general rules pertaining to Indian roads. I am sure specialistic training is given to all large vehicle drivers in India, as to do what they do naturally, is surely am impossibility.

Our bus hurtled down the narrow roads, slowing only fractionally for speed bumps and dogs. It swerve last minute to avoid moving and stationary cows and overtook anything and everything it could whether it could get past or not!! Most waving people were picked up without the bus actually coming to a full stop, whistles and hand signals becoming a language in its own right. Peoples bags were handed down until a space could be found on the over head rail, bodies squeezed in, wiggled over, smiled politely and handed over money to the co-ordinating, whistle blowing conductor. All was done in good nature, no one complained as the bus lurched first one way and then the other. Corners took on a new meaning as 'all left' or 'all right' saw every one of the standing, sitting or leaning people move with a synchronisation that was more inflicted upon them by something similar to Mach Force, than by any co-ordinated practice!

Slightly battered we arrived in the chaotic sprawl of Mapusa Bus Terminal. Buses reversed, pulled forward, and reversed again to the accompaniment of the now familiar whistles and hand waving. Engines revved loudly, dust rising in hot swirling clouds as exhausts belched blackening fumes over all and sundry. Voices shouted destinations, food sellers called out their delicacies, piles of pots, parcels and packages were carried on heads as people merged with the traffic and then flowed out onto the streets of Mapusa.

Our driver kindly waved us in the direction of our next bus as we too entered the bustle and noise of the station. Samosas were found and consumed, ginger cookies, thick, crumbling yet moist and delicious were added to our supplies. A bus reversed into the gap we were standing in forcing us to one side. A head emerged from the rear calling out what I thought was our desired destination. Having been caught out in the past with pronunciations of similar sounding towns and villages, I confirmed that this bus was indeed going to Candolim before ushering everyone aboard.

Way back in 1998, I had ventured with my children for the first time to India. A last minute package holiday in Candolim had seen us all frolicking in warm sea's, eating Christmas dinner on a clean sandy beach and enjoying the hospitality of a small, friendly hotel.

The streets are now jammed with restaurants and tourist targeted shops. White faces outnumber the Indian ones, Russian, German and English abounds in the cafes and bars.

The beach has been filled from one end to the other with private resort entrances, beach restaurants and fee charging sun beds. Parachutes, attached to powerful speed boats fly tourists in tandem along the shores, banana boats, ringos and the other favourite water sports are filled with shrieking people and everywhere music fills the air. The power cuts so common in this area, bring a peaceful rest-bite for a moment or two before generators are pulled into life and it all continues again.

Saying that small pockets of comparative quiet can still be found. We called at Lucia's at the far end of the main drag, the No 1 Bed and Breakfast according to Trip Advisor and asked about rooms. They were fully booked for the rest of the year (recommendations on Trip Advisor has serious advantages to those who give a good service)! Undaunted we asked for somewhere near that they could recommend. Their wonderful reputation as delightful hosts in Trip Advisor is well deserved as they not only recommended, but also phoned to confirm availability, arranged collection by the proprietor and advised us of all sorts of things while we waited. Dudsagar Falls and the Spice Plantation were mentioned and before we knew it another phone call had us a price for a whole day of activities with a driver! We thanked them profusely for their assistance as one by one we were ferried on the back of Francis's moped to our new home.

Francis, a devout Christian, lost his wife last year leaving him to run the family guest rooms with the aid of his two sons. He is possibly the most sincere, attentive and polite person I have ever met and his need to please knows no bounds. He practised our names one by one until he had memorised their exact pronunciations. He called a dozen times after we had said yes to the rooms bringing added items he felt would be useful.

The rooms are clean, functionally furnished and huge. 

A fridge stands in a kitchenette area allowing for cheese, chocolate sauce, fresh fruit and chilled water to become daily luxuries.

We have two bathrooms, one with electricity supplied constant hot water, the other fed by the huge black plastic water butt that sits upon the roof and reaches temperatures of excess during the afternoon.

A long narrow balcony runs outside in the shadow of the building allowing cooling air to swirl and freshen the children as they study, the sun only just reaching it in the late afternoon. All in all the most perfect of places to rest up after our two weeks of beach based activities.

Within a day the essential shops had been noted, fruit, veg, ATM.

Fresh bread rolls arrive at 7am each day in a huge covered basket of such a friendly bread man. He stops just outside our door, hooting his hand held bicycle horn and charges me the same as the locals! It is a well known and accepted fact that tourists are usually charged at least 1/3 more (usually a lot more) for local products.

