Who Turned Off the Heat?

This isn’t how India was sold to me. We’re out the door a little earlier than usual because of our flight, but that doesn’t explain the ability to see my breath (granted, I could also see it in Delhi, but that was smog). There’s no thermometer handy, but it can’t be much warmer than the low 40s as we wander off to find breakfast. I’m the only one dressed in shorts, but on principle I refuse to cave and switch to pants.

The flight to Goa is about 4 hours altogether, including a stop in Ahmedabad. By the time we arrive in Goa (shortly after 1:00), it is like opening the door to the oven. While the weather in Rajasthan was always pleasant, we wanted to cook a little before returning to the dreary cold of Seattle, and it looks like we found the place to do it.

We get a slight scare at baggage claim, as the place is complete chaos, and one of our bags is nowhere to be found. Slowly people start to trickle away until we are pretty much the last ones left, dutifully watching the carousel. Just when I’m about to give up hope and try and find an agent, we finally see it come into view. Apparently once you find out a backpack s just full of dirty underwear, you just throw it back. And somewhere I suspect there’s a baggage handler vigorously washing his hands.

We’re staying the week at the Hyatt (who says Ang isn’t adventurous?), which sits on it’s own beach and feels like it spans a couple of time zones. It’s away from the tourist beaches which is a blessing and a curse. I’ll admit to being spoiled by my travel buddy’s accommodation requirements, but I still like to wander down the beach and find a local hut serving food and drinks. No risk of that happening here.

By the time we get all checked in, I can already feel myself slipping into a much lower gear. Given our remote location, it’s quite possible we’ll never leave the hotel, and as sporadic as the blogging has been to this point, odds are good that it will get even worse…