is there poodle in my noodle

During the major disruption at UK airports in July, when a radar issue grounded 150 flights and caused chaos country-wide, I remember feeling relieved and lucky that I’d never been embroiled in such a drama.

Fast forward four months. India’s main carrier, IndiGo, has been in complete meltdown for the last few days following new rules introduced around ‘flight duty time limitations’, reducing the hours pilots and crew can work. Despite months to prepare for the new legislation, IndiGo has been crippled, and just yesterday, up to 500 flights were cancelled. Our flight to Mumbai was delayed by several hours, thus missing our connection to Thailand.

We arrived at the airport in Goa yesterday to scenes of absolute bedlam. Huge angry mobs; pushing, fist waving, and full-blown shouting matches. Indians have no concept of queuing or the meaning of personal space, which can come across as rather rude, and last night threatened to infringe on our delicate English sensibilities. Jem calmly explained to one fraught and boisterous woman about the efficiency benefits of a ‘queueing system’, which I don’t think quite hit the target.

When we eventually got to the front of the furious crowd, the poor staff member (and her manager behind with his head in his hands) were getting screamed at from every angle as they tried to change our flights. A bad day in the office indeed.

Flights are being delayed and cancelled at the last minute, and 10 hours after arriving at the airport, we are still waiting for our new flight to take off. It is already delayed by a few hours, threatening to miss our new connection in Bengaluru. Apparently, the backlog will take at least a week to clear.

The last few days in Goa have been quite relaxing, with some lovely meals and an adventure to Panaji, the capital, an hour and a half away.

A white-knuckle ride indeed on the back of Jem’s rental Royal Enfield Interceptor. I shall not go into details, but we got home safe, just about. Our main aim was to see the colonial quarter, which hosts original Portuguese-style architecture.

The links between Goans and Portuguese are strong; Goans can get a Portuguese passport if they were born in Goa before 1961 or if they are a direct descendant. There are shared words between Portuguese and the local language Konkani, including surnames, as well as continuing cultural and diplomatic exchanges.

Finally, as a resume on India, we have not particularly loved it. Even in Goa – which sells itself on its laid back, international, and ‘good vibes’ culture – you can’t sit on the beach for five minutes without being pestered by aggressive hawkers selling henna tattoos, anklets, sarongs, ear cleaning, massages, sun glasses, trinkets and souvenirs. Similarly, in tourist shops, the pressure to purchase makes the experience unenjoyable and anxiety-inducing.

Over the last four weeks, we have been given an insight into the gender, class, and caste dynamic, which frankly is at times appalling. Travelling as a Westener, you always feel like someone is trying to squeeze a dollar out of you. Authentic interactions are infrequent, yet when they do happen, they are truly wonderful.

Although there are elements of the Indian journey we would tweak, we would not have changed the overall plan. It has been happy, sad, overwhelming, joyous, infuriating, fascinating, lonely, exciting, and just plain bonkers. Jem and I have stuck together like glue in some really challenging moments, and for that, I am extremely proud. It sounds like a cliché, but the last four weeks have reinforced just how bloody lucky, how privileged, and how wealthy (financially, culturally, socially, and genderwise) we are in the UK.

Goodbye Goa, we will not be back (that’s if we ever leave 😂).