A tiny store 100m away supplies us with water at the recommended marked price and right at the end of the narrow lane that runs outside our door, lies the most amazing curry house that serves ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce, much to the children's and my delight!

Having settled into our new quarters and enjoyed a well deserved day of rest, it was unanimously decided by me that we should ALL partake in the 3k uphill hike up to the red bricked Aquada Fort. We had been advised to wait until late in the afternoon before beginning the climb as the heat at this time of the year is incredible. We have just entered the first week of the Indian summer and temperatures are reaching in excess of 36 each day and drop to a bare 30 by night.

There is also a fine line to found between the cool of the afternoon and the point where darkness instantly descends! At 4pm we began our journey full of enthusiasm. By 4.20 we had reached the base of the imposing hill that stretched away into the distance in what looked like a 3 in 1 gradient! The climb began. Half a kilometre later people were in desperate need of encouragement. Why were we going? When would we get there? Why was it so hot, uphill, dusty? Why couldn't we catch the bus!!! I loosened two of the straps on my bag and encouraged Ahgharad to use me as her horse, Peter and Cian I left to their misery as the climb continued upwards.

The road levelled off to everyone's relief but the Fort was still some way away causing a fresh round of sighs and huffs. When the road began to climb once more even I was wondering how much longer the family could survive. The Fort came into view and the last reserve the children had was sapped away with the realisation that the whole place was closing!!!

Without daring to break the step, I marched everyone straight past the gates and onto the lighthouse beyond. With relief I paid the 100Rps for our entry and encouraged the children inside the cool construction. 88 steps up, including the ladder to the roof rewarded us with breathtaking views not only over the area but also deep into the Fort next door. Walkways were spied, towers were explored by eye, as the last of the Forts visitors filed out of the gate.

Cooling wind blew new life into the melted souls that had climbed the Hill to this amazing view point. The rough location of our place of residence was guessed to amongst the palms that stretched away along the coast. From here the hotels and shops disappeared beneath the lush vegetation that covers this wonderful country. From a distance, (as the song says) the world looked green and blue, rubbish, blackened building, belching fumes all disappeared and for a few moments India lay before us in her beauty.

The climb down from heaven to earth, the return of the noise and smells of the main street plus the evening of failing to get the WiFi of a very expensive café to talk to our laptops, brought us back to the reality of the Goa we had come to explore. A country of diversity and hidden illusions.

There are No Photos of the Fort nor the lighthouse and views I am afraid, as both Peter and I forgot to take our cameras, Peter thinking that I would take mine and me thinking he had his!!!!

You will just have to make the climb yourself one day!!!

(A random photo of Calolim to make up for the lack of the Fort ones xxxx)

Aswem to Morjim

Part 3 Aswem to Morjim

Our transfer to Morjim was a painless affair. Having walked the beach during our stay in Aswen after an early morning yoga session, we had discovered that just around the next point (a half hour walk) lay the beginnings of Morjim. We had explored the first 400m of shops and beach shacks and reserved a wooden cottage 100m from the beach.

We settled in quickly, spreading ourselves as we had in our sprawling roof top terrace. 20 minutes later came the realisation that 4 people within a 16 foot square needed an organised system to survive! Clothing spaces were allocated, shoes were put outside, school books were put separate and food was stored on a shelf of its own.

Confident of our planning we retired to the covered well for the days schooling.

Upon our trturn to our wonderful compact room we made the discovery that wooden huts absorb heat! BIG TIME!!!!

With every the windows open, the door wedged to one side and the fan of full, the heat inside was incredible. Even so Angharad and Cian needed sleep and some very sweaty children rose 2 hours later to begin our exploration of the area.

Our first mission was to obtain photos for our new land lord. India is quite strict on the policing of tourist movement. Each place of stay must present a photo-copy of your passport and visa to the police station upon your arrival. In Arambol I had handed over the passports and had them returned to me 4 hours later, in Aswen no one had asked for anything and I had not offered. Here our land lord wanted not only the passports but individual photos too. As we didn't have any he offered to take them for 50Rps EACH!

I asked if there was a place in town that took photos and when the children awoke we headed off to find the photographer. In the back of a tiny dark store room filled with sacks, boxes and bottles, we took turns to sit on the tiny bench behind which was propped a photographers white sheet. “Photos ready this afternoon” I was informed, “about 5.”

I asked for 6 copies of each photo to last us on our journey, total price 80 rupees a person. Less than 14 rupees each photo.

