Goa beckons again

February of 2020 was once again picked as the preferred season for the annual 23rd Reunion, and ideas were not only awash but being jelled way ahead of time. This year it was the balmy beaches of Goa that beckoned us. 

We were in the second half of 2019, and it was interestingly the last of the teens of the millennium, a contagious spell for frivolity giving us wives and ample time for girly talk and excitedly we riffed through visions of sandy beach holidays and languidly visualised us there.

Spirit of Seniors Fashions

Though still early days, but the ideas were flying thick and fast on what could be done and whatnot… the chatter on this embryonic plan was floating on What’s App group. Very soon the nascent floaters would become, lists for sights to see and must do and must have in beach and lounge-ware. This step-by-step tabulation would soon be loaded in our shopping carts making it a veritable senior’s fashion template.

Fun &  Fashion

But then it was the turn of October, one early morning, it took just one little slip and snap and there I was in Max emergency with top of the line ankle fracture, put together under the scalpel by a deft surgeon with plates and long screws. The short of the story was, that foot was ‘off the ground’ for six weeks, but that was only the first of the many more weeks to follow, with family and friends to see me through the diabolically painful time and I had only my fur babies to walk the step with me, never ever leaving me off their peripheral sight.

My school  friend comes visiting   

          

         

My bone hacker was a smart doctor and he gently added the weeks surreptitiously over a period 20 weeks. February 2020, that seemed far away then, was now a just a few days away and all holiday plans were sure slipping away, with stern Ortho overview, ‘no weight on the ankle for another six weeks…I do not want to deal with another fracture’. 

Thus the riot act was read.

And once again my Foot remained off the ground …. 

Goa beckoned .... but the idea seemed to be gently slipping away.
All the same my 'fur babies' were smiling to have me at home, joining me in my great journey from bed to lobby day-bed, to TV  lounger...only to begin the same the next day. This was my Lock-in.

Making it worse, was that our Dilli was still caught in the throes of pollution, the bone-chilling wintery aura of the New Year did not make it better. With leg up, and nothing to do but snuggle indoors in comforters in heated rooms with Siri and Alexa. 

This aside, time lazed away at a languorous pace, one day slipped into another creating a state of day confusion, a kind of a brain fog... 

Was it a Monday or was it a Wednesday?

 Come to think of it, when was it Sunday …

Ahh! Not that it made a difference.

My Foot still remained off the ground …. 

But then, never ever try to underestimate the woman power of the girl-friends. They never gave up on me, week on week. Their ‘CBM’, that is short for, confidence-building measures, never slackened, always intensely focused, packed with heart-warming comfort words …

‘Hum hain na’! You know we will be always there with you … for you.  

This was emotional tempering at best, soft words and then gentle prods… ‘You can do it’, ‘We know you are brave’. …lastly in a doleful voice, the soulful words -‘it will not be the same without you’. That was the killer pitch.

To sum it up, it worked. 

It sure did massage the ‘me’ in me in the precise compelling way, that they intended, consequentially they had me say yes to the unthinkable. A woman, a senior, on a beach holiday in a wheelchair with a broken ankle. 

Check on that Nike Advert on "Crazy Women'... That was Me.

But then what the eff! 

Goa beckoned.

Quirky as it may sound, the holiday happened, with not a plan in place, however pain-killers in the pouch. It was like letting myself go with the flow and see what happens. 
 It happens that once we get there, and have a load of fun. with nay a regret.

Have you ever stopped to wonder that there’s no fear when we’re having fun.”

Worrying on ‘what ifs’ in life, just stops us from living the day and living in the now. 

'Kal Ho Na Ho' is an apt truism…. 

Our time on Earth is really never long enough, so why not make the best of it, moreover, just give it a thought that we have more years behind us than in front. 

But then often we lose sight of it. I almost lost did…. And was almost swayed by the naysayers.

Life now and then is much better when you take the time to let loose and kickback. That means its okay to let yourself do the unthinkable every once in a while ...and reboot...pun unintended.

Goa beckoned...

And Goa was happening and how! We had no Airline booking, to top it all I was designated as a passenger with special needs ...so it had to be the full-service Air India and for convenience, it was mid-night milk run to Dabolim, and we caught the flight with just an hour to take off.

My Wheels take Wings 

But then, was I not treated like a princess, my foot never touched the ground. Our pick –up cabbie waiting for us was a young Goan called Mahen with happy and joyous persona even on this middle of the night trek to Candolim. A colourful personality, with an impassioned way with words full of pride in being a Goan. My booted leg qualified me for the front -seat of the sedan, while MS, took time out to zone out on the backbench...and we were on our way from Dabolim in his Kaali-Peeli 
Swift Dezire.

Mahen filled me in on places we whizzed on with little or no traffic to impede us. In soft tones, he talked of his family the separation, the way of life of Goan people and even best of Goan music and food. What more he even gave us in-depth insight on Cabbie politics and power of his Kalli-Peelli union.

