For Barbara:
The lobby of the Vivante hotel in Goa is open-air and looks out at the ocean. As
we settled into our chairs waiting for the check-in process to complete,
the quiet was shattered by a group of 12 youngish Indian men and women
bustling into the space. The air around them crackled and I swear I
caught a whiff of Bangalore/Mumbai outsourcing parfum as they glided by.
Most were wearing khaki
shorts and expensive ecological sandals - that rubbery kind (made from recycled carpeting, or cars or cell phones), with round box toes and orthotic inserts. All of them had great shiny hair and beautiful hair cuts with precise beveled edges; the kind of hair that swings around but magically returns to exactly the same place it started. Non-messable. Slouching in our travel-rumpled clothing, sweating grey hairs curling out from under our touristic Tilley travel hats and clutching our various corny bits of travel impedimenta, we couldn't have provided more contrast. Checking their iphones every few seconds, the Indians swarmed around a seating arrangement near us, flopping into the chairs, faces slightly blue, reflecting the light from the devices humming in their hands. Every once in a while, we'd catch a scrap of Iconversation - a "What?" or an "Oh shit" delivered with perfect diction in a crisp British accent and addressed to the iscreens. Nobody can say "Oh shit" like a well educated Indian! We should have known better than to select this hotel. It's inevitable in Goa that you'll bump into these up and coming Indians attending a dreadful skill improvement seminar. The excessive enthusiasm was depressing.
I sighed, knowing our four days of rest were ruined. We'll never escape! They'll be bouncing into the restaurant in the morning, dewy from running down the beach, grabbing up the yogurt and peaches from the buffet, sipping their cups of herb tea. Or they'll be lying next to that pool, displaying their discretely placed and tasteful tattoos; reading something Instructive or ieducational. Ugh!
I stopped fanning myself with the folded map of India and for a fleeting moment considered moving onto another hotel. But then, just as quickly as they appeared, the gaggle of iIndians were buzzed back into the seminar and things didn't look quite so bad. "Maybe it'll all work out", I muttered to myself as I picked up a stack of complaint cards from the desk.
shorts and expensive ecological sandals - that rubbery kind (made from recycled carpeting, or cars or cell phones), with round box toes and orthotic inserts. All of them had great shiny hair and beautiful hair cuts with precise beveled edges; the kind of hair that swings around but magically returns to exactly the same place it started. Non-messable. Slouching in our travel-rumpled clothing, sweating grey hairs curling out from under our touristic Tilley travel hats and clutching our various corny bits of travel impedimenta, we couldn't have provided more contrast. Checking their iphones every few seconds, the Indians swarmed around a seating arrangement near us, flopping into the chairs, faces slightly blue, reflecting the light from the devices humming in their hands. Every once in a while, we'd catch a scrap of Iconversation - a "What?" or an "Oh shit" delivered with perfect diction in a crisp British accent and addressed to the iscreens. Nobody can say "Oh shit" like a well educated Indian! We should have known better than to select this hotel. It's inevitable in Goa that you'll bump into these up and coming Indians attending a dreadful skill improvement seminar. The excessive enthusiasm was depressing.
I sighed, knowing our four days of rest were ruined. We'll never escape! They'll be bouncing into the restaurant in the morning, dewy from running down the beach, grabbing up the yogurt and peaches from the buffet, sipping their cups of herb tea. Or they'll be lying next to that pool, displaying their discretely placed and tasteful tattoos; reading something Instructive or ieducational. Ugh!
I stopped fanning myself with the folded map of India and for a fleeting moment considered moving onto another hotel. But then, just as quickly as they appeared, the gaggle of iIndians were buzzed back into the seminar and things didn't look quite so bad. "Maybe it'll all work out", I muttered to myself as I picked up a stack of complaint cards from the desk.
Oh dear, sorry to see your stay in Goa was ruined. If you should have opted for a homestay in Goa, it would have an holistic & worth remember experience. No matter, but next time Google down an homestay then visit the paradise - Goa.
ReplyDeleteFor me ???
ReplyDeleteI loved it. Especially the part about their hair!
Barbara