We continued our walk turning left at the T junction and found the first of what was to become an afternoon of temples. The who, what, why's abounded as I pointed out Shiva, Ghanesh, Krsna and others. The calmness as well as the coolness of the temple helped to restore the children after their long walk in the hot sun to the small village.

Refreshed we returned to the junction that led back to the photographer and noted the chai shop. The sun was still hot so leaving Peter and the children to discover the delights of chai, I headed back alone to collect the photos along the dusty path.

As I walked two scooters pulled to the side of the road just in front of me, English voices started chatting and taking photos of something in the field to the left. As I reached the bikes I too saw the old man with his two powerful white bullocks ploughing the field with a hand held plough in the heat of the afternoon. Seeing such an abundant audience to his labours he stopped and asked for a drink, “Limka”, he asked, the two couples looked blank then started to walk away. “Limka” he called again, raising his hand to his lips in the imitation of drinking.

“ I'll get one” I said to the confused tourists and popped into a small side shack to buy the small bottle of lemon he was asking for. His face burst into a huge beam as I passed it down to him, “Oh!” exclaimed the tourists “We thought he was asking for feni or something”, the next ten minutes were taken up chatting and smiling. The tourists from Yorkshire posed for their photo with the plough, we talked about the changes to Goa over the past 20 years and the joys of Kerela.

Holiday Showdown was mentioned and I confessed to being the one in the program they were referring to. Was I still in touch with the other family, they asked, I assured them we were and that although reality TV was any thing but real, it had all been a great experience. We said our goodbyes, the old man received another bottle of Limka and I continued on my way to get the photos - which were not ready!! “One more half hour please!”

Back at the chai shop, Peter and the children were drinking chai as if it was the best thing known to man ( which in some situations may just be the case). Angharad has also discovered the joys of puff tubes!!

The sun was now dipping behind the trees making long shadows on the road that led to the beach. Rather than walk back the way we had come we decided to head for the sun set and to hopefully find our way along the beach back to our cottages.

What we did find was a scattering of small shrines and then another large temple. Leaving our shoes at the entrance, we entered the coolness of the inner sanctum. A Brahman waved us closer and helped me explain the two Deities decorated with flowers in front of us. He offered us blessed water to drink and smear over our heads, he offered us Maha Prasad, sugar that had been offered that day to the gods. He indicated that we should circumnavigate the deities three times, and left us. We walked, we knelt, we thanked the universe for our blessings and we too left. The children's first of what will probably be many blessings completed.

Outside to the right, stood a huge banyan tree, its roots forming cave like spaces and narrow passageways. We stopped briefly to explore, the crisp leaves under foot crunching and collapsing under our weight. Too late I though of snakes sleeping in the warm leaves and guided Angharad back out the way we had come in.

Just before the beach, and just after the huge bush of cacti that Angarad found totally fascinating having seen cacti only in little pots until now, we found tree houses!!

Not the rickety one room affairs of Aswem of old, but solid wooden walled, glass windowed and flush loo-ed ones, with real stair cases, curtains and prices to go with them. We looked inside, debated the price with the host and moved quickly onto the beach! Tree house residences were definitely not a budget option here. 

Somewhere the gods must have been looking after us, for once out on the beach, we found ourselves 200m away from the path that led to our cottages! The children and Peter were sent for cooling showers while I marched off to collect the now ready photos.

Supper was had at one of the shacks on the beach, the sand flies making good work of Peters feet. It was decided that the next day should be a rest day, no school, no walking, no shopping just total relaxation and beach fun!!

Wednesday 6^th March

A  Day of rest

The sun was hot, the breeze was cooling, the waves refreshing and although we watched the children like hawks to ensure they did not burn, both Peter and I failed to watch ourselves!!


To be fair I spent a good half hour sitting out in the full glare of the mid day sun, chatting to an amazing guy from Jersey who is a World Champion Sand Castle Builder!

He stays in Morjim for 6 months a year, travelling the world the rest of the time, giving demonstrations and building creations up to 20foot high. I sat and watched with fascination as he carved turrets and balustrades, blowing away the grains not needed from the finely carved details with a straw.

By the time I returned to the shade my shoulders were hot, my feet were tingling and my side was puce!!

Peters foray into the burning sun consisted in him popping down the beach to fetch a map of Goa, which turned out to be a half an hour further away than expected.

That evening we stood under burning hot showers to remove the sting and gazed dismally at the reddened skin. Tomorrow we would be shouldering our back packs once again and heading off to Candolim via Mapusa.

We retired to bed hot, tired and smothered with after sun!