I think I left off with the little girl and her rice and similac. That was only two days ago and already I'm kind of blurry on it. I think there are too many new sights and sounds around me to keep it all in my head.

I believe I went back to my room to wait for Vikram. I remember watching some news and that Vikram was late. He showed up around 6 PM all shined up from the humidity and the exertion from walking. I gave him the chocolates I'd bought for him in Frankfurt. He thanked me nicely. Being famished from shopping, I dragged poor Vikram down the stairs to the reception to ask where we'd find a good Indian restaurant. They said the Gaylord. Vikram and I exchanged a smile. I'm sure they were on to us because we'd caught the room boy outside my door eavesdropping on our conversation the last time Vikram was over.

The Gaylord turned out to be just a couple of blocks away. We weren't quite sure they were open since a closed sign hung on the door, but an elderly waiter showed us to a patio table. The table had been crafted from some sort of soap stone. I have bookends that I bought in Mexico made out of the same stone in the same colors, a mellow green with brown and off-white stripes running through it. I scanned the place for the usual signs of tattering and found them to be minimal. Our poor old waiter had been doing his job for too long, Vikram had to remind him to bring us menus. It took a while for him to shuffle back and forth, but he managed to get them to us and take my order for a bottle of water.

I couldn't convince Vikram to order anything and I couldn't tell if he was afraid I wouldn't pay or if he was being polite, or if he just wasn't hungry. He said he prefers to eat at 9 or 10 a night. That's probably true but I never lacked an appetite when I was so, so I'm thinking he was just trying to have good manners.

I ordered jeera rice, a spiced aromatic rice, a tastey chicken dish and nan. Again the food was darn good. I managed to get Vikram to share the meal with me.

Conversation flowed easily with Vikram. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes. He has the eyes that a lot of the old old Indian paintings portray that are extremely large, rimmed with long think black lashes, and slightly turned up at the sides. Stunning! I told him as much and he insisted I just have bad taste. I think most people who know me would disagree with that. The more he argued the point, the more I liked him and wanted to drive the point home. I'm so impressed with his refined manners.

After dinner we headed back to my room to chat. I fired up the air conditioning and the ceiling fan while Vikram broke open the chocolates. The only other person I know to go on that kind of a chocolate eating frenzy is me. I think he ate half of the big box in one sitting.

Being a gentleman he tried to get me to eat some. I however had seen myself naked in the mirror just before he arrived and after I showered. I knew a mess of calories would only add to the harvest of fat I'd amassed. At some point Vikram came over to my bed to try to force me to pig out with him. I stole a kiss instead. That was all it took. The next few hours require censorship.

It was hard to say goodbye to Vikram that night. I've always said that if I ever met a guy half as good as my cat I'd marry him in a heartbeat. So far he meets all the criteria. In fact, he has some rather cat like qualities. I mean that in the best sense since I love my cat so much.

After a long hug, he went on his way. I fell into a wonderful deep sleep awakening refreshed in the morning to very pleasant dreams. I packed my bags, picked up around the room and went to the cybercafe up the street to do my blog. You all left with me when I had to run.

The guys at the hotel had found me a taxi driver they assured me was honest and would use the meter. The meters in the taxis measure increments in code that can only be translated to rupees via a chart. Especially with tourist that chart tends to go missing. I checked out of my room, left my big bag at the desk to be stored until I returned to Mumbai after my travels. Thanked the staff who had been great. I tipped the nosey room boy 100 rupees since he always greated me with a smile and gave outstanding service.

I hopped in the taxi with a distinguished looking older gentleman that spoke good English with only a moderate accent. Compared to many of the other taxis I'd taken, this one fared well. We were lucky that the road to the Santa Cruz, domestic, airport gave us an open berth. The traffic heading south toward Colaba sat motionless for kilometers. I got my camera out and managed to snap some good shots at stop signs. Just as I was about to take a shot of an old lady selling vegetables out of a basket a van pulled up beside us blocking my view. The driver backed up and complimented me on my camera and asked where I came from. I told him I loved Mumbai, that its a great city with many hidden charms and asked him how he liked it. He told me there is nowhere he'd rather live. Everything worthy could be found in Mumbai. I couldn't disagree. The light turned and again we made rapid ground.

