This is gonna be my last blog for awhile, as I’ve just arrived at my wee, well-warm poetic paradise where I’m gonna kick back for the next six weeks or so. Seven years back I spent December & January avoiding Scotland’s winter on the Sicilian island of Marettimo. This time round it’s the island-like Kerim, at the northernmost tip of Goa, one side of which faces a river estuary, one side the Arabian Sea, & the other side is a long, wall-like hill which paragliders chuick themselves off thro the day. There’s only one road in – by the river – or it is possible to walk along the hazardous, overgrown coastal paths up to Arambol. Otherwise its an 8k scooter ride.
Arambol is a cool place, 80 percent Russian & very hippy, its a drug-filled, fun-heavy constantly running festival of a place, where each sunset everyone congregates round a drum circle to watch the gorgeous pinkness of the sun setting into the sea. We got there last Sunday, after finally unpeeling ourselves from Patnem, & got a room in Arambol for a couple of nights. Sunday night saw a jam session earning us a gig at a venue called the Surf Club, while Monday so much mandiness & me dj-ing wildly at Sporting Heroes venue, which won enough respect to have free beers there all week!
Inbetween, I got chatting to a guy in a restaurant, who by some quirk of fate mentioned there was a place for rent near his house in Keri. Cue me walking there over the coast, & finding the house he was talking about was one I looked at 3 years ago & said to myself, ‘that would be a nice place to spend a couple of months writing.‘ Tis nothing but wish-fulfillment at its very Saraswathi-induced best.
So to the house. Its like a four roomed bungalow divided into two, with a toilet at the back of each half. There’s a kitchen, a lovely porch where you can set up a matress, & stairs up to the roof for a sun-bathe – & my half of the house is costing only £2 a night – Vic’s in the other half. For another £2 a day I’ve got a sexy yellow pussy-wagon of a new scooter from a local. His – & I guess, now my -village is great actually; quite widely dispersed, with cheap food everywhere, a few ex-pat English gangsters avoiding cops at home & the Russian imperial venture at Arambol, a gorgeously vast & tranquil beach & a ferry that takes you across the river to the next state of Maharastra which is ripe for exploration.
I’ve just had a pretty good weekend actually. The Surf Club gig was wicked. Phil, the 60-year old owner of the club & a right old raver, who used to supply pills in 250,000 consignments to Bristol, had got us this mad Russian bird called Katia to play drums. Also on board was Dirk, a sound German who leant me his base. The practice was rough, but the gig was wicked, & we got paid in money, beautiful tandoori & a free bar – which of course I availed myself of wholeheartedly.
Next morning – the Saturday – to shake off mi hangover, I thought I’d drive the 35 k south to Anjuna, stopping every now & then to watch a bit of the Ashes. On the way back, I stopped off at the Mango Tree for a beer, & met two cut 20-odd year teachers from England, fresh off the plane from where they work in Dubai, & looking for a rave. After informing them that Arambol was wicked, they promptly said they’d come up that night. Which they did, & after scoring some quality mandy in the back room of a dodgy shop, we proceeded to have one of those classic Goan experiences; dancing to trance, partying on the beach, &etc. It was funny as, I mean they really were hot girls & I went round telling everyone they were my wives – a little bit of kudos for the new-boy in town. Come the early hours the girls were ready to go home, so I sorted them out a taxi & watched them sail off into the distance, before hopping on my scooter & driving back to Keri buzzing off mi tits!
So that’s me, then; I’ll fill my days with writing my Jesus book, editing my poetry & spinning a little songsmithery with the guitar Victor’s about to leave me – he’s off home tomorrow! Still, I wont be alone for too long, I’ve got the phone numbers of several Russian girls from the Friday night to fill my nights with, plus Dj-ing oppurtunities & in three weeks Tinky Disco’s bass player, Al Roberts, turns up, so that’s gonna be fun – I think I’ll have to get Katia in on drums – but she is a complete lunatic so we’ll see.