We rush to get on the plane to Goa, which makes a stop in Delhi first. For FOUR HOURS. We camp out in one of the bars and have our first taste of alcohol in 3 days. Then our flight is delayed another 2 hours. We finally arrive in the Goa airport, and this is the first photo I take:
The first thing we notice when we step outside is that it’s WARM. After what seems like days of carrying a chill in my bones, I strip off my fleece and welcome the sticky, humid air to thaw me out. We grab a couple of drivers and off we go to our hotel.
We’re all pretty excited, so we get showered and head out to one of the hottest clubs in Goa, and don’t come home until the sun is up.
Just kidding. We showered, ordered room service, and went to bed. Best. Night. Ever.
The next day was spent drinking Kingfisher on the beach, while Greg entertained us with a guitarty. That’s all we did. And it was perfect.
Just to be clear, we went from this:
Oh Goa! You sure know how to soothe our Cinderblock scars!
So the hotel was in South Goa, which is very sleepy and where 50 year old angry German couples go to get away from people like us. Now, “people like us” would have been much better off in North Goa, which is the party mecca, and what I pictured when I imagined what Goa would be like. It was also 2 hours away by car. We worked with what we had. And drank a lot. If you don’t know, Americans are quite loud. When you have 8 of us, and strong Kingfisher, and a guitar…well eventually everyone around us left after it was clear we weren’t concerned about their angry looks thrown in our direction.