We pulled into the airport a little ahead of schedule. The "honest" taxi driver told me I should pay him however much I wanted but not less than 400 rupees. I'd asked the airline people what a taxi to the airport should cost. They'd told me 200 but not more than 300. I handed him 300. He complained. I handed him another 50. He comlained again. I gave him the final 50 and he took off. I felt ripped off. Such is being a tourist in the developing world.

While I was paying the driver a man had grabbed my bags and put them on a cart. I followed him into the terminal not 50 feet away and offered him 10 rupees about 28 cents. He said he wanted 5 US dollars. I laughed at him. I told him I didn't have any US currency. He then demanded 500 rupees. I pulled my bag off his cart and walked away. Greedy lame ass bastard. He yelled at me all the way through to the baggage screening. Not a single person gave him a second glance least of all me.

LAX could learn a few things about baggage screening from Santa Cruz airport. You don't get in without a ticket, you can't go further without baggage screening. They tag all your carry ons and check ins. You're off to the check-in for boarding passes. After a short wait they take your bag, give you your seating assignment and you're off to the gate. Its all clean simple, professional and without any of the attitude you're likely to get at LAX. When are they going to overhaul that dump anyway? Its an embarrassment.

Jet Airlines boarded promptly. The passengers were a mix of about 50% caucasions and 50% Indians and people from neighboring countries. I had an aisle seat, but traded with the woman next to me so she'd be in front of her husband. Then the Kuwaiti guy next to her husband traded with the woman and the couple was united. A lot of that was going on and people were incredibly accomodating. All this helpfulness and good will without any of the me me me crap you get in LA really impressed me.

The trip was short and sweet. Getting my baggage off the carousel always makes me nervous because I'm always sure that my bag got sent to Botwana instead of along with me. It was at the bottom of the heap, but not too much time was wasted. I went straight to an STD. An STD is phone shop where you dial up wherever you want and a meter keeps tab of how much you're spending. They're remarkably cheap. The hotel I'd tried to book the night before where I was told to call back, told me they were sold out. Now I was a little nervous but not too much. I grabbed the bible, my Lonely Planet guide, and picked the one that looked next best. I called the Mayfair hotel and they told me to come on down.

I went next to the prepaid taxi stand. They tried to tell me that a taxi to Panjin would cost 400 rupees. I said that couldn't possibly be true. Its further from the internation airport in Mumbai to Colaba and in traffice and it cost less. They came up with some lame excuse about petrol costs. I told them I bet that I could get a taxi cheaper. They said its one price that everyone charges. I paid 300 to a cool old guy that told me the history of the area as we went. I can't say I understood everything partly because of his accent and partly because of the wind rushing in through the open windows, but I appreciated his attempts.

I had expected Goa to be more lush and green like Brazil. It is green and pretty, but not necessarily lush. We passed a number of old Portuguese buildings dating back to the Portuguese rule that lasted a few hundred years until 1961 when Goa got its independence. The Portuguese didn't err much from their motif in architecture anywhere in their colonies. I could have been in Brazil or Macau with identical buildings. The further along we got the more urban the landscape became. It looked a little like the fast growing area around the international airport in Mumbai with the slapped up boxish buildings mixed with an occassional new construction with character too it. Soon the housing became much more interesting with old old Buildings all in a row. The the taxi stopped at a sign and up to my left at the top of a mountain of stairs stood a huge monumental old Portuguese church all pristing dressed in white. It made quite a spectacle.

A few blocks later we arrived at my hotel the Mayfair. The exterior boded well with arched wooden window. The lobby looked cool with some nice mosaic work. I asked to see a room and a man took me up. I should have looked more closely, but I didn't. I said it was fine and checked in. After I dropped my bags I went into the bathroom to make use of the facilities. Things grew on those walls in a panorama of colors mostly green. The walls were painted white, at least where paint remained. A freight train of ants ran in the open window - the window that couldn't be closed by design - over the toilet, over the sink, and up the wall. I touched the greenish, bluish, greyish, blackish stuff. It didn't seem too slimey. I looked at the shower head. I'm sure the cure for AIDS, the common cold, and lactose intolerance grew there. I took pictures of these things as proof.

I peed into a toilet with milky white water - a disinfectant? - blew my nose and flushed. A whole lake went down that toilet but the toilet paper failed to go down. There is certainly no such thing as low flow toilets in this bathroom. I flushed again with the same result and gave up.

I plopped down on the bed and practically broke my tail bone. This thing was like a rock. I pealed back the blanket to find a lovely sheet with numerous holes in it and a two inch mattress underneath laying on a piece of plywood. You know how a pillow goes dead and there is no fluff left in it? That was this mattress. Oi veh!

I grabbed my camera and headed out to acquint myself with the town. I first found a web cafe and was delighted to discover broadband. Moments later I discovered I'd left the password to enter blogs on this site in the room. I did a quick e-mail check and headed out. I saw a hotel and went in to inquire as to rates. This became an obcession. Each hotel a clone of the last, boring, blah, and dirty, but none as dirty as my room. At last, just after dark, I found a really nice hotel perched on the side of a hill, the rooms were spotless, the price was good. I told them I'd be back in the morning.

Travel weary I downed a whole bag of trail mix in my room, watched some TV and called it a night...a night without end. My lower back started to hurt, then really hurt, then really really hurt. I ended up getting up and downing a few Ibuprofen. That got me back to sleep but never got me comforable.

Just after dawn I showered. If I come home with flesh eating disease, that shower head is where it came from. I dressed and headed out for the morning. I climbed the hill next too the hotel to watch the golden hour. A sweet guy at the top came up and introduced himself. He asked about me. I asked about hiim. He was in town to help with the International Film Festival down the road. He told me I'd not get a good view from town, but I could come to the roof of his apartment building and take some shots from there. On the way up the stiars he rousted his roommate. He followed along after us yawning. He wasn't kidding, the views were killer. I got some good shots and regrettably didn't take one of the nice guys. We chatted a little bit and I moved on. Early though it was I made my way down the hill on the opposite side of my hotel to the area called Fontainhas. The hotel I really wanted to stay in, the Panaji Inn, is in this area. I stopped in just in case they got a cancelation. No such luck, all I managed to do was prove to myself that I shouldn't have waited for stinking Rahul, to make my reservations. I moved on now stimulated with my obcession to find a really nice hotel that rivaled the Panaji Inn. I looked at into at least 10 before I made it back to my hotel and checked out. There were some bargains of hotels at half the price of mine with similar amenities, but nothing inspirational. I paid up and made haste to my hillside hotel only to discover that the people who were supposed to check out for me to get their room, had decided to stay. I asked for a referral to another hotel. The guy at the desk was at a loss, but a really handsome guy by the desk said he'd take me to a couple of places to see if I liked them. I wasn't sure if he was a taxi driver or what the story was, but I was game. I didn't want to drag my suitcase all over town.

He, I, his friend and my luggage all packed into his minivan and it wouldn't start. We sat there for 15 minutes until a friend of theirs managed to get it running. Two blocks later the van stalled in the middle of an intersection. This is made all the more interesting by the normal pandemonium that accompanies traffic here. Taxis, trucks, motorbikes all honking swerved around us like stampeding buffalo around a big rock. The driver's friend got out and pushed us to safety. I didn't know it yet, but I'd been adopted by these two friends as their charge to find me a nice room. It took about 20 minutes, but they both went and got their motorbikes and came back. We locked my big suitcase in the van and headed out on the bike. Riding double on a motorbike is a rather intimate experience and one requiring some sort of coordination with which I've not been blessed. Every time he gunned the engine I slid back a little and gripped tighter with my legs. I could not have been more tense. However, one does not look a gift horse in the mouth. I bit my tongue and moved on. The first hotel they showed me was a great bargain at 500 rupees, but dull as butter on packaged white bread with a touch of scum on top. I said no.