 It was the quiet stillness of the South Goa landscape dotted with churches and open roads through which we raced from Dabolim airport through Cartolim over Zuari bridge to Bambolim to Panaji. 

The night sky was a vast vibrant canopy of inky blue with sparkle of stars that imitated a shimmer of stardust on the Mandovi river. The riverfront itself looked a happening night spot with neon-lit casinos boats and shore advertising. The waters of Mandovi reflected these bright lights enriching the drama.  

                                     

                                     

Going over on the long Mandovi Bridge, we were told by Mahen that this was the third Mandovi Bridge and was also known as Atal Setu, it was a four-lane cable-stayed bridge designed by Russians. Much later Syed our Lemon Tree Amarante assistant informed us that in actuality there are three parallel Mandovi Bridges. 

Candolim was now just 12 kilometres away, taking the winding coast road thru Nerul and Betim we went past ‘The Reis Mago Fort’ and Church located on the north bank of the Mandovi River on the opposite shore from Panjim. It is steeped in 400 years of historical legacy, being the oldest fort in Goa. 

The word, Reis Margos in Portuguese, means ‘three wise men’. A Church at the foot of the fort looked very ethereal in the moonlight. It is a lit-up beautiful structure dedicated to the three wise men of Bethlehem. In the quietness of the night both, the church and the fort embellished a throwback of the past.

Finally, we reached the Amarante Beach Resort, Lemon Tree. The Candolim Market and the Shacks were still abuzz with life made up of a global spread of culture and languages.

Thus after the long story of ‘Kabhi it is On … Kabhi off ‘, our reservations had stood on a limbo. However, Regional Manager Hasan, with a perfect cultivated demeanour of Hotelier, assured us that there would be a place for us. And the place he made for us not only at Amarante but he and his lovely wife opened their heart and home for us.

That being said, Mahen our genial cabbie reluctantly left us with the welcoming Front office staff and the Concierge, however, taking a firm promise from us that we will not forget him. With this blog, I have kept my promise.
At night the Amarante Beach Resort was magical.., it looked like a slice of Spain ... a large Hacienda with a central lush green space with pool and sit-outs.

Though entering the Lobby was an operational feat… the electronic security system needed to be dismantled to propel in my wheels in, and then a select an appropriate ground floor room with manoeuvrability and accessibility for the wheels. At this point, my euphoria did drop a few notches momentarily, were my wheels going to be a nemesis.

There is an interesting ceremony on launching ships... before a ship slides from its berth into the water, its hull must first get smashed on—by a bottle of booze, usually a champagne bottle. You will wonder where this finds place …. But it does.

In our case, it was a bottle of Scotch.

We were just settling in our room and a hot cup of Coffee Latte came on a tray with fresh sandwiches … Ah! that sure was an unspoken desire. Husband, on the other hand, has a primary fetish to open and put things in place. Not only did he let his Latte go cold but the next happening had disastrous consequences ….

With much critical preponderance, he balanced the travel case on two strategically placed chairs only to have his Scotch bottle come rolling out in slow-mo and crash on the stone floor breaking in smithereens and the golden liquid covered the splashed and spread only to be mopped and wiped across the room. Albeit disinfecting Room No 127 effectively.

Oh! Not only the Room but the entire Atrium and corridors were done and blessed and did they not it smell like a brewery ...

 As an afterthought, I must say that I did an input on this imbroglio, a suggestion to open it on the floor….But then wives can be seen and are never to be heard.

The tradition of christening a new ship for good luck and safe travel goes way back to many civilizations. Many ancient seafaring societies had their own ceremonies for launching a new ship and invoke the blessing of their Gods.

 The Greeks wore an olive branch wreath around their heads, drank wine to honour the gods, and poured water on the new boat to bless it. 

The Babylonians sacrificed an ox, 

The Turks sacrificed a sheep, 

And the Vikings and Tahitians offered up human blood

While today smashing a bottle of champagne tied with a red ribbon on the hull of a ship is considered a Christening tradition before being named and launching of a vessel. It intended to invite good luck and safe journey.

Why the Champagne bottle? It is again an interesting trivia. 

Champagne bottles are basically booze-filled tanks. They have to resist enormous pressures that the wine creates inside them, so their glass is very thick, and breaking them is no easy task. They literally have to be smashed. 

The bottle of Scotch, by comparison, required no smashing, it rolled out and smashed of its own accord.

So it came to be that we did our bit by gratifying the Gods and announcing the advent of the 23rd Reunion by smashing a bottle of Scotch on the floor at the Reunion Venue Hotel.

Cheers!

To all the 23rders. Good luck and Good Health.

Happiness with 23rd.

It really was not a bad beginning at all, for a Senior traveller on wheels

And to boot, with foot off the ground! 

23rd  in Goa  ... Amarante Beach Resort.

 Regional Manager Hasan and his charming wife wit us.