Buonos sares, buonos sares senorita!

I don't know what that means, but it's mangled Spanish, in case you are wondering. Andrew-style mangled spanish. And, as ever, intrepid readers of my most innermost thoughts, there is a story to tell. About a palm-fringed beach, curdled love, yoga, a poet, and, of course, ze germans. And alcohol. That last one is a given though, right? Alcohol, not ze germans.

Where to begin? Well, as I always say, when you don't know where to begin, start at the end. The end.

Ummm, and seeing as that didn't work, let's push onto the beginning! So, I left Delhi, leaving behind many unread books and a cold climate, greedy auto-rickshaw (aka tuk tuk) drivers and business opportunities to go to the beach. And I do it in style - I'm sick and tired of Indian trains. They are C-O-L-D. And it would be a long journey too - so I fly down with Spice-Jet, a low cost carrier.
"How low cost, Andrew?" you ask.
"So low cost they don't have life-jackets. You take the cushion of the seat and try and float with it." Really. They also offer sweeties on the plane - I ate the butterscotch ones, yum yum!

Now, I no longer have a book on India. The pixies took it one day, and they never gave it back. I still think of those pixies, frolicking in the best places of Kerala, checking out the Taj, hanging with the monks in, um, monk-y-land, that kind of thing. All because they swiped my book.
Be that as it may, I end up in the Goa airport with an idea that I want to go to the nice beach that begins with a 'P' and with a feeling that I don't know what it is called, where I am in relation to it, or how to get there. Fortunately, I meet up with three nice girls (two Germans and a Canuke) who are also going there. Palolem beach.
We rent a car and head on down - and man, does our driver drive. He thinks he's Speed Racer, or something. He's turning from motorbikes, and avoiding trucks, and I'm sitting in the back seat while we are all discussing india, being a woman in india, and crazy drivers in india. Most of the time my eyes are closed (except when they are open), which made things better. I can still remember the classic moment when Tanya (Canuk) politely asks the driver:
"Do you want to die? Because I don't" - nothing stopped Speed Racer though, until we got to the beach.

Beach was fine, very beachy, the water was lovely, and the pam fringed-ness? Crazy. I was getting mini-scegasms (which is my New Word for the day, meaning a "non-sexual orgasm caused by seeing preety scenery") everytime I turned my head to them. On the first day I swam in the sea, and for the next two days my body muscles decided to spasm and contract in incredibly painful formation. So two days was spent wandering the beach looking for someone to fix me up - and aside from swarthy indian chaps who rub oil on your naked buttock (I'm not sure if I should pay them for this, or vice versa), there isn't much to be had.

Ok, so, scenery and my pains aside, let's look at the action and fun that occured at "The Found Things", which is where I stayed. First up, let's throw in the standard helpful, manuel-like, young indiginous waiter dude, this time called Sing. He's as nice as any of the other generic waiter dude's I've come across at beach resorts throughout this trip. Friendly, affable, basic english, helpful, I liked Sing.
He is, as all the generic waiter dudes are, after the ladies (in their own little way. Sing is a billion times nicer than the rogues that populate Jaisalmer, Udaipur and the rest of northern India though, because, being a generic beach waiter, he's laid back and cool, not a pushy arrogant money/sex-hound). And look, before I get anyone upset about my treatment of Sing - Sing was a really nice guy. I liked him, and got along well with him. But he's ALSO just like the standard waiter-dudes in all the resort-places I've been to. It's a pleasure to meet them though.
Sing has, I think, his eyes mostly set on Anya, who was one of ze germans (the other being Kathleen). Both Germans are, incidentally, generic Germans. Their humour is there (I think, it was in German most of the time) - but they are strong-willed, cautious, quiet (ok, so they spoke passing english), y'know, Germanic. Anya is a policewoman, which made me feel safe at night, and Kathleen is a physio, which had no affect on my sleeping habits at all.
Sing thought that Anya was... "dangerous", and that Tanya was "sometimes dangerous." I assume that meant that he was attracted to them??

Through the girls (who I was toying with hitting on, but then, as I might have mentioned previously, my powers of seduction hover around the zero mark, and Sing was working on them better than I could. And he could barely speak english) I meet Frankee, who is also a German.
He's a different German, he's tanned, toned, tattooed (yeah, I had a crush on him) and a really sweet guy. He was like some crazy amalgamation of some of the Wizard-of-Oz characters, but damn he had heart.
Frankee and I went out several nights to see if we could find "The Booby" which is what one of us referred to as the sum aim of all life. I won't embarrass that person by naming him (or her) though. Surprisingly enough, we never were, but we had perfected the art of being Italian troubadors (hence the title of this entry), with my name being Mario. I have a mafioso brother who is languishing in jail right now, but I'm clean. I don't know what women are looking for, but it certainly wasn't the two hottest imitation italian troubadors on the beach, I tell you.

Tanya introduced me to Johnnie, whose blog is linked on my page in a new effort to make this blog more, um, I don't know, blogger-riffic? Johnnie is a really cool guy - he's got a crazy beard that he puts lip balm on, but I won't hold that against him. Or anywhere, that beard must have been freaky with the lip balm. He's a canadian poet, and was sharp, clever and good looking. Fortunately, he never came with Frankee or I or we would have had real troubles! I think his major inspirations are Dr Seuss, but I never asked him so I don't know.

Finally, to round of my most recent travel companions, Tanya was another (And I've got to say, sadly, generic, Canadian) who was good looking, clever, witty and plain good old fun to spend time with. I don't know how much she appreciated my knocking on her door at 9am every day though. She teaches english in Taiwan, and also speaks Mandarin! Much mandarin fun ensued, until like Will she told me my Mandarin wasn't up to par. She and Johnnie are old friends, and there is a chance I might meet up with them sooner or later in Kerala.

But to destiny! Wait, let me take a check on my stories. It's a lot of blogging a man has to do, and I have a busy day tomorrow.

Ciao!