I explained that I would love an older Portuguese building and would they know of something like that. They looked at each other and said Hotel Mirimar. The next thing I knew we were flying through traffic in a caravan of two motorbikes on our way to the beach. The gorgeous old buildings drifted behind us and we moved toward the monotony of newer hotels each indistinguisable from the last. The hotel Mirimar turned out to be a tad cramped and dirty so they took me across the street to a much nicer hotel that was cheaper with a lot of vacancies. That place was great, but I'd have to walk two miles to town or catch a cab just to shop, catch a bus or find a web cafe. I'm not so much into the beach thing either. If it was on ten acres littered with palm trees, I might have considered it. I could tell my hosts were getting weary of my pickiness. I felt badly.

They pulled over on the side of the road and consulted a cabbie they know. I explained to him what I wanted. He said there were no other clean old character hotels, but there was a clean new hotel in the area. At this point, I'd probably have taken the next hotel even if it were a dump. Instead the Neptune hotel turned out to be pretty good. My room is on the 5th floor with a view, relatively clean with a nice view, AC, red granite flooring, and pretty wood furniture. Its a bit beaten up, but fine. I checked in, we walked over two blocks to the van and pulled it back to the hotel and then I insisted I buy them lunch.

The whole buying someone a meal thing seems to be a foreign concept here. They thought that was just odd. I did it anyway. They took me to a gorgeous old hotel on the second floor of a building not far from the big white church. I could not for the life of me get them to order anything. In hindsite, I should have just ordered for them. Perhaps this was the proper ettiqette. Who knows.

They are both native Goans. They explained that being helpful is part of the culture here. Whoever heard of that? The last time I met helpful people en mass was in the farm country of Minnesota and that was strictly farm work related. My new friends were Mohin and Hussain. I figured them to be 28 or 29 judging by their way of carrying themselves... They're both big guys like 6'3" or so and well built. Instead Mohin is only 19! Hussain 21! I told them they're just babies. I was shocked. They asked how old I was. I told them 41. This time it was their turn. They thought I was 25 or 26 and just a college student or something. God I love flattery. I'm am just eating this all up.

We talked about real estate... Mohin's family just declined to buy a large old duplex in a good area for $23,000. Amazing! They said that price is very high for hear. I explained my idea of finding one of the old Portuguese buildings, restoring it, and making it a B&B. They said Indians would never stay there. I told them Indians weren't what I had in mind for the place. I was looking for the more upscale western market. They explained that most real estate transactions here happen quietly and by word of mouth except for the big developer's construction projects where a commission is offered. Its a nice fantasy to move here and bring western style real estate to the area. Or, better yet, buy the hotel thing, hire one of these guys to manage it and head back home. I know they're honest. They had several opportunites to rob me if they'd been so inclined. Nothing of the sort happened. In fact, Mohin gave me his pass to go to the International Film Festival into the area that is off limits to the public where the stars will be hanging out. I totally want to go, but I don't have the proper cloths with me and I'm dead tired. Boo hoo.

So anyway, Hussain had to go collect money on is gambling route. Apparently its some sort of legal numbers game that is national. I didn't quite understand their explanation since Mohin has a really strong accent and Hussain was too shy to try to talk much although when he did he barely had an accent.

Mohin and I went to the beach and played pool. It was fun hanging with the 20 year old crowd and playing pool. I lost four games in a row. How did I get so bad? When I was 12 I was really good at pool, at least thats how I remember it.

Mohin then dropped me back at my hotel after I insisted on buying his gas. Tomorrow I'll meet his family and go with them to Old Goa to see the church there. Apparently there is some dead guy there who is perfectly preserved after 200 years. The line to see him takes about an hour and a half for a 10 second viewing. I saw a dead and decaying monkey on the side of the road today. I took a picture of it for all who are interested. I'm going to be satisfied with that :)

Tomorrow I'm going to Anjuna to the big market. I'm looking forward to riding the regular buses to get there and figuring out what's going on. I should have exchanged money today. I'm almost out of rupees. I'll have to find an exchange place there if they have one.

I did find a really great shop here in town that has a killer beadspread all hand embroidered for $100 bucks before bargaining and the coolest bronze elephant head door handles. I may be back to buy those. They're not the standard fair for the markets here. I wish I knew what I'd find in Rajastan when I get there so I don't buy it here for more money. Oh well.

More tomorrow.