FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS

Once again, how to explain this place... My house is set back a bit from the beach, with a small patch line of jungle separating the house from the beach. There is a thin path through the jungle behind the house to get to the beach. (Watch out for snakes). In the other direction, toward the main road (five minute walk) is more jungle, but also more houses. The paths here (and the few roads) are dirt, and create clouds of dust whenever someone passes. There are piles of rubbish on the sides of the paths, both on the beach side and the other side, where people dump their trash and then often burn it. So every day, there are pigs rooting through the piles of rubbish and chickens looking for bits of grain in the rubbish. 

There is always a great deal of activity here. From my terrace, where I've been writing, there is a patch of jungle in front of me. In the afternoon there are always rows of ladies  collecting water from my next-door-neighbor's tap and carrying it through the jungle to their homes. They usually carry a ten liter jug in each and and a huge clay pot full of water on their heads. Amazing. Lately, I've noticed the ladies, including my next-door-neighbor, scavenging in the dirt for something, which I now understand is a small fruit that falls off the trees there. Very high in vitamin C, I'm told. 

There are numerous enterprising young (and not-so-young) men here who go around on bicycles, selling various things. Bread, fish, samosas, rags, pots and pans, etc. Each one has a unique noise he makes to let the neighborhood know he is coming. A loud horn, a big bell, a cymbal, a louder horn, a bigger bell, a horn and a bell. Every evening I buy two little wheat rolls (called 'boy' in Hindi) from the bread walla. Our entire transaction takes place in Hindi, which amuses the bread walla. 

This morning, the poor fish walla's horn was broken, so he pulled up in front of my next-door-neighbor's house and was forced to yell, "Honk. Honk." It was very funny.

Maybe you had to be there. 

I was walking behind this guy this morning, and he wouldn't let me pass!!

The road looks empty in this pic despite the crazy traffic 

Had a lovely outing yesterday with my amies nouvelle, the energetic Francoise and her stylish friend, Anne-Marie, and their neighbor, Marinelle. (sp?) Francoise has a Jeep, so I proposed an outing, saying that I she drove, I would buy lunch. We went to Ashwem, just north of Morjim, and spent the day at a beach shack, called "La Plage", French for the beach, NOT the plague, as some have suggested. La Plage is a wonderful French cafe right on the beach. We drove off in the morning in Francoise's Jeep (more of a tiny pick-up truck with two small benches in the bed of the truck, where Marinelle and I sat. I held on for dear life, as the ride was quite bumpy, to say the least. It was really great to be riding out in the open, though, because the scenery was amazing, so the photo ops were numerous. It must have been a jour ferrier, a saint's day or something, because there was seemingly more activity on the road than usual. We passed a huge church, with a Mass going on, with hundreds of people in their best clothes spilling out into the street and two priests giving communion outside, because the inside of the church was so full. 

The ride took about an hour and a half through some beautiful scenery, heading north. Ashwem is on a pretty cove, right near where a river empties out into the sea and where tortoises nest. It was a much quieter beach than here in Candolim, with no jetskis or motor boats to contend with. I had a couple of great swims there. It is a much more shallow cove, so I had to swim further out, but without the threat of motor boats, this was fine. Lunch was delicious and the beach was beautiful. There were even homosexuals there, which I have not seen here in Candolim. Even some younger than sixty-five!  I took some great photos on the way back. The countryside there was amazing and there were loads of Hindu temples at every turn. I love the colors here. We saw so many beautiful, old Goan houses... Some falling down from neglect, but some well-tended and painted in colorful hues, such as pink or orange or bright yellow. 

Mass

The view as I walk home from